Dining Like a Doof

We talk so much about the joy of discovering interesting ethnic foods and chatting up the owners of little hole in the wall marvels. But sometimes you just crap out at the "crossing the cultural divide" game, and wind up feeling like a doof for ordering whatever it is you ordered. Herewith, two tales from the files of... Dining Like a DoofTM.

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I was trying to eat vegetarian during the week. No particular medico-ethico-sociological reason, just sort of a challenge to not settle for the obvious. I go up to Devon because it's easy to find vegetarian stuff at Indian restaurants that's a 9 or a 10 on the flavor meter. (One of my rules is not to eat vegetarian at a place that advertises itself as healthy or natural or something, because you rarely break 2 on the flavor meter. Not a problem on Devon.)

Good intentions in tow, what happened next was that I spotted the new Usmania under construction on one side of the street, and so thought, I should try the old Usmania before it's gone. So I went in there. The menu said, specialists in nehari. I didn't exactly remember what nehari was, despite having dined at places like Sabri Nehari, but I thought, well, if they're specialists, I better have it.

And so, from the intention to eat a vegetarian meal, I shortly find myself with... a softball-sized hunk of beef (they're Muslim, not Hindu) in a pool of brown gravy covered by a half-inch of orange grease. My vegetarian intentions have resulted in, basically, Yankee pot roast. Yankee pot roast in need of an oil change. Pot roast a la Pennzoil.

What a doof.

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A long time ago I posted about a place called Cafe Express, here and at Chowhound. A Cuban restaurant on north Ashland, though actually Mexican owned, nothing great. Then it closed. Then a place called El Guacamole opened there. Now, if you were in the burbs, or even many parts of the city, the name El Guacamole would be as clear an indicator of inauthenticity as you could hope for. Maybe Ay Chihuahua would be an even more gringoish name, or Das Tequila Hütt, but that's about how far you'd have to go. But from the hand-lettered on fluorescent posterboard Spanish-language menus on the door and wall, I figured it might be a real place.

It is, it's just not a real good place. It's firmly within the ranks of the Okay. But that's not why I was a doof. The kids ordered their standard cheese and chicken no lettuce or tomato tacos, my wife ordered the Gringo Special, Enchiladas Suiza, which resulted in what has to be the palest, the whitest, the most Canadian plate of food ever served in a Mexican restaurant:



So I'm calling my wife a doof? And thinking about where I'm going to be spending the night tonight and possibly the next month? No, no, not at all, honey. Really.

Because I ordered a gordita al pastor (despite lack of cone in the visible kitchen; but the menu talked about special spices), and one each of the carne asada and pork tacos.

The plates come. First I get a plate with two tacos. I taste the meat on one. Carne asada, a little dry but acceptable. I look at the other. Uh... that's carne asada too.



Then I get another plate with two tacos. Covered with hunks of pork. And it is now clear that, you order tacos, by gum you get tacos, plural. I have four goodly-sized tacos and my lunch is not all here yet:



I am fearful that two gorditas covered in pastor meat will come from the kitchen any moment. She shows up with yet another plate-- and pulls a second table over to accomodate the full extravagance of my lunch. (Good thing I went vegetarian all week to prepare for it!) It's only one gordita. A very large, very greasy, sour-cream-covered gooey mess of a gordita al pastor.



Yes, it's the man who ordered so much food they had to bring him an extra table.

What a doof.

(How was it? Not bad, for non-cone pastor. And the beans were really quite good. Too bad both meats on the tacos were really too dry and overcooked to be good. As I said, firmly in the Okay.)

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Usmania Restaurant
2253 W. Devon, Chicago
Tel: (773) 262-1900

El Guacamole
5793 N. Clark, Chicago

Just a couple of hours ago I was wandering around picking up things to munch during the "big game." (Don't really care about the game, but any excuse to overeat ...) I found myself at Hagen's and ordered some fried food to tied me over. When I got to the car, I found I ordered clam stips instead of those excellent fresh shucked oysters. A disappointed doof.

I also picked up some Jonah's crab claws which always have looked so attractive. They were not snap-and-eat as claimed -- I still needed tools to open. In addition, they were tasteless. I whipped up some mustard sauce in the style of Joe's to make them edible. Double doof.



-ramon

Mike G wrote:my wife ordered the Gringo Special, Enchiladas Suiza, which resulted in what has to be the palest, the whitest, the most Canadian plate of food ever served in a Mexican restaurant:
<snip>
So I'm calling my wife a doof? And thinking about where I'm going to be spending the night tonight and possibly the next month? No, no, not at all, honey. Really.

Mike,

I can hardly believe you just called your wife, especially someone as charming and accomplished as King's Thursday, a doof. white food or not.........Ay Carumba.

When you tire of your couch you can sleep in my basement on a folding cot next to the Newsom Ham.

I'd let you sleep upstairs, but I don't want to be collateral damage when she finally decides to come after you.

Enjoy,
Gary