By Kaitlin Steinberg
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By Brooke Viggiano
By Kaitlin Steinberg
By Molly Dunn
By Molly Dunn
By Eating Our Words
My dining companion thinks she has ordered Herrera's Mexicatessen's "fajitas bravo," which come with sautéed bacon, onions and mushrooms. But when her meal is delivered, the bacon and mushrooms are missing. The waitress says she thought my friend ordered the "fajita dinner," a subtly different dish which appears in the de la parrilla(from the grill) section of the menu. The fajita dinner comes with frijoles de charro (cowboy beans) and guacamole on the side; the fajitas bravo come with bacon and mushrooms.
Both styles of fajitas are served on a sizzling black cast-iron comal set in a wooden holder. The waitress offers to take the steaming food back, but my friend surrenders to the mouthwatering dish in front of her. And, truth be told, the heavy bacon accent in the cowboy beans almost makes up for the lack of cured pork on her comal.
I order the "deluxe Mexicatessen pride dinner," an enormous combination affair that comes on two plates. On the "salad plate" there's guacamole; a taco made with a preformed shell and filled with soupy, hideously oversalted ground beef; a bean chalupa; and a chalupa shell with chile con queso over the top.
302 W. Crosstimbers St.
Houston, TX 77018-5634
Region: Outer Loop - NE
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The second round is the "hot plate." Under a two-toned blanket of brown chili con carne and yellow cheese, there are one chicken and one cheese enchilada, a tamal and rice and beans. All in all, it's a hearty dinner, but the enchiladas and tamales are barely recognizable under all the sauce and cheese. As Tex-Mex combo platters go, it's slightly below average.
Sensing my discouragement, my companion kindly allows me to make a taco from her fajita pile. The charcoal-grilled meat is dark and well marinated. Soy sauce and pineapple juice are the classic Houston fajita marinade ingredients, and I would guess that's what they're using here. But it's a trade secret, of course.
The chopped fajita meat appears to be from the tender inner belt, not the tougher skirt portion. It is flame-scorched to perfect tenderness and a lovely dark char. The flour tortillas are handmade and hot, and the pico de gallo and guacamole appear to be fresh. All rolled together, they make one of the best fajita tacos I've had in a long time.
As I pay the bill, I notice that most of the firemen at the next table seem to be eating fajitas. I can't really tell which variety. But as I head for the parking lot, I wonder if the fajitas bravo are really any better than the fajita dinner. It all depends on your attitude toward bacon, I postulate.
A couple of years ago, a cookbook called Everything Tastes Better with Bacon hit the stands. The clever title pretty well sums up one take on the subject. But then there are the purists. Putting bacon on a hamburger obscures the flavor of the beef, they argue. And bacon-wrapped shrimp is an abomination against good seafood. I can see merit in both points of view.
Obviously, I will need to return to Mexicatessen to consider both alternatives. Although I'm quite stuffed as I drive away, I'm already fantasizing about the bacony fajitas bravo.
At lunchtime, the old-fashioned Tex-Mex fare at Herrera's Mexicatessen draws a crowd of Houston firemen, cops and UPS drivers. To their credit, the Herrera family, which owns the place, doesn't engage in any silly debates about authenticity. The slogan on the menu reads, "Serving fine Tex-Mex food since 1957."
Located on Crosstimbers, just east of Shepherd in the Garden Oaks neighborhood, Mexicatessen is a historic landmark, though not quite as old as the nearby Barbecue Inn. The Heights neighborhood association got in touch with me after my recent review of Barbecue Inn ("Fried in the Heights," October 28) to point out that that restaurant is in Garden Oaks, not the Heights.
So let me correct my mistake. Like Lubbock and Abilene, the Heights is dry -- which is why the neighborhood just north of the teetotalers' ghetto has such an abundance of wonderful restaurants. Thanks to the fact that Mexicatessen is in Garden Oaks and not the Heights, you can actually drink beer there.
On my second visit to the venerable establishment, my observant dining companions point out a few things that I hadn't noticed before, like Army Sergeant Benito Herrera's black-and-white photographs of Italy and Algiers taken during World War II, which are proudly displayed in the front room.
They are also appreciative of the authoritative bite of the restaurant's homemade salsa and the incredible thinness and crispness of Mexicatessen's chips. The skinny chips and zippy salsa prove to be the best appetizer we sample.
An order of nachos with beef and cheese turns out to be chalupa half-shells with the salty ground meat taco filling and queso poured over them. They are ugly to look at, messy to eat and a poor substitute for proper nachos.
When nachos were invented, every chip was individually dressed with condiments. It might have been nothing more than a sprinkling of cheese and a jalapeño slice, but it was handmade. Then came the ballpark nacho, and suddenly it was okay to pour a mess of cheese sauce over chips and call the resulting mess "nachos."