Sigh.

Mar. 7th, 2010 03:40 pm
yaramaz: (Children of the rice)
[personal profile] yaramaz
 So we dined at the Mexican ambassador's tear-saturated new favourite restaurant over on Yongjia Lu, Mi Tierra, which has now been tentatively (mentally, if not in signage) relabelled Mi Gran Desilusion (accent aigu on the O).  We were there for Day XX of their soft opening, which seems to be a Shanghai trend, wherein a restaurant or club isn't ready for the grand opening (kinks, bugs and whatnot) but they want to be, well, open. Now. Even when they aren't ready for opening day critics, because of kinks and bugs and whatnot.  We went because the ambassador cried over the beans and noted so in print.  

I can tell you that the margaritas were pretty decent, as were the churros (home made gobs of dulce de leche and dark thick dippy chocolate and a nice mug of creamy chocolatey coffee to dunk in). The carnitas were appalling (iceberg lettuce! and sour cream! stale store-bought flour tortillas! and gobs of chunks of not crispified fat!) and the roasted serrano chile/pollo con chorizo tacos were generally meh, topped with a side of really meh red and green salsas (no lucid dreams to follow, maalesef). If they were in El Df, they'd hang their heads in shame. Shame, I tell you! Shame with incorporated floggings and trips out to the countryside to be re-educated. I had half a mind to march into the kitchen to give the cook (a small, round Mexican woman who either is delusional about her country's cooking or who thinks things need to be seriously dumbed down for Shanghai- the latter being most likely) a thorough talking to. And a primer in how to grill peppers and tomatillos and whatnot before pureeing so that they don't taste like a thin, bland Chef Boy-Ar-Dee Mexi Fiesta-Sauce! (TM). The manager saw my look of panic when I tasted the aforementioned Fiesta Sauce! (TM) and offered to get me a real, actually spicy one. When it didn't come after my first carnita, he came by again to promise it, fer sure.  Finally, halfway through my third and final tortilla-based foodstuff, he panickingly brought it out from the kitchen himself (our waiter had apparently forgotten it or thought that the original was good enough). It was slightly better.  

Did I mention that the margaritas were good? As were the churros?  And that the manager gave me a long stemmed red rose when we left? 

When I woke up this morning with stomach cramps and nausea, I screamed bloody murder at my faulty carnitas. However, now that my Sunday malaise has expanded to include fever, chills, full-on achiness, I'm guessing it's a flu. Sigh. 

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