Posts Tagged ‘Tex-Mex cuisine’
D.C. Is Big on Process, Not Processed Cheese
Y&H doesn’t typically spend months researching each and every column he writes. For reasons of personal sanity and this daily little time suck, my columns need to be researched and written at a much faster clip.
But this week’s Young & Hungry, the second installment of our Stealing Home series, literally took months to bring together. But I have a good excuse: I couldn’t find a place in the area that did Tex-Mex right. Let me tell you, I ate more crappy enchiladas than you can imagine — and not the good-greasy crappy ones, either, the kind in which melted Velveeta oozes from every opening of your tightly wound corn tortilla.
What I Ate on My Summer Vacation: Enchiladas
Perhaps it’s because I lived in Texas for so many years, but when I think of enchiladas, I think of the Tex-Mex variety. You know the ones: tightly rolled corn tortillas stuffed with a thick, neon-orange sludge of Velveeta, topped with a semi-spicy chili gravy, and sprinkled with shredded cheddar cheese (or more Velveeta, or both).
So disgusting. So awesome.
Now, I’ve had fancier versions, too. The kind made with fresh Mexican cheese or Monterey Jack or cotija cheese or, God forbid, goat cheese. I’ve had enchiladas stuffed with spinach, with huitlacoche, and with various kinds of trendy meats. I’ve enjoyed many of them, but when I want enchiladas, I usually want a good, greasy pile of Velveeta cheese and tortillas smothered in chili gravy.
The first restaurant Carrie and I visited in Mexico was a place that looked, for all intents and purposes, like a tourist trap. It’s called Los Rancheros, and it’s located just yards away from the water on Playa del Carmen. Like everywhere else in Mexico, there was an hombre standing out front at Los Rancheros, barking at us to come inside and check things out. He said they have air-conditioning. We were starving and hot. So we took up his offer.
H Street Country Club Swings Opens Tomorrow
Because Y&H has developed a warm, personal relationship with Joe Englert, Mr. Fatlas, I mean Mr. Atlas, District invited me to a sneak-preview of the long, long, long-awaited H Street Country Club on Sunday night, and I have just one thing to say: You’ll never get a tee time.
This place is going to have longer lines than Ben’s Chili Bowl during the inauguration. Everyone will want to putt-putt their ball between the bloated legs of a D.C. parking meter-reader who’s exposing just a little too much butt crack. Or across the Reflecting Pool and up the stairs of the Lincoln Memorial. Or between the decomposing bodies of several dead presidents. Or around a multi-car pileup on the Beltway. Or….oh, hell, you get the point. This is miniature golf as imagined by the Coen Brothers.
Come to think of it, some people might even visit H Street just to sample the Tex-Mex menu designed by Ann Cashion, founder of Taqueria Nacional. Well, maybe.
