Jalisco, Harrisonburg, VA

Jalisco

October 22, 2016

The moment we walked in I was stunned.  It was a delight to all my senses and at first was too much to take in.  The décor was incredible, dense and thought-out.  Selena sang upbeat classics from somewhere behind the foliage. The lighting was dim, the plants were REAL.  There were tiles and murals and wooden booths everywhere.  Fajitas sizzled in the background.  The air was completely saturated in ATMOSPERE and shrouded in mystery.   We were only in the front room and with the mirrors, Jalisco seemed to go on forever.

It was a comfortable kind of beautiful.  I had no idea!  This is the best themed restaurant in town and I had no idea.  It is located in a strip mall behind the Valley Mall and I just never thought a place like this could exist near a place like that. 

It was only second in my experience to Denver’s Casa Bonita.  It is the Casita Bonita.      

The booth was tiny but provided plenty of privacy from the other diners.  My mouth was already watering despite there being no pictures on the menu.  My attorney and I were served ample chips with salsa and coleslaw.  The coleslaw tasted like it should taste – cool, herby, and creamy.

“MMMM, delicious,”  my attorney said, chip in hand, pinky out, big smile.  I was still in a daze.

Our waiter was a young man who tried to hide his hurry.  Well done, dude.  I ordered the first thing I read.  It sounded great.  Burritos stuffed with chicken, onions, and chorizo, si, por favor!

My attorney ordered chimichangas.  

“Chicken or ground beef?”  

“Soft or fried?”  

The memories flooded back.  Those two questions I remembered well from my first job as a server at Pancho Villa’s Mexican Family Restaurant in Culpeper, Virginia.  They were the only questions I ever remembered to ask.  

How can you have one experience without being reminded of another?  

I remember that I was a terrible waitress.  

Hola and como estas!?  To my Buddies from That Time.  Thanks for taking me seriously as I butchered your native tongue, trying to learn.   You guys were like family. My last night working at Pancho Villa’s was one of the most special nights of my life and I will never forget it.

By now I was sucking a pineapple chunk off of a mini umbrella, which was precisely what I needed to just chillllax. It was no longer a biting cold fall day.  We were in Mexico!  Viva!

In the next room, a group of servers sang Happy Birthday to a customer in Spanish.  It reminded me of the time we did that for a young Mexican man at Pancho Villa’s and he cried, lonely for home.

Jalisco, just like Pancho’s, gives you free fried ice cream on your birthday.  They both also pop a big sombrero on your head. 

(I won’t say anything about the college girls who walked out wearing the restaurant’s sombreros because I don’t have anything nice to say.)

The food was so much better than El Charro. (El Charro, show me what you got!)  The guacamole was creamy.   In fact, the whole dish was creamy, not the dry-ass rice and crusty beans you get at some Mexican places.  The chicken and pork mixed well, post-mortem.  Typical Mexican food, prepared expertly.

We ordered a “xango” for dessert.  What a name.  Reminded me of Quentin Tarantino and Kurt Vonnegut.  Ice cream and cheese cake, what could go wrong?

The dessert was sweet and nutty and even though it was sweet I was tempted to describe it as savory because I was savoring it so much.  Chewy cream cheese with soft skin and cinnamon sugar and a big fried ice cream ball drizzled in honey.  MMMM, indeed.

Across the room a fajita steamed to a table like a comet, like a fish, like Willie Nelson, screaming, sauteing in flight.   We were in another land, I thought as the poor guy nervously forked the hot mess in front of him.  I continued savoring the xango and the rest of my margarita, which by the way, is named after Rita Hayworth if you ever need to impress an old person with a factoid about booze.

In conclusion, TRY JALISCO!  For dinner, the price was certainly not bad.  The seats were comfy.  The atmosphere was mind-boggling.  There was even a guy with a long wispy black mustache, if you can believe that.  It was a treat.  

Jalisco: Harrisonburg’s own out-of-city-experience.  Thanks for reading!  Amanda out

Taj of India, Harrisonburg, VA

Taj of India

Oct 19, 2016

Taj  is Persian for “crown.”  And so this is a fitting name.  Taj of India is the gilded crown of downtown.  It is owned by the same family who owns Taste of India and opened less than a month ago in the hot spot beside Jess’ on Court Square. 

Before I describe the buffet for you, I feel the need to cover two topics:

Topic Number One: Nutrition.

This blog is a collection of my reviews of and experiences in restaurants.  The food that I order in restaraunts is not indicative of my everyday diet. I am aware that restaurant food is full of sugar and GMO’s and processed foods and factory meats.  Some people tell me that it is pointless to eat healthy only some of the time, that it is either all or nothing.  And there may be truth to that.  But I would not want to die tomorrow having never gone out to eat for fear of the food.  Going to restaurants brings me great joy, as does writing these reviews, and let me say for the record: As soon as there is a local, organic place that serves delicious grub, I will be their biggest fan. Next topic!

Topic Number Two:  If you do not know me in real life, feel free to skip this paragraph.  It is going to be quite big.  The topic here is The People I Have Loved.  I have been greatly blessed to have had many people, places, and things in my life, as I know many of us have.  I do not keep up with the people I love as well as I should and these restaurant reviews are not written by a different me than you have known.  They are just a fun outlet for my creativity.  I will never forget you people.  All the people I have met and known, you have shaped me, you have changed me, and I think about you and pray for you everyday.  You are always on my mind.  My coworkers at Brethren Woods and on the YPTT – you taught me how to live in community and have fun in nature.  My high school friends, you know who you are, you taught me how to be a friend and listened when I talked.  Peeps from JMU, thanks for hanging around when I was a miserable wreck and never giving up on me.  Special shout out to Jon.  Sorry I didn’t call you on your birthday.  Friends at Pancho Villa, muchas gracias!  I will talk more about that in the next review.  To all the teachers I’ve had and children I’ve taught, there will always be a thread of truth between us.  To my BVS buddies, those brave souls who gave and give so much of themselves, I love you.  You are some of the best people on Earth.  Germans!  What up!  You taught me culture, you made me laugh, what a time to be alive.  Natalie, thank you for your friendship.  A special, genuine, colorful and deep thank you to Peace Church of the Brethren and Camp Myrtlewood.  Your love and acceptance changed my life.  I remember the moment Merry Titus opened my third eye with a flick of her finger.  I remember Lou and Peggy driving us around and watching after us.  I remember Jan and Doug goofing off together.  The honor I had being in Kerby Lauderdale’s presence when he spoke I will remember forever.  Eileen and Patrick's trust and friendship.  Laura Seull telling me like it is.  Everyone.  Sol and Treena and John and Margaret treating me like family.  Serving me hot coffee in front of a fireplace and offering nonjudgmental ears.  My friends in Portland, Wayne, Ellen and Darrell, Clarissa, and Alexander, LeeAnne, thank you for taking me in.  Andrew, who showed me the beauty in myself for the first time, I wouldn’t be the same if I had never met you.   To the ex-boyfriends and men whose lives I’ve shaken up, thank you for all the lessons and love.  Andy, I still think of you.  Thank you for being with me.  Vonnie, I still want to call you when there’s good news.  Thank you for always listening.  Gramma and Grampa, thank you for all that you have given me.  To my fellow mariners at Trackers, you are some of the most inspirational and cool people I have ever met; thanks for all the fun on the shore.  To my family, thank you for all your help my whole life.  Friends at Jess,’ it was such a good time.  My Mennonite buddies, you taught me about hard work and living off the land and keeping a thankful smile everyday.  And new friends at the farmers market, you all teach me something new every time we talk; each of you is a wellspring of information.  To my roommates:  I have never felt more comfortable at home than I do right now.  Who am I without you all?  All of you wonderful souls not only encouraged me but you taught me.  You not only taught me, but you loved me. You gifted me with the strength and wisdom I have today.  I think of you and I bless you and I cannot wait to reunite with you one day some day.  I love you.

Boy, what a softy.  She’s probably crying.  Back to Indian Food.  Back to the Best Buffet in Town.

We were early birds, Gramma and I.  The place opened at eleven and it was ten til.  We walked around the block.  When we were almost there, we ran into Angeliki, who said we look so much alike.  “I don’t even know her,” Gramma said.  We arrived just as they were opening the doors.  And some doors!  

The inside of Taj is, just, like, wow.  The gorgeous chandeliers are the tip of the iceburg.  The tables and chairs are ornate, the music is classical flute, everything is noice.  Ice water is served in aluminum goblets.  And then there is the buffet.  Platters set out for royalty.  Fruits galore.  So much food.  And we were the only ones there.  

The waitstaff were helping themselves to the feast and it reminded me of last winter when Tom or Angeliki would ask if I was hungry and then make me whatever I wanted for breakfast.

I remembered the last time I had eaten at Taj, a few weeks prior.  It had been my first buffet in a while and I thought my stomach was the same size it had always been.  Wrong.  Four plate-fulls and four hours of complaining before Angeliki spotted me and beamed so bright because she literally thought I was pregnant.  I wouldn’t do that again.  

We hit the buffet.  I set down a base of saffron-stained rice and vegetable pakora (fried vegetables.  fried.).  Then I spooned sauces with no deliberation, wanting to try each one.  Grabbed some naan, just two to start, remember last time.  Gramma got a little sample of everything.  Our plates were piled high and we sat down.

I said it before and I’ll say it again, this is The Best Buffet in Town.  The food is to die for.  The naan was chewy and delicious.  The sauces were creamy and exotic.  The food wasn’t too spicy or too salty.  So many of the dishes are based around vegetables which is pretty cool.  It was perfect.   Gramma noted that all the waiters were men.  She would . . .  

Damn! I was full after the first plate.

I went up for more rice topped with chicken tikka masala, and a little bowl of Kheer (rice pudding) and Gulab Jamun (best dessert name I know).  

We drank our hot chai teas.  They tasted like Christmas and I thought maybe I should get some chai tea for Christmastime.  As Gramma chased a rather rowdy sweetball around her plate with a knife, we talked with the waiters who were from Nepal and Mumbai.  The more dark people you introduce your grandparents to, if they are country people like mine, the better.  Gramma even flirted a little. 

I overheard a customer ask about vegan dishes and the waiter pointed out three or four options from the buffet, which isn’t bad, as far as vegan choices in Harrisonburg go.

Conclusion:  Both prince and pauper will love Taj of India.  The buffet was only $9 and the chai was $3, and worth every penny.

What a classy, beautiful place.  And right downtown, too!  I highly recommend it.  Amanda Out!

ART Burger Sushi Bar, Myrtle Beach, SC

ART Burger Sushi Bar, Myrtle Beach, South Carolina

September 27, 2016

Oh my lord this is heaven.  We ordered appetizers off of the solid wood menu: mozzarella wontons with sweet tomato jam and pita bread with hummus.  How can I convey to y’all my excitement and hunger in this moment?  For that, I will have to back up a bit.

This is the story of my vacation to Myrtle Beach, South Carolina, and my trip to a restaurant called ART.  But it is also the story of my first real fast.   Not to mention it’s a Good Ol’ Fashioned Poop Story.  (Sorry.  At least it’s educational.)  The story of the End of The Rainbow is in here, too.  Here goes:

My attorney and I had won a stay in tropical Myrtle Beach and decided to coincide our vacation package with a little spiritual practice.  We planned on fasting for the first 48 hours of the trip in hopes of inducing a spiritual experience.

We drank water and I had a little coffee, but otherwise, we refrained from consuming for two days.  It wasn’t too hard since we were in a new environment and had no preexisting habits of eating in Myrtle Beach.  The first day I only felt hunger eating at me when we watched “Limitless” on cable TV and the food commercials poked at my subconscious, but I acknowledged the sensations and ignored them.  By the second afternoon, I was thinking about food a lot.  My sense of smell seemed to be amplified.  I wasn’t exactly hungry; it was more like I was desperate to  repeat my pattern of eating because I didn’t know what else to do.  But I had endured, trying not to count the hours.  We looked online and found the  perfect place to fill our tummies.  ART Burger Sushi Bar sounded right up my alley so we drove down to the boardwalk.  It was ten PM.  By this time, my hunger had evolved from a familiar feeling of desire into a thing - a mellow pain throughout my abdomen and a burning in my belly like after a shot of whiskey or apple cider vinegar.  We parked and I was so involved with gastronomic desire that I had a close call with a parking meter on the way in.

The restaurant was cool and inviting.  At first, I was unsure if the hostess worked there or not.  She, like the other waitresses, wore a black dress with a black purse for money and receipts.  It’s hard to say what we seemed like to her; I was excited, nervous, crazed.  It was Christmas.  It was Hanukah.  It was the Day of Jubilee.  I looked at the menu.  It was in the shape of a painter’s palette.  All the burgers (and there were a lot) were named after artists.  It felt like it was the menu I would have come up with if I had the time and a good reason.  Maybe it’s the same menu we’d all come up with.  But, then, what about all those other restaurants out there?

            

I already described the first course.  It was scrumptious and imaginative and fresh.  There ended up being more hummus than pita and I ended up eating the rest with a fork.  I was thinking that this could be my favorite restaurant of all time.  

   

They had what they called a liquid nitrogen bar, which I thought was an oxygen bar and was very interested but it turned out to be drinks with dry ice on top.  The place was founded on the belief in the power of art therapy, the owner’s mother having recovered from a stroke by painting pictures.  There were paintings of dogs and horses and children on the wall.  Believe it or not, the music was country, but we were still in South Carolina.

           

I ordered the Art Burger.  Look at these photos.  Drool over these photos.  Seriously.  On my burger, in my burger, in my mouth, the walnut chutney, reminiscent of cinnamon buns and home, mixed with the raw untouched red onion in a delicious dance all over a blue cheese burger with bacon.  I felt that this was It.  The Pinnacle.   The Top. 

And that moment wouldn’t be topped for another two days.  But not before a downswing of the pleasure pendulum.  A downswing in the tastefulness of this story as well.  Trigger warning:  poop is about to happen. Gross, liquid poop.

Let me just say that I’m not a connoisseur of poop stories myself, but I know a few.  This story is dedicated to them.  I must say, however, that one fun and empowering activity is to picture someone who is really posh or stuck-up.  Then think that they poop.  Everybody poops.  I mean, like I said, it’s more funny to some than to others.  Another fun activity with that kind of person is to ask them if they work there when you’re in a store.  Haha.  Okay, I’ve been putting it off long enough.  Here’s what happened.

I hadn’t pooped all that day so I knew all the food was out of my system.  What was to come next was recent.  After leaving ART, we were back at the hotel in ten minutes.  I hustled to the bathroom.  Oh boy.  It felt like I was pooping but it sure sounded like I was peeing.  This stuff looked and smelled like dirty water with a few pebbles.  Holy shit . . .      

My attorney had failed to mention that after a fast it is best to ease back into eating slowly, carefully.  Not with wontons, pita, wine, a burger and sweet potato fries.  He said I wouldn’t have listened anyway.  He was probably right.  Now I know.  Now you know. 

This next part is unrelated to the restaurant but possibly related to the fast and certainly a part of the trip.  It happened on the drive home.  We had swam clothed in the ocean at night which was wonderful, but hadn’t really had anything paranormal happen during or because of the fast.  While we were in Myrtle Beach, the sun shone.  The day we left, and the drive back up, it poured, tropical storm style.  I drove in the rain while we listened to Siddhartha on tape.  Siddhartha asked himself this question through the car speakers, “When was there ever a time when he had experienced happiness, felt a true bliss?  Oh yes, several times he had experienced such a thing.”  At this, I let out a jaded chuckle.  My attorney asked me what I thought was so funny.  I shared with him that in my experience, there are only a few real, blissful, miraculous moments in life, and the rest is spent merely waiting for those precious times.  How sad.  Anyway, an hour or so later, guess what, you’ll never guess!  We found the end of the rainbow!  It was travelling with us on the road, off and on, for hours.  We got a little of it in videos but we just enjoyed most of it.  That was It.  That was the Pinnacle of the Trip.  It was one of the Moments of Bliss.  One of the miracles.  Beautiful.  Beautiful.

When the rainbow's end wasn't running alongside us, we drove under the mega-hoop.  Here is a picture of it with a little finger for good measure.  

Gotta say, it was a good trip.  Amanda out!

The Artful Dodger, Harrisonburg, VA

The Artful Dodger, September 6, 2016

Tuesday, 9 PM

“How’s it going,” we ask the bouncer as he carries out the stand from which to take cover charges.  Looks like we got there just in time.  “Another day . . . " he sighs as we breeze past.

We had walked downtown from home.  Late summer and the crickets chirped stationary as we moved.  The  stars and the  crescent moon lit up the blue-green storybook sky as we made our way.  Bridgette suggested a roommate outing and the time is now.  The day is Tuesday.  We three glide through this city smelling like human apothecaries to keep off the damn skeeters.  On the way, I consider that pretty soon I am going to have to find another fun thing to do at night with friends besides drink.  My body tells me that.  It doesn’t take long to get to our destination:  The Artful Dodger.  Tuesdays showcase the rare $2 rail and we are collectors tonight.

If you have never had a chance to visit the Dodger, it is pretty cool and swanky.  They are always showing the brightest and weirdest art on the walls. It’s a totally 70’s vibe; John Travolta in bellbottoms would fit right in with the décor.  You’d love it.  Tonight, there are all types of people here.  There is no way to categorize this crowd.

We order drinks and food at the bar.  Bridgette and I drink tequila pineapples for most of the night, punctuated, at times, by some other drinks, perhaps; it gets fuzzy after a bit . . .  As Bridgette noted, the bartender always makes our drinks strong.  In a good way.  Wink wink.

Staff begins piling up chairs and squeeking them away to clear the floor for dancing.

“Cheese is the most addicting substance on earth.”

“And it’s not natural; totally processed, totally manmande.”

Bridgette and I go out for a smoke break while my attorney guards the table.  While we are away, the food arrives and he is faced with life’s ultimate question – to steal a chip or not to steal a chip.  Heavy stuff.

The food service was speedy.  Seven minutes or something.  I got a spanakopita sandwich.  It was pretty much a big pile of spinach and a lot of white cheeses on a big croissant, which is pretty much just what I wanted so bam.  And the tator tots were dopevillacious, if I do say so myself.  My attorney got the tuna Monte Cristo and said that, “even though the tuna’s cold it works with the warm French-toast style bread.”  He also said that perhaps tuna was not the best choice for bar food and that he would have to rinse his fish breath out with whiskey.  Bridgette seemed to really enjoy her Vinny sandwich with chicken.   

A round on my attorney!

In our haste to eat the tasty tasty food stuffs, Bridgette and I kept trying to wash it down with tequila.  Disgusting!  Pay attention, ladies!  And pay attention we did.  The atmosphere in there had changed.  De-rastically.  It was rapidly turning into a cesspool.  It was so loud people talking so loud. Good Lord it was a Prep-city-scape as far as the eye could see.  The JMU girls were dressed up nice and they were drunk, boy were they ever drunk tonight, anxious to celebrate this post Labor Day Tuesday Night.

9:30 PM is when the Frat madness began.  Everyone is at this party.  Oh wow it was loud.  Yelling and shouting.  Indiscernible noises surround.  A Devon Lane party inside of the Artful Dodger?

“Hey, buttcheeks at 4:30!”

“Huh?”

It’s true; buttcheeks were everywhere.  Polo shirts and shorts that hit the exact spot above the knee, off by a centimeter and it’s good try, kid, but you can go on back to Goodwill where you belong.  Okay.

These people were way younger than me.  They were even younger than my young roommates.  We were surrounded by the most pristine tanned specimens of this next generation.

What we were witnessing was new.  Novel.  Good for business.  Hopefully good for Harrisonburg.

LADIES AND GENTLEMEN JMU HAS HIT DOWNTOWN AND HOW!

I have lived in this town/city for total of six and a half years and I have never seen anything like this.  Really.  I knew it was happening.  I noticed it beginning last year.  A few college kids would wind up downtown walking like tourists unsure of where to go or what lies ahead.  But this!? 

“We may not be able to get out.” It was a real concern.

And this fucking ratio, man.  If you went to JMU, you know what I’m talking about.  If you drive through the Burg, you know what I’m talking about.  And it was clear as ever tonight.   Four women to every man; five even!  Six?  These guys in the perfect-length shorts can’t miss. 

The lights went out.  Murmurring.  And the light show began.  The Dodger has great light shows.

“Let’s see what the music’s like then we’ll go.  If the music’s good, I’ll buy the next round”  – my attorney.  Bridgette said the same about the next place if the music was lame. The beat begins and it’s tight.  Reggae infused into a heavy beat.  My attorney got up to get more drinks.

I did not know what to do when the English guy sat down beside Bridgette in the booth.  I couldn’t hear well enough to tell if he was cool or lame.  I felt like Barb in Stranger Things. I  judged by Bridgette’s posture that it was the latter and so tried to look annoyed but not too much in case I was misinterpreting and it was the former.  He was lame, turns out, but excused himself once he realized Bridgette hadn’t, in fact, been looking for easy sex with him on his very last night in the US.

“Hey look an old guy,” I said, motioning with my eyes.  He was around forty.  I felt like a Golden Girl myself.

On the wall, local artist Kyle Kirby had left a thought:

“The best people possess a feeling for beauty, the courage to take risks, the discipline to tell the truth, and the capacity for sacrifice.  Ironically, their virtues make them vulnerable; they are often wounded, sometimes destroyed.” – Ernest Hemmingway

I had to get out of there.  To the gazebo!  I’ll wait for y’all there.

The Dodger was still full to capacity, with line out the door.

Next thing I know I’m on the magical patio at Ruby’s with a hand in my drink and a face on my smile.  The music here was much nicer.

On my notebook there was a diagram of tubular boobs, labeled TUBULAR BOOBS. Knowledge is power.

“Oh yeah, the Romans used piss for everything!”

“Obviously Latin’s not dead.”

“Have you ever had a Scooby snack?”

I was writing: “TOILET MONSTERS probability” and was starting to get very sleepy. My attorney was getting us Scooby snacks and we still had a hike ahead of us.

“MMMM.  Very creamy.  Sweet.  Melony.” 

We ran into my old buddy, Sean, who seems to be doing alright these days.  We were chilling more.  And drinking more.  There were outdoor ceiling fans.  I liked them a lot. I felt out of the loop and in the middle of the loop at the same time. In the loop of life.  The Joy and Contentment of my Town. 

“Hola! Como estas!?” – I am smiling.  I am drunk.  That’s what happens.  Deep thought is no longer a possibility.  I picture home and my bed.  I keep smiling.  My attorney transitions smoothly between flirting with me and the other ladies and back to me again.  We are laughing.

“It’s Biggie, yo!”

“Is that Pig Latin?”

“Biggie Smalls!”

And then we sang Riptide on the walk home.

Joe's Griddle and Grill, Harrisonburg, VA

Joe’s Griddle & Grill

Thursday, August 18, 2016

My grampa passed away yesterday.  Marvin Glover. Bon Voyage, Grampa. 

I woke up hungry. Probably a coincidence as I usually wake up hungry, but the death in the family was all the excuse I needed to stuff myself with a dopamine-releasing monster brunch.

I wanted to go somewhere I’d never been before and this place was “potentially a hidden gem,” according to my attorney.  Joe’s was formerly Southside Diner, I’m told, oozing with orangy lights and a greasy trucker vibe.  But it has been re-imagined (or ‘redeemed’ like Pamela’s Secrets).   

This diner is on the outskirts of town, right off of exit 243.  It is a truck stop and fueling station, sure, but the inside was much nicer than I had expected.  It was all shiny with black and red tile; there were live plants and photos of local landmarks hanging on the walls; the lighting was soft and the booths comfy.  Truckers were at the bar digging into huge breakfasts and flirting with waitresses. 

The menu had a lot of variety.  They serve Southern style food like liver and onions, country fried steak, seafood like catfish and fried shrimp, and they got pasta, steak, burgers, soup, salad, BLT’s, grilled cheese; a little something for all tastes.

The restaurant is connected to a convenience store that sells sunglasses, CB’s, chips, petroleum jelly, pizza rolls, Virginia shot glasses, and those flakey Mennonite fried pies you can get on the South side of town.  Everything you’d need for a life on the road.

My coffee came in a small mug, as usual.  I tell you, a restaurant with big coffee cups can expect to impress me.  Our waitress was on the ball, though, and my brew never made it down to half a cup.

The news was on the TV.  It was the first time I’d seen news in a while and it was interesting.  Commercials shared dirty dirt on Hillary Clinton.  The anchors lamented Trump’s candidacy.  The whole  shebang was a cocktail of fear for the elderly who desire it. 

We ordered food like it was our last meal on Earth.  And it’s a good thing we were eating at a truckstop with that feast in front of us.  I like to think it appeared that we were on the road and hadn’t eaten in days.  Otherwise, ay caramba.

I ordered a Patty melt and fries.  My attorney ordered the steak and cheese with fries.  And we shared three sides – hash browns, mashed potatoes, and macaroni and cheese. 

It was while waiting for our brunch to arrive that I noticed the fuel station/diner’s slogan, “Eat at Joe’s and get gas.”

The patty melt tasted a little McDonald’s-eque, and with lettuce, tomato, mayo, and buttery toast, was just what the doctor ordered.  (I’m the doctor here.)

The steak and cheese had a soft bun and green peppers and the French fries were crispy and seasoned.

The mac and cheese delivered comfort and the potato sides were, bleh, but I hate potatoes anyway so don’t take my word for it.

After all that and three cups of coffee, gluttony kicked in and we got a few Mennonite fried pies.  They are all delectable but let me just say that if god was a flakey-crusted dessert, They would be the coconut one.

Joe’s was better than expected and gave me what I thought I wanted.  Thank’s, Joe’s!

Amanda out!

Cuban Burger, Harrisonburg, VA

Cuban Burger

August 16, 2016

The girls are back in town!  The girls are back in town!  Natalie is finally back from Spain where she has been getting her Masters Degree and we hung out on Tuesday.

I was very excited to see my friend.  Had she changed?  Had I changed? 

She arrived and I showed off my house and tried to make her laugh.  She told my roommate the story of When Raccoons Broke Into Our Cabin and Stole Our Food in 2012.  Classic.  We debated on where to go for lunch while we drank wine and she invited me to her wedding next summer. 

I hesitate to share my worst fear on the internet where it could be used against me, but let me just tell you that I have a strange phobia and Natalie said that her wedding reception will be featuring some specimens of those things I am so afraid of.  Just don’t look at them, she says.  Just drink more, she says.  We will see.  Almost a year to think about it, though.  More on that never. 

We decided to go to Cuban Burger.  I’ve been there a number of times and had no worries about taking Natalie there, as it is always top-notch.

So, Cuban Burger has happy hour every single day from three to six.  Appetizers and drinks are half off and Spanish beers are $2.  And starting at seven, I found out, the burgers are half-priced on Tuesdays.

Allow me to set the stage.  Sultry Cuban music plays on a hot summer afternoon.  It’s broad daylight outside, but inside, the lights are dim.  The décor is dark and white following clean lines.  People speak softly and perhaps that’s why it feels like a speak-easy.  The space is divided into a bar area and a dining area.  It is is not your typical burger joint.

We slinked to a table assisted by my friend Alcinda, who was hostessing like a pro.  And we were waited on by my buddy Adrienne, who is as smooth as the restaurant itself.

I excused myself to fix my lipstick.  In front of me, the bathroom doors featured a picture of Lucille Ball on the ladies’ and Desi Arnez on the mens’.  Inside, the floor and walls were covered in beautiful tiles.  After enough time of squinting at myself in the mirror, I returned to the table. 

Drinks had arrived.  I squeezed lime into my Tecate.  We discussed the restaurant and decided that our only concern was the wobbly table.

We devoured the yucca fries that we had ordered with our beers.   Let me tell you about their yucca:  They have a soft inside, a crispy, flakey outside.  They are potato-like but softer and tastier.  They are served with a lovely spicy creamy green sauce.

It was only minutes until we would be able to order those half priced burgers and the wait would be over.  I love those burgers.  Fifteen more minutes until seven?  Natalie checked the time on her phone.  5:42. Wait what.   Ahhhhhhhhhh!!  I thought that it was almost seven, but it was only almost six!!  Another whole hour?  What to do, what to do . . .

We bounced.

Walked over to the Dodger for $3 rails.  But after a bit the jazz was getting to be too much.  (Aside: Natalie if you have jazz at your wedding, that is seriously the last straw.)  And so we giggled back to Cuban Burger for those burgers, man!

Cuban was hopping at this point.  We sat at the bar.  I ordered my favorite burger there.  The Buenas Dias burger.  The very meal that changed my mind about runny eggs long ago. 

The wait was longer than usual, but like I said, they were hopping.

Here’s a picture of Natalie’s Buenas Dias:

The burger was smoky and topped with thick bacon, teensy potato fries and a runny egg.  It was totally satisfying and large.  Does not come with fries, though. 

Natalie had to get going to do wedding stuff so we said our goodbyes.

We had a good time.  I’m glad that happened.  And at the time, neither of us knew that the next morning my grandfather would pass on and that in less than a week both my and Natalie’s fathers would be leading the moving funeral service.  Life is interesting like that, isn’t it? 

Shout out to Alcinda and Adrienne who helped us have a splendid restaurant experience. Shout out to Natalie and may she find an outlet for her creativity.  Shout out to my family who I love so much, even if they think I’ve been distant.  Shout out to myself, who I love too.  Shout out to Cuban Burger, the maker of the best sweet plantains in town.  And shout out to you, reader, for reading this and being a lover of life.

That’s all for now.  Amanda out!

Finnigan's Cove, Harrisonburg, VA

Wednesday, August 10 , 2016

It was a dark and stormy night . . . and I was hungry!  So a friend and I decided to drive around our town in search of sustenance.  I was excited about writing my first local restaurant review.  We talked about trying out Jalisco’s, as we had heard good things.  But after getting dressed and bojangling, it was late evening.  Jalisco’s was closed.  No worries.  On to the next magical eatery.  La Milagro, the grapevine had whispered, serves delicious food at great prices and so we drove to that forgotten corner of mid-Burg. No luck; it was closed too.  Hunger was beginning to get the best of us and our problem-solving skills were getting erratic.  Passed El Sol and I still don’t know if that place is open to the public but there was a private birthday party full swinging in there.  Oh god; Hardee’s was mentioned but I could not stoop; I could not stoop.  Tacos El Primo: closed.  It was 9:45 and I knew what we had to do.

Finnigan’s Cove.  How freaking fitting is it that I do my first review of my own favorite restaurant? 

                                             

These pictures are of the signature alley between the downtown parking deck and courtsquare, on the side of which is the entrance to the tavern of the modern mariner.  First, and most importantly to an avid smoker like myself, Finnigan’s is the only restaurant or bar in town that allows smoking.  Yeah, you heard me right.  This place is so chill.  The music is always perfecto with 90’s punk and alternative.  The nautical theme is cozy with ropes and dark woods and hues of navy blue.  Scattered around are a few arcade style traditional bar games.  

Comfortable seating sits atop a floor of parties past aplenty.  Sports aren’t the main event and the two TV’s are muted, leaving room for intimate conversation among friends.  It is a local hang out.

But back to the crisis of nosehairs.  I mean food!  It’s the reason I was at Finny’s and it’s what all the people are aching to read about.  Fine.  I’ll tell you.  It’s amazing.  Delightful.  The burgers are a shoe-in on my Harrisonburg Top Five Burgers list.  And that’s in spite of it being a seafood restaurant.  Pretty impressive.  The fries are really the best in town.  I maintain that position.  Large, crispy, salty, a little greasy, you get the idea – but not really - until you try them.  There is a salad bar, which I’ve had on a number of occasions, a salute to you vegetarians out there, but it’s located in the non-smoking section so you have to walk by all the suits and grampas - a salute to you, too, suits and grampas.  Moving on.  The bar also, I found out by reading a sign, serves gluten-free beer if anyone is in that market, the gluten-free good-time market.  Y’all should have a dating app.  You probably do.  Moving on.  Okay, so like I said, it was late, almost ten PM, and that’s a lot later in Harrisonburg on a Wednesday.  At that hour, Finnigan’s menu is significantly whittled down to foods you want when you want food, if you know what I mean.  So, since I recently started eating meat again (after pretty recently stopping), I had some good choices.  I chose tenders in honey BBQ sauce with fries and blue cheese dressing.  Me amigo ordered tenders in Caribbean jerk with fries and ranch.  We ordered the food at 9:58, two minutes before the wing sauce menu goes down to the bare minimum.  Score.  Okay, skip to the food arriving, oh happy day. 

My six giant chicken wings were totally slathered in sauce.  They were cooked to perfection.  Perfection!  The blue cheese was creamy and tangy and, best of all, chunky.  The fries were spelled f-r-i-e-n-d-s.  Perhaps it was the late hour, but the Caribbean Jerk, which is typically their tastiest sauce, was a little light on the Caribbean and a little heavy on the jerk this time.  Perhaps it was the hour.  When you look at this food photo, you need to understand the scale.  The fries are big.  The tenders are big.  The plate: big.  That ramekin of blue cheese: deep.  That food did not stand a chance and neither did my hunger.  I was satisfied.  Well almost.  I can smoke in there, remember. 

All I’m saying is, next lucid dream, meet me at Finnigan’s Cove.  Amanda out!