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!