California Cuisine (26th and Cal., that is.)

Called to do my civic duty on Fri., I found myself at the courthouse with a 90 min. lunchbreak before I was due back to await being dismissed preemtorily by either prosecutor or defense council.

As a total stranger to the area, I was determined to find something interesting or at least decidedly local to eat. That let out the Popeye's on the corner and nothing else was visible. So, I headed up California. For 4 blocks there was nothing but very pretty churches, a strip of very pretty 2-flats, and a truck selling delicious looking melons off the back.

Then, at the busy intersection with 22nd St., there were Mexican restaurants everywhere, nearly all promising fresh seafood. Trying to make up my mind based on essentially no data and with the clock ticking, I simply threw in my lot with what looked like a nice neighborhood family and followed them into El Pelicano. (2207 S. California)

The place was quite spacious with a mixed decor. The entryway made a gesture in the direction of a wharfside motif, including a large, blue plaster shark. The tables and chairs threw in the towel on perpetuating a theme, and subsided into being standard issue diner stuff. But clean and comfortable enough.

The table was stocked with s&p, ketchup, and 2 hot sauces -- one just called "hot sauce," one specifically "habanero" sauce.

Both the hostess and the waitress were very friendly and both addressed me in Spanish without even thinking about it. They continued to do so even after I trotted out my rusty restaurant Spanish. Whether this was because they didn't speak English, or simply because they found my Spanish equal to the limited demands of the occasion I don't know, but I had a great time trying and it made me feel like I was somewhere on vacation rather than jury duty.

The middle-aged hostess noticed the book I had brought along (armed against a long day in the waiting room) and laughed about its size.

(Roy Jenkins' Churchill biography. Certainly interesting; how could it not be? Written from the perspective of a fellow politician/legislator, rather than historian/psychologist/idealogue or whatever. The positive side of this is that he really has a feel for the minute give-and-take and ebb-and-flow of political debates and strategies and fortunes. The downside is that, try as he might to lead one by the hand, he can't help but presuppose in his audience a familiarity with the ins and outs of the parlimentary system which, in the case of this reader, at least, is wholly unjustified.)

Looking at the cover photo, she asked who it was and not only did she not recognize Churchill, she didn't know who he was when I gave his name and a brief thumbnail of his place in history. This made me speculate idly on just how influential a world figure one must be not to be forgotten in 50 years.

Catfish was offered in columns (like a pizza menu), for sm/med./lg.

I ordered a tostada de ceviche and a "small" catfish. I thought I had pointed to the ajo-ojo sauced version, but what arrived was the undressed, unadorned thing iteslf.

With my northside, Argyle St. bias, I had imagined a smallish, lunch-ish portion - a couple of fillets. Something that would fit in a small clay pot with ginger and scallion. What arrived was an entire 14-16" fish, which appeared to have been picked up by the tail, plunged in the deep-fryer and then plopped on my plate. End of prep. story. The sides of the fish were deeply scored - it was cleaned and scaled, of course - but that's it.
It sprawled acrosss and over the sides of the very large oval platter it shared, none to comfortably, with some rice and salad.

She also brought a plate of lime wedges and a basket with both chips and saltines.

Ceviche: everything was chopped small; tomato, onion, fish. I immediately detected a strange sweetness that did not, to my taste belong. I couldn't place it until I got down to the tostada and realized that there was a thin coating of mayo (or doctored mayo/tartar) on it. The ceviche was nice, but the mayo didn't work for me.

Fish: It arrived hot, shining with oil and grimacing evilly through deep-fried prehistoric scavenger jaws. With no more than a squeeze of lime and a bit of dipping in hot sauce for variation, it was yummy.

If this thing was a "small" I can only suppose that the large would have resembled the mama creature from "Alien."

The accompanying rice had corn kernals mixed in. It was nice, but the rice was a bit mushy for my taste. The salad was the usual indifferent bit of lettuce, tomato slice and cucumber.

The table next to me ordered one of the sopas de mariscos and it looked very impressive.

Not a revelation, or a destination, but a thoroughly enjoyable experience.

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Misc. note: Went to IKEA on Sat. and ate in the "bistro" for the first time. I have to say that a perfectly edible cafeteria lunch for three came to $13 and change. You really can't beat it. The meatballs were mildly sauced but flavorful. My wife's smoked turkey sandwich was 1/2 pre-assembled and thoroughly boring, but that's really the mission of a turkey sandwich. Some of the other things on the line looked quite passable. We had a dessert/pastry sampler plate and all three things were good. A mocha thing and two others.

At IKEA, the high point of the food are the various salmon plates. They have one plate that features three types of salmon with different sauces. The meatballs are decent if that is your cup of tea.

The cakes and desserts are pretty good, actually above average although a bit pricey.

Forget the steamed vegetables which are entirely tasteless. They also have some soup - cannot remember whether it was pea or lentil - which was completely flavor free.

It was not a bad meal. However, I generally STAY AWAY from IKEA on weekends as the traffic at their Woodfield store is SO bad.

Pass on the hot dogs.

MrB:

Very nice report. Thank you.

Amata and I used to go to Little Village and environs with some regularity but have done so few times since the arrival of Lucantonius, it seems. It has a very different atmosphere from Pilsen, I find, which is the Mexican neighbourhood we visit most often (given its proximity to home). We need to get back out there soon.

Who was this Churchill?

Antonius