L- Gotta Love That Mexican: La Cabanita

(Tuna, our guest blogger of the day, submits the following as I was enjoying a few days vacation, dining on, what else, tacos!. Photos by Lily White.)

Today we were without our fearless leader, Epi-curious. It was up to Lilly White, Cougar, and me, Tuna, to venture off and find some tasty morsels. I was recently back from a leave from the fine Vallejo foods and was eagerly awaiting a new treat. Today we decided to head off to a recently discovered Mexican restaurant, La Cabanita.

The Process

After figuring out where we were heading and who would be taking the pictures, Lilly White and I headed off to pick up the food. Cougar had phoned in the order and three different orders of chicken enchiladas awaited to be eaten upon our arrival. A short drive through a few stoplights and next to a shady looking discount store, we found our restaurant sitting. Inside we found a few customers and surroundings that resembled any other Mexican restaurant a person enters. Our food was already prepared and waiting, so we grabbed it and left. No communication problems here, everyone spoke English.



The Chow

Before any pictures could be shot, we all had taken to our food like a pack of wolves to a freshly killed deer. I'm not sure how deer tastes to wolves but we all agreed our enchiladas were a meal worth eating. Unfortunately, unlike a freshly killed deer, our enchiladas were rather cold. The phone ahead seemed to have done us a disservice in this situation. We all got a small side salad in white Styrofoam containers which nobody seemed to care for. It was limp and mine was doused in a runny Thousand Island dressing. Cougar got an order of chips which she shared with Lilly White. They both complained of too much salt, only to discover that the salt was in the hot sauce they dipped their chips in.



The Wrap

The food was good,
The food was cold,
We’ll eat there again,
When we’re feeling bold.

The Rating: 3.0 out of 5.0

K is for Kill Me Now and Make it Quick

I know his is supposed to be family blog and all, but I swear to f*ing god that I am never, ever eating at another Chinese restaurant. Ever. At the end of the third week of our dining experiment, I’m frankly ready to be taken out so that I’ll never have to eat another meal again.

The Process:
My dining companions today, Cougar and Lily White, readily agreed on KT Noodle house as the favored choice. Sure, KFC ran a good race, but in a field of two, there has to be one who finishes last. Cougar has been a long time proponent of KT, particularly in winter when the days are long, wet and cold and a bowl of wonton soup is just what the doctor ordered. However, in the middle of spring, the doctor seems to have taken a long anticipated vacation along with the Chinese chef. With enthusiasm waning among the diners, we needed something tasty to keep us going. KT, with its proven track record, seemed a sure thing.

The Chow:



Like Tony Soprano betting on the ponies, we put it all on the Kung Pow Chicken. And like that food lovin’ mob boss, we lost, big time. Fortunately, a loss like this has one reaching only for the Pepto, not a pistol or pile of cash. Upon opening the container, I was nearly blinded by the glare, just like Ralph Meeker in that 50’s atomic noir drama, Kiss Me Deadly. This was the palest, most anemic looking Kung Pow chicken I had ever seen. I suppose when you boil the meat, vegetables and rice that things are bound to come out, well, white. The taste was hot, both in terms of temperature and spiciness. Nothing more: no subtlety, no grossness. The vegetables were, to their credit, crunchy, but flavorless. I speak only for myself in saying that I was wasteful with the food today, throwing out most of what was in my Styrofoam container. I’m burning in hell for a long time, I know. At least I’ll be surrounded by friends.

The Wrap:
Lily White said it best: “I would have thrown it away after a single bite, but I was starving.”

The Rating: 1.75 out of 5.

There are funny things you can do with the letter J, but I don’t know all of them.

Today we venture into Vallejo’s Little Mexico for our homage to the letter J. J, which is mostly silent in Spanish, but when it isn’t, it sounds a bit like H with a bite of Y. For me, one of the most interesting things about following the alphabet through the streets of Vallejo (notice the internal J) is discovering the odd little neighborhoods, the hobo villages, or artifacts of a bygone era. Hula Girl, is terrified and convinced that I’m going to get us shot on these forays into the seedier side of culinary excellence. I’m not so much afraid of getting shot as I am of getting food poisoning. Frankly, as that seems to have happened countless times recently, it seems like nothing to fear.



The Process:
After perusing the Vallejo Directory, I find the J selections meager at best: Jalo’s, JJ’s Fry House, and Jamba Juice. I’ve been told countless times that Jamba Juice is not a lunch, so my chances of rallying the troops for a fruit based lunch seemed nonexistent at best. Putting in the obligatory telephone call to JJ’s, I wasn’t convinced that it would be the best food around, but was fairly certain that the experience would be well worth the increase in cholesterol points. Alas, again, no takers. Both Cougar and Hula Girl gave me looks that as much as said: ‘Remember that frog with the sugar on top? Bring it to me before you force me to eat at JJ’s.’ What can I say? Hula Girl and Cougar are women with good taste and who know what tastes good. Since I’m going into this whole eating adventure with the idea that since I’m not going to get anything good to eat, I might as well get a fairly odd experience. Cougar, who actually wants something good to eat said as much as she’d like to go along, she’d rather chew off and eat her own arm than to have another terrible meal. I can’t say as I blame her. And so, Hula Girl and I found ourselves parking the car in Little Mexico, an L-shaped strip mall with a money sending shop, a faith healing store, a Mexican restaurant, a taqueria and bakery, and a muffler repair shop.



The Chow:
Chicken Enchiladas all the way ‘round. Hula Girl went all the way with the rice and beans combo while I played it safe with just the whole enchiladas. The salsa was killer and the chips were crispy and warm and offered without so much as a question or a demand. There’s nothing remarkable about the food and the best I can say is that it didn’t kill us. I did like the interior of the restaurant, with the picture of Santo Toribio Romo and the sign the declared it to be a family joint and encouraging patrons to watch their alcohol consumption.



The Wrap:
A tortilla ain’t nothin’ but a flat, thin piece of bread: tasty, but lacking something fundamental. A hero it ain’t.

The Rating: 3 out of 5.

What is an H but an I on steroids?

For years, we’ve watched the gradual decline of Smorga Bob’s and its transformation into India Garden without having ever set foot into either establishment. The Jell-O at Smorga Bob’s was the stuff of legend and I do carry the regret that I never gave myself the opportunity to partake of that legend.

The Process:

After a few days off cougaring around the countryside, our own Cougar was eager to be back on the Lunch Parade. I was happy to hand her the baton and invite her to lead us Music Man style to India Garden.

In Japan, buffet style eating is referred to as having a “Viking Meal. ” At the India Garden, I imagine the style is well more Mogul Mix than anything else. Cougar seemed right at home greeting the Buddha that sat guarding the entryway. Once inside, the friendly waiter, maitre’d, cashier, owner, and no doubt cook, too, handed us our to go trays to fill at the buffet. No fewer than 25 different dishes and tastes await the discriminating and not so discriminating diner. Likely your one big regret is that you have but a single serving to go container that you can fill a single time. Choose wisely! You wouldn’t regret taking the food to go, however. The large banquet room was portioned off by a screen divider to just the length of the buffet tables, leaving room for 15 or so tables. During our visit, there were three solitary diners, each eating alone with a large bottle of Lexapro in front of them, replacing the salt and pepper shakers.

The Chow:


The buffet is an eating style, that while adopted by many cultures, remains a uniquely American style of eating in its current incarnation. Buffet has replaced the earlier, coarser, “all you can eat” appellation. As well it should since you shouldn’t really eat all that much anyway, Fatass. Cougar and I were judicious and prudent in our selections and in our lunchtime dining, leaving enough behind for another meal. I liked the vegetable curry and the Chicken Tikka Masala, while Cougar liked the Channa Dal. The lamb curry was not a hit in the slightest. Tough, gamey and strong flavored would be putting it kindly.



The Wrap:
What happens in the buffet should stay in the buffet. That goes double for what’s cooked in the buffet.

The Rating: 3.75 out of 5.

G -- Say Goodnight, Gracie's

Gracie’s has been a Vallejo institution for many years and is, by many accounts, the most revered of the Bar B Que restaurants ‘round town. Fortunately for all concerned, Vallejo is a big enough town to accommodate barbecue lovers of all persuasions.

The Process:
Today Hula Girl takes the lead, scours the phone directory and narrows out selection to three candidates: Georgina’s, Gracie’s or Goombah’s. No one wanted a bad meal just for the sake of art so Gracie’s it had to be. I do think that a good meal can be had at Georgina’s, though it’s a bit predictable and white bread. Goombah’s, on the other hand, is a bit spotty in the food and hygiene departments, but it would make for a good story, that’s for sure. Tuna has heard of the Gracie’s legend and is eager to taste for himself, though he has been a big, big D’s fan from his first taste.

The Chow:



Chicken, ribs, beef brisket all have a strong presence on the menu. I have to say that I did like Gracie’s quite a bit better when it was located in a mobile trailer in a parking lot on the other side of town. Good, simple food in a simple setting. The new location in a converted 1930’s service station is spiffy, new, with a nod to Vallejo’s history, but there’s no funk here. With a bar b que place, I believe you want some funk, not only do you want it, but the food requires it. That said, the food was good, solid and consistent, with a smoky taste. The sauce is served separately. It has a bit of a tang, but is not overwhelmingly hot or spicy, but it is flavorful. Tuna ordered the combo platter, chicken and brisket and had he paused long enough to utter a word or two, I’d reproduce his comments here, but he didn’t. The general consensus, save for this writer, was that the sides were stellar, far and away surpassing the sides at other local establishments which, for the sake of neutrality, will remain nameless here.



The Wrap:
There are contenders and there are contendas. Gracie’s always finishes the race with, well, grace. Say goodnight, Gracie. Goodnight, Gracie.
The Rating: 4 out of 5.

Front Boy !! Pizzas from the Front Room

Today the tradewinds of the Mare Island straights call the diners to The Front Room, the Vallejo outlet of the San Francisco based pizza and beer joint.

The Process:
A perusal through the Vallejo phone directory yielded just one other F restaurant, an Italian joint open only for dinner. Immediately upon hearing we were to dine at the Front Room, Cougar bailed out with her heartfelt apologies. And, to her eternal credit, she did attempt to work this thing phonetically, saying that we should eat something from Pho #2. C’mon, be true to your alphabet,” Tuna called out. But when Cougar has her lunch palate set on something (or set against something), there’s really no dissuading her. Both Cougar and Mz. Moon said that they believed the Front Room was a front organization for a group originating in the Philippine Islands. I wouldn’t know about that.

The Front Room faxed us a menu and we were off. Pizza, sandwiches, salads and grilled fare were the stars of this menu. I was tempted by the club sandwich, but in the end decided that if we were to be in Rome by way of Manila, the pancit pizza would surely be the way to go. Hula Girl was attending a mandatory meeting of some sort, most likely involving the appropriateness of the grass skirt as professional attire, and thus would not be joining us today.

The Chow:
The Front Room experience underscores an important rule in dining: If there are more windows than waitstaff, bring the Pepto-Bismol. The view inside the Front Room is gorgeous. Floor to ceiling window run end to end give in house diners an unparalleled view of Mare Island. The owner of the establishment looks out the windows while seated at a small table with a money box. He listens intently to what goes on in his kitchen. Would that it were the other way around. Tuna ordered the “Sweet and Juicy” pizza—pineapple and mushrooms. I opted for the cheese and fresh tomato. Tuna raved about his meal, going on and on and on about how this was one of the best pizzas he had ever had. I looked at my sorry, soggy, undercooked pile of fat and carbs and wondered just what it was that I’ve been missing in life.



My experience of the food from the Front Room brought back memories from my earliest days as a restaurant critic while a student at Berkeley. I recall wanting to write a book entitled “Never Eat There.” For me, the Front Room would have a place in that book’s hall of fame.

The Wrap:
de gustibus non est disputandum—lit. There is not to be a discussion regarding tastes.

The Rating: 3 out of 5.

El Emperador is in the House

Today we visit El Emperador, Spanish for The Emperor. I’m assuming they’re referring to Emperor Maximilian, and not Emperor Norton or the Emperor of Ice Cream or any of the other famous monarchs. Or, given Maximilian von Hapsburg’s untimely end at the hand of Benito Juarez, the Emperor in question might be Maximilian I, the Holy Roman Emperor, another ill fated Hapsburg. No matter, on the next visit, I’ll make inquiries and fill you in on the rest of the story.

The Process:
The troops rallied a bit today at the same time that they jumped ship like lemmings. I can’t say they all jumped ship, nor can I say that those who did jump didn’t have a defensible position…Hell, maybe this thing isn’t even a ship. In any event, the letter E was calling, Tuna heard the call and together we answered it, brave lunchtime warriors that we are. The pre-visit telephone call is becoming obligatory, I’m coming to believe, especially when you don’t have a menu at hand.

The restaurant itself is located on the Southwest Bank of Interstate 80, on Benicia Road, a broad boulevard that takes you from the Vallejo Shores to Midtown Benicia in the blink of an eye. Plenty of free curbside parking is available and the restaurant has a freelance greeter who works for tips. For the low price of a single dollar, he complimented us on our good taste in shirts offered to guard the car, posed for a picture, and offered to take one of us. And they say the American Service Industry is dead.


The Chow:


Sometimes it’s best to play it safe, and the vegetarian burrito is always a safe bet. Tuna beat me to it, so I had to go out on a limb and order the tacos, three huge meat tacos with fresh green salsa. I couldn’t finish, partly due to size and partly due to getting creeped out by eating all that meat. I’d forego the carne asada and the carnitas next time and stick with the shredded white meat chicken…Delicious. The tube o’ food burrito was heavy on the cheese and rice. The vegetables were hidden somewhere in the center at just about the place where the appetite stopped.


The Wrap:
We made it back alive ! Free decals for your car ! A great pound per peso ratio…good if you’ve fallen on hard times, but the taste per peso ratio is still pretty low.

The Rating: 2.5 out of 5.