So, I'm totally going to hijack this blog to document my struggle to find decent Tex-Mex in New Orleans. (Thanks for the idea, Blaire).
Josh and I moved to New Orleans from Austin last year. As native Texans, we were both accustomed to a diet that involved Mexican food at least 3x a week. In my case, Tex-Mex food has been a long-standing family tradition. Since forever, my family has gotten together every Friday night to eat at one of the various Mexican joints around Houston, like Marco's, Molina's, Doneraki's, Escalante's, that place in League City next to Randall's. As a grown-up, I respected this; family and Mexican food are important. My family continues this tradition without me, which to be honest, makes me choke up a little. When Josh and I moved to Austin, I insisted we eat Mexican food on Friday's out of respect; Josh certainly didn't mind.
So, going without Tex Mex was not something we envisioned in moving to New Orleans. We were in for a rude awakening, and I should have known better. This blog will be a salve to that wound.
Now before I being my assault, I have to share that I love New Orleans. This city is amazing, and makes me happy. I won't be leaving, and I have not one regret moving here. That being said, I'm a Tex-Mex snob; I demand a lot out of salsa, and to quote a favorite book because why not, "my opinion once lost is lost forever."
To start off things, here's a quick recall of our first attempt at Tex Mex in NOLA. The details are sparse because, to be quite honest, I've pretty much blocked the experience from memory. The place is Taqueria Corona off of Magazine. We only stayed for salsa, guacamole, and margaritas. The salsa was sweet with no kick, like chunky, watery ketchup. I'm a total wuss when it comes to heat, but there is no excuse for sweet, non-spicey salsa in the South. The ingredients for great salsa are widely available. I mean, Josh and I have so many peppers in our garden that I'm kinda mad about it. WHAT DO WE DO WITH ALL THESE PEPPERS?? Answer: make great salsa.
Back at Corona, the margaritas faired no better. Premixed and stored in gallon jugs, there was so much sweet 'n sour that my stomach immediately revolted. Ours were served in warm mugs with salt and ice. This was a scary moment for me. The restaurant was so busy, and had served so many of these not-okay margarita's, that the restaurant had run out of clean, room-temperature mugs. I couldn't help but think that if Josh and I opened up a Tex Mex restaurant we'd become zillionaires. Okay, my dreams are unrealistic.
The very worst thing about the whole experience was the guacamole. Tinted a nice shade of brown, the avocado tasted and looked bad. It was clear that tons of lemon--not lime--had been added in attempt to preserve the dip to gross results. The waitress checked in on us, and I told her that I thought the guacamole had turned. She immediately apologized, but look surprised and commented that (I will never forget this part) "the guacamole had been made fresh a few days ago." She left us, and Josh and I just stared at each other dumbfounded. We got the check, paid, tipped, and left. It was so sad. I don't think I had ever before left a basket of chips on the table.
That was the first experience. There have been more, which will be shared in due time. Perhaps a good thing, but after a year in New Orleans, my expectations have tempered. I mean, we checked out a place last night in Metarie, and before heading out there, I read a review that described the food as "one step up from Taco Bell." I took that as a good sign.
