Hey guys. The taco jerk is back! Did you miss me?

I had high hopes for La Esquina. I mean, this is the place that is supposed to be the staple of Manhattan good Mexican, right? Right?

Last night was my second time visiting La Esquina, the BK edition on Wythe and North 3^rd in Williamsburg. The first time I went there with my good foodie friend, we threw down and ate EVERYTHING except the chicken tacos. And we debated. He liked it ok—me, as I’m sure you know, I am a tougher sell. But hey, I have been wrong before…hardly ever, but still, wrong before.

So we went again. We got to La Esquina at sunset. And the location is gorgeous for a nice spring day. Soft-colored wood tables, great outdoor space, and if you are stuck indoors it’s still super cute. Like a Mexican kitsch diner. And it has Frida Kahlo tequila! I mean, damn. This place has a voice. But would the food sing as loud as the walls?

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We ordered a copious amount of chicken tacos, fish tacos and cochinita pibil. And I was feeling under the weather, so I went semi-rogue and ordered tortilla soup, aka deconstructed taco broth. We ordered some well-made, real-lime-juice happy hour margaritas (so far so good, Esquina) and we waited for our tacofest. The waiter was very accommodating and gave us chips and salsa in a little salsa container that we could keep (think artisanal salsa jar). This would be rad, if the salsa were good. But too bad it wasn’t. It wasn’t bad either. It was just like, meh. Meh. Not too seasoned, not too spicy, but not an abomination. I guess what I’m saying is that just like La Esquina’s food overall, the idea was better than the product.

Which brings me to the tacos. Ah, the tacos. The tacos were bad. I mean, like not terrible, but for $14 for 2, yes, pretty damn terrible. The tortilla was stiff and certainly did not taste homemade. If it was homemade, it had been sitting out forever. This, my friends, is my biggest taqueria pet peeve. If you are going to be a Mexican joint, and especially if you claim to be a high-end Mexican joint, make your own tortillas for God’s sake. It is not that hard. And we’re not done yet. The cochinita pibil committed the horrendous sin of being sweet instead of savory. It’s like when you eat bad pasta sauce and instead of seasoning it correctly people put brown sugar in it. Sugar is NOT the be-all-end-all of most things, people. Really. The cochinita had cabbage in it (um, WTF, cabbage? Really?) and the pickled onions were bland. How how HOW do you bland up something pickled is beyond me, but La Esquina managed to do it.  Not only that, but it was not as tender as cochinita should be. Remember that this is supposed to be super slow-cooked pork, people. And it did not deliver.

http://www.brownstoner.com/blog/2011/09/open-and-shut-26/

The tortilla soup was also pretty bad. It was greasy and heavy and did not have nearly enough onion, it had no cheese and it had waaaay too much chicken. Not to mention it had no cilantro at all. I mean, spare me. This place was kind of the epitome of Williamsburg taco hype. Great scene, terrible food, really overpriced.

I will say one thing in La Esquina’s favor: the fish tacos were pretty damn good (or rather, the fish because the tortilla was still the same stiff piece of crap I had before). So if your hip friends insist on you going there, get the fish tacos and skip everything else. I will say that the table next to us ordered other things, and their fried chicken looked good—so who knows. Maybe La Esquina is better at not-Mexican than they are at Mexican.

Well, today’s post was going to be dedicated to the awesome event that was supposed to be—the “Great” Googa Mooga Food/Music Festival in Prospect Park this past weekend. For reasons that you may have already heard about, most likely in the form of some overly entitled sounding tweets from angry festival-goers, the organizers of the event really botched some of the basics. A large number of vendors ran out of food relatively early in the day; the electronic payment systems for beer and wine didn’t work; and some bartenders, by the late afternoon, appeared to have consumed more of their product than they sold.

I’m not going to re-hash all of the negatives in this post, however, since they are covered pretty well elsewhere. And also here.

The real value of the GoogaMooga festival, and what makes me believe that it will be back next year, is the concept. Food culture is the new music culture. Celebrity chefs are rock stars and, in this harsh economic climate, people are still willing to dish out some serious ducats for seriously good food. By reimagining the standard summertime music festival as one focused primarily on food but complimented by music, as opposed to the other way around, the organizers may just have hit upon something worthwhile.

Does the overall positive concept of the festival make up for its sloppy execution? No way. Since I arrived later in the afternoon when a number of vendors were out of food, and was unwilling to wait in line for an hour for a bite to eat, I actually didn’t get to taste a single thing while I was there. I was definitely not pleased.

After the food ran out...

Nevertheless, I think part of the reason that people were so outraged by the logistical issues surrounding the festival is the fact that food is something that a lot of people are passionate about. 40,000 people were looking forward to parting with some (and possibly a lot) more of their hard-earned money if the vendors at the event weren’t so overwhelmed, understaffed, under-stocked, etc. Given the right execution, the Great Mediocre-but-Hopefully-Improving GoogaMooga, or something very similar, could be back in a big way for many years to come.

Here’s to hoping that that is the case.

Hecho en Dumbo
354 Bowery
New York, NY 10012

Photo: Robin Kenton / Flickr

Pssst…remember me? I’m that jerk that ruined your chances of enjoying any meal at Mesa Coyoacán. I’m that person that told you that the carnitas in Vamos Al Tequila were an affront to all carnitas everywhere (and an attack to one is an attack to all). I am also the one that made fun of your pansy ass for liking shi-shi Mexican. And I am here to say something that’s very hard for me.

Ready? Here it goes:

I was wrong. There IS indeed such a thing as good shi-shi Mexican in New York. And although it shames me even more to admit it, it doesn’t even have to be made in Brooklyn.

But it DOES have to come from the OTHER greatest city in the world: DF. May I present to all of your palates Hecho En Dumbo. Don’t let the name fool you: Hecho en Dumbo is no longer made in Dumbo—now it has re-colonized the haute cuisine world of the East Village on Bowery, and my stomach couldn’t be happier. I’ve eaten at Hecho back in the day when its home was the Bowery of the BK (aka Dumbo) and I wanted to go back because I wondered if I was too glamored and desperate—a combination of being a young lady in NYC charmed by the cobblestone glory of the Dumbo lofts, the part of Brooklyn with its gallantly rich and somewhat sparkly underbelly—and a combination of being just a Central American girl dying for a good tortilla in a city where there is none. Would Hecho still hold a candle to my favorite La Superior? Would I find out that not all good Mexican food is created equal?

And I’m not saying that it is—La Superior is very much a cantina, small plates, loud atmosphere, bright colors and all. And Hecho is a place to go to on a date, with its soft lighting, subtle older mismatching wood furniture and yes, square plates. After all, this place is born out of the haute cuisine world of Mexico City, aka el DF, Chilangolandia, el Defecado, and whatever else you may want to call it. Call it what you will though—DF is a foodie’s paradise. And Hecho’s chef, Danny Mena, knows this. He also knows how to make a good everything.

OK, so full disclosure—I did not eat everything on the menu. Not this time. BUT I did try 4 things in two visits: molletes, queso fundido, saltaditas de jaiba and cochinita pibil. Oh, and guacamole, but that’s like a condiment, right? Doesn’t count? Also, since we are being all honest and such, you should know that these pictures are from the internet because the awesome mood lighting was so moody that my weak camera’s knees quaked like a schoolgirl waiting for her prom date and the pictures I took did not even turn out half decent.

OK so meal the first: dinner. Let me just start off by saying that I have NO complaints. I will let you take a moment to let that sink in.

The guac, which looked pretty mediocre, ended up being perfect. Perfect texture, perfect seasonings, perfect everything.  Then came the saltaditas de jaiba (see above). And OMG. These were a bundle of sweet crabmeat on a perfect thick sort of arepa-like patty with chopped cilantro and a slice of avocado. They had the perfect amount of finishing salt and I don’t know how they did this, but the arepita did not get soggy. The presentation was sublime—a beautiful color combo all perfectly arranged in a square plate.  Pair that with the lime on the side? I mean, I could go on all day.

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Then came the three gorgeous cochinita pibil sopes, which I can only describe as slices of pig heaven.  On a bed of perfect refried beans. And topped with succulently seasoned pickled red onions. All atop a homemade tiny tortilla. Why this staple is so not a staple in most Mexican joints is beyond me.  This is the go-to, amigos. If you are pork eater, please eat the cochinita pibil.

Photograph: Nikki Goldstein

Now, meal the second: brunch. Brunch is a meal best served hung over. And molletes are your go-to rescue ships. Bread, refried beans, cheese and salsa rescue ships. Molletes should be served all the time. They are basically a Mexican open-faced sandwich on crusty, delicious bread called bolillo. You can drizzle the top with crema, aka Mexican crackcreme. Just hook it to my veins.

http://www.glenwoodnyc.com/manhattan-living/hecho-en-dumbo-mexican-food/

Then I also had queso fundido. The queso fundido is the best cheese idea since fondue. Creamy Mexican cheese with chorizo and a crusty top from being oven-baked served to you with homemade, warm flour tortillas that are just the right amount of chewy.  And it’s a great idea—if these were corn, the flavor combination would be too intense.  Think of it as Mexican mac and cheese minus the mac (face it, the mac is merely a vehicle for cheese). See, that’s the thing—even at brunch this place is both satisfying and romantic—and like all good things, just the right amount of cheesy. Hecho En Dumbo has to be what jalapeño dreams are made of.

Cosenza’s Fish Market
2354 Arthur Ave
Bronx, NY 10458

It has become a sad fact that fish mongers are usually of questionable quality and slippery service. Their product spoils quickly and needs to be sold ASAP. The naturally precarious state of their business has produced some real unsavory depictions of what a Fish Market should look, smell, and taste like.

Cosenza’s Fish Market, however, is a wonderful place. Their fish is incredibly fresh and well-priced and whatever they don’t have at the moment, they’ll find it for you and have it delivered as soon as they can.

Tasting the product your fishmonger sells is extremely important. While smell is a dead giveaway, the true quality of the fish is determined by the taste. You can quite literally taste anything in Consenza’s.  In fact, they encourage it.

Aside from the assortment of aquatic nourishment available for purchase, there is one thing you can do at Cosenza’s that no brass-buttoned, blue-coated Bronx patrolman with bust you for: sling some Kumamoto Oysters and littleneck Clams on the sidewalk while enjoying a brown-bagged Budweiser.

Consenza’s has an outdoor, sidewalk raw-bar that is my favorite raw bar in New York City. Clams and Oysters, with the occasional shrimp cocktail are the menu. Their bivalve offerings vary depending on the availability of East and West Coast harvests, but both coasts are always represented. Clams are of the littleneck and cherrystone varieties, and if you’re lucky, sometimes the Hispanic dudes shucking your product will offer you some Quahog ceviche that was made without the owner’s permission.

This all takes place on a 15 ft stretch of walkway in the middle of the best Italian food-haven in New York City (see my previous post). It may seem a bit bizarre, but this is a fish market buttressed by bakeries and butchers. This is where you go to buy your product if the advent of the supermarket has passed you by, or if you’re old school enough to believe that bakers and butchers shouldn’t share the same retail space.  If you go to Cosenza’s and grab a dozen, don’t be surprised if someone disrupts you mid-slurp by bumping you with their grocery bags. You’re on the sidewalk, after all. . .

Essentially, if you like drinking beer and eating clams and oysters on the half-shell, go to Arthur Avenue. You don’t even need the beer, but the “civil compromise” of the brown bag has been reached so you and I don’t have to pay a bartender or a restaurant for something we can crack and serve ourselves. And the fish, especially the shellfish, is damn good.