Yeah, Mary pretty much summed it up. Solid burrito, though nothing out of the ordinary. Well, maybe my burrito was a step above what I would normally expect, but my hopes were not high for this place. No veggie options printed on the menu. The ambiance of a deserted high school cafeteria. The fact that there were three people working behind the counter, none of whom looked happy when we came in, despite the vast, empty dining area. Plastic tablecloths? I think I remember red checked plastic tablecloths.
But my burrito was really good, and the horchata was solid. The lady who rang us up did warn us about the Nesquick-made shakes, which was cool, but disappointing because I wanted a shake.
Mary insisted we sit under the plastic bull head, but there are cheerier seating options.
And the roach I saw coming out of the bathroom was just kind of sitting there in the hallway. No scuttling action. But at least it was a small, unafraid-of-daylight roach.
14 March 2009
Sabor Michoacan is what Mary meant by "Margarite something."
Long time, no update. While I was neglecting Burritos on Clark, I let a grave error slip by. Mary wrote a review of what might have been the best burrito on Clark so far, and she totally botched the name of the restaurant. And then I fail to write any review at all. So, here is the correct info for this lovely, orange-signed place:
Sabor Michoacan
7021 N Clark St
Chicago, IL 60626
(773) 465-1122
Alrighty, then. The things that I loved:
My horchata was AMAZING, and liberally sprinkled with cinnamon. The beans were warm and cheesy. My veggie burrito had mushrooms in it, but it was not mushy or gross. The tortilla was strangely sweet and toasted, and a little thick for a Chicago burrito. But it was something that made THIS burrito unique. A stand-out, signature kind of tortilla. Our server was kind and patient. The bathroom had the littlest sink I have ever seen, and it felt like I was going in someone's house because of the whole curtained, back-room thing.
Things I didn't like:
Uh, that Mary got the name wrong. And that we had to look at the sign during the next burrito trip to figure it out. And the lack of update.
Sorry, team.
Sabor Michoacan
7021 N Clark St
Chicago, IL 60626
(773) 465-1122
Alrighty, then. The things that I loved:
My horchata was AMAZING, and liberally sprinkled with cinnamon. The beans were warm and cheesy. My veggie burrito had mushrooms in it, but it was not mushy or gross. The tortilla was strangely sweet and toasted, and a little thick for a Chicago burrito. But it was something that made THIS burrito unique. A stand-out, signature kind of tortilla. Our server was kind and patient. The bathroom had the littlest sink I have ever seen, and it felt like I was going in someone's house because of the whole curtained, back-room thing.
Things I didn't like:
Uh, that Mary got the name wrong. And that we had to look at the sign during the next burrito trip to figure it out. And the lack of update.
Sorry, team.
17 January 2009
Mary, O Mary!
Mary is in Mexico, bumming around some Tijuana orphanage and getting sunburned on the beach. Yesterday, she told me she had the best burrito "IN THE ENTIRE WORLD." (She really typed it like that.) Sorry, Clark Street. I guess you don't have world-class status anymore, if you ever did to begin with. You certainly don't now.
12 January 2009
Tamales Something Something
Tamales Something Something was one of those places where everything is in Spanish--the wall menu, the conversations, the orange awning with all those words...And other than "Tengo partes privadas verdes" (which is too dirty to translate here) and telling dogs and cats they are pretty, my Spanish is limited to dysfunctional guerrilla warfare words. Should you ever be caught in a Latin American revolution, feel free to bust out with "bombadier intessemente," which means "to strafe." Just don't tell the locals you learned it from me.
So, back to Tamales Something Something. Tamales only sells tamales, five or six different kinds I think. And no Coke or Pepsi for the kiddos. (Mary's orchada (if that is in fact how you spell it) was delicious.) This is like the stationary version of the Tamale Guy, should you want a tamale you don't have to spend two days making yourself.
The cheese and jalapeno tamales were pretty good. Not great, but totally acceptable. My only complaint was that they were a little on the dry side. I would have loved more goo.
The lady who rang us up and brought our food was so nice, I suspected she might have known we were going to review the place. Do restaurant proprietors read this? Does anyone? Anyway, she brought us two free pineapple tamales to try, and they were full of sweet raisin pineapple goodness and had a lovely cornbread texture. We tried eating those first, but liked them so much we saved them for dessert. She asked us about twelve times if we liked our tamales...Which made us like them more, I suspect.
So, back to Tamales Something Something. Tamales only sells tamales, five or six different kinds I think. And no Coke or Pepsi for the kiddos. (Mary's orchada (if that is in fact how you spell it) was delicious.) This is like the stationary version of the Tamale Guy, should you want a tamale you don't have to spend two days making yourself.
The cheese and jalapeno tamales were pretty good. Not great, but totally acceptable. My only complaint was that they were a little on the dry side. I would have loved more goo.
The lady who rang us up and brought our food was so nice, I suspected she might have known we were going to review the place. Do restaurant proprietors read this? Does anyone? Anyway, she brought us two free pineapple tamales to try, and they were full of sweet raisin pineapple goodness and had a lovely cornbread texture. We tried eating those first, but liked them so much we saved them for dessert. She asked us about twelve times if we liked our tamales...Which made us like them more, I suspect.
06 January 2009
La Choza Schamoza
What does it mean if your first burrito of the new year makes you want to run screaming back to bed, pull the covers over your head, invite a cat or three to sprawl on your legs, and mull over those midnight kisses and your ridiculous hangover? Could this be a harbinger of death? Or at least an omen of crappy to mediocre things to come?
2008 was a year of lost loves, travel adventures, semi-enthusiastic blogging, unemployment, and (of course) many burritos for Mary and me. So we thought, HEY, POOR NEGLECTED BLOG! WE ARE COMING BACK TO YOU, FULL-STEAM AHEAD! 2009 IS A GREAT YEAR TO GET OUR SHIT TOGETHER AND EAT MORE BURRITOS! (Yes, we think very loudly. And mostly out-loud.)
So we walked a mile and change, giddy with the prospect of beans to warm our souls and avocados to cool our feverish brains. La Choza, we said, over and over. Sounds like choice, doesn't it? Like, we choose you, Burritos on Clark.
The Absolutely Awful:
1. My vegetarian torta came on bread that was vaguely torta shaped, but tasted like a chewy, stale, hamburger bun. And not a good hamburger bum, but like a Wonderbread hamburger bun.
2. My vegetarian torta had, like, three watery beans. And some lettuce, tomato, and drippy sour cream. Oh, and a couple strands of cheese. It was so skimpy, all I could taste was the liquid mush drippies and that damn hamburger bun. Awful. Just awful.
3. The food was so freaking bad I knew we'd stumbled into the worst Burrito on Clark so far. No debating this one.
The Sort-of-okay:
1. There were Frieda Kahlo reproductions on the walls, so we had something to look at. Not the awesome hospital bed ones, but the portraits with the pretzel hair and pet monkey. So that was okay, Unfortunately, many of them were hung crookedly...
2. I think my coffee and torta came to four bucks and change. So it's not like I had to max out my credit card for this fine dining experience.
3. Mary kind of liked our server.
Okay, 2009, the next burrito better be better, or we'll be eating sushi on Broadway instead.
2008 was a year of lost loves, travel adventures, semi-enthusiastic blogging, unemployment, and (of course) many burritos for Mary and me. So we thought, HEY, POOR NEGLECTED BLOG! WE ARE COMING BACK TO YOU, FULL-STEAM AHEAD! 2009 IS A GREAT YEAR TO GET OUR SHIT TOGETHER AND EAT MORE BURRITOS! (Yes, we think very loudly. And mostly out-loud.)
So we walked a mile and change, giddy with the prospect of beans to warm our souls and avocados to cool our feverish brains. La Choza, we said, over and over. Sounds like choice, doesn't it? Like, we choose you, Burritos on Clark.
The Absolutely Awful:
1. My vegetarian torta came on bread that was vaguely torta shaped, but tasted like a chewy, stale, hamburger bun. And not a good hamburger bum, but like a Wonderbread hamburger bun.
2. My vegetarian torta had, like, three watery beans. And some lettuce, tomato, and drippy sour cream. Oh, and a couple strands of cheese. It was so skimpy, all I could taste was the liquid mush drippies and that damn hamburger bun. Awful. Just awful.
3. The food was so freaking bad I knew we'd stumbled into the worst Burrito on Clark so far. No debating this one.
The Sort-of-okay:
1. There were Frieda Kahlo reproductions on the walls, so we had something to look at. Not the awesome hospital bed ones, but the portraits with the pretzel hair and pet monkey. So that was okay, Unfortunately, many of them were hung crookedly...
2. I think my coffee and torta came to four bucks and change. So it's not like I had to max out my credit card for this fine dining experience.
3. Mary kind of liked our server.
Okay, 2009, the next burrito better be better, or we'll be eating sushi on Broadway instead.
10 December 2008
Road Trip Shout-Outs
Mary and I survived Road Trip DC, mostly thanks to the generosity of others and the kindness of strangers. While we can't invite everyone we met to sleep on our floors and futons (at least not all at once), we can pass along the favor by giving a shout out to the diners and restaurants that fed us well on the way.
Steak N Shake in Elkhart, Indiana:
Yeah, good old Steak N Shake. Not much to say about the food, but we were treated so well here. They gave us bibs and crayons and funny paper hats and kept us in coffee. So thanks for the hospitality. It was more than we could have ever hoped for from a chain diner off the turnpike.
Summit Diner in Somerset, Pennsylvania:
Somerset is called the city of signs. Or maybe it's the city of many signs. I forget which. The Summit Diner has a distinct pink and green snake-shaped neon sign rising like a beacon to hungry girls who've been trapped in a car for too long. The food here was classic diner and ridiculously good. Mary said, "This Reuben is better than any Reuben I've had in Chicago!" High praise from Mary.
The best part about the Summit Diner was that they treated us like rock stars. Maybe people don't go on meandering road trips any more, or maybe only boys do that sort of thing, or maybe it's just that nobody does that sort of thing in December. But our waitress was totally into what we were doing and told all the other patrons about us, and the next thing you know, we're laughing and smiling and telling everyone about the Duquesne Incline. Thank you, Summit Diner! We had a fabulous time at your counter.
More shout-outs to follow...
04 December 2008
Road Trip DC!
Mary and I are on a great adventure. It seems as though we're not eating any burritos on this adventure, but it is an adventure nonetheless.
We are driving from Chicago to Washington DC for no reason at all, other than we both have some time to kill and credit limits that don't match our income. Yesterday, we spent several hours in Chicago traffic trying to leave town, which was almost enough adventure for both of us. But we pushed through Indiana and Ohio, stopping at the Toledo Airport Days Inn. While the Toledo Airport Days Inn lacked some of the amenities of a fancier hotel (like an elevator and a nice-smelling room), the sweet coupon Mary found in a rest stop book and the charming night clerk more than made up for it.
Why do road signs on the Ohio Turnpike warn of animal presence? Aren't they everywhere? Quote: Animals Present When Flashing. Though we saw no animals, I could feel them lurking in the shadows and avoiding detection.
Today, we braved the mountains of Pennsylvania. Pennsylvania has some pretty freaky road signs about things like airplanes watching you, cliffs, and falling rocks. We stopped in Pittsburgh to check out the famous Incline. Travelers be warned--what is supposed to be a museum is really some pictures on a wall, a bunch of locked doors, a cable car you can't get on unless you first somehow make it down the incline and let it take you back up, and NO BATHROOM. Should you be clenching your thighs together, the gift shop lady will direct you to the public bathroom at the Pittsburgh mall a mile down the road. But, oh, the postcard-buying opportunities. Our first choice was some church that has 5,000 relics (that's pieces of dead saints, for non-Catholics), but they are not open on Wednesdays. Their recording informed us that Sister Margaret gives tours on Sundays, so hopefully we'll hit it on the way back.
Maryland (Mary-Land, get it?) passed in a blink, and Virginia so far has been nothing more than Mary's awesome friend's apartment and two really cute kittens to play with. But we'll keep you posted. (Get it? Posted. Ha.)
We are driving from Chicago to Washington DC for no reason at all, other than we both have some time to kill and credit limits that don't match our income. Yesterday, we spent several hours in Chicago traffic trying to leave town, which was almost enough adventure for both of us. But we pushed through Indiana and Ohio, stopping at the Toledo Airport Days Inn. While the Toledo Airport Days Inn lacked some of the amenities of a fancier hotel (like an elevator and a nice-smelling room), the sweet coupon Mary found in a rest stop book and the charming night clerk more than made up for it.
Why do road signs on the Ohio Turnpike warn of animal presence? Aren't they everywhere? Quote: Animals Present When Flashing. Though we saw no animals, I could feel them lurking in the shadows and avoiding detection.
Today, we braved the mountains of Pennsylvania. Pennsylvania has some pretty freaky road signs about things like airplanes watching you, cliffs, and falling rocks. We stopped in Pittsburgh to check out the famous Incline. Travelers be warned--what is supposed to be a museum is really some pictures on a wall, a bunch of locked doors, a cable car you can't get on unless you first somehow make it down the incline and let it take you back up, and NO BATHROOM. Should you be clenching your thighs together, the gift shop lady will direct you to the public bathroom at the Pittsburgh mall a mile down the road. But, oh, the postcard-buying opportunities. Our first choice was some church that has 5,000 relics (that's pieces of dead saints, for non-Catholics), but they are not open on Wednesdays. Their recording informed us that Sister Margaret gives tours on Sundays, so hopefully we'll hit it on the way back.
Maryland (Mary-Land, get it?) passed in a blink, and Virginia so far has been nothing more than Mary's awesome friend's apartment and two really cute kittens to play with. But we'll keep you posted. (Get it? Posted. Ha.)
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)