In Dallas, I got a real dose of Tex-Mex. The term had floated into my peripheral scope before, but I hadn’t fully appreciated its origins until M pointedly remarked on it.
Mi Cocina was packed when we arrived on a Thursday night and without a reservation, we were relegated to a table at the back of the restaurant near the kitchen.
Of course, we couldn’t go past the infamous frozen margaritas which are one of the reasons for their overwhelming popularity and one long gulp later, I too was a fan! They were sweet and strong and cold and perfect for combating the intense waves of pulsating heat.
Just as one might be served bread and butter at another restaurant, it seemed that chips and salsa were the norm here. We also got a serve of guacamole to accompany ours, and without any need to exaggerate, this version was probably one of the best I have had.
M was pretty quick to picked his main entrée, whilst it took a bit longer for me to commit. After further deliberations, I chose the ceviche and a soup. My soup was a surprising blend of chicken and vegies and beans and cheese and slivers of taco chips and ultimately quite delicious. On the other hand, the ceviche used prawns and whilst it retained the freshness commonly associated with such a dish, the rawness of the dish was lost and I didn’t enjoy it as much as I had hoped.
M’s plate arrived as a neat pile of cheese greasy fatty mess and we messed up the plate some more. I could taste the different ingredients in each of the rolls, but I could not distinguish nor identify the type of meat, beans, salad, cheese or sauce used – not that such details really mattered, because each mouthful was excruciatingly satisfying.
Despite our most valiant efforts, we couldn’t finish everything, and our waiter packed away a decent amount of food for us to take with us. The level of service offered was slightly hurried, but understandable given how busy the place was. Besides, I was more than happy to be left alone with M and our food for the better part of the evening.