It’s really not fair to take on the HR’s of another region as that’s bound to be rife with disagreements, stepping on toes and taste buds unique to an area. And who am I to argue with someones subjective sense of taste, even if it is wretchedly wrong? But when a restaurant dares to declare they serve “comida chingona”, you know that’s a fucking challenge! Caile cabrones, give me a plate of your finest Huevos Rancheros!
Despite the sticker shock of $7.95 for the plate, and the lucha libre motif (another fallen victim to the kitsch wars) the place seemed decent enough, they even start you off with some chips…
…with whole beans on top! That’s some crazy, forward-thinking Arizonians cuz it was quite a nice starter. Chomping away and glancing around, I spotted the strangest sight I’ve ever seen in a Mexican restaurant: the cooks all appeared to be Gabachos. Mind you, this is Tucson, not Glasgow or London. It was stunning proof that any lingering issues in this country’s terrible history of race relations had all been squashed, in this here little eatery. Forward thinking, indeed. And all of a sudden, I get this…
Holy Shit! They’re playing a joke, right? Maybe they’re angry that the tables are turned and they’re serving me? Maybe there’s some secret code I’m not getting? Nah, I’m sure it’s nothing like that, I convince myself, this must just be the way things are around these parts. Let me break this picture down for you:
On a cheap paper plate lined with that restaurant paper, they’ve placed a tostada (it’s in there!) and smothered it in watery whole beans, added a layer of squash and spinach, topped that with some veggie soy-chorizo, melted some queso Oaxaca over that, splashed in a tart sort-of lemony sauce, (whew, let me take a quick breather – vamos!) finally put the requisite fried eggs, and garnished the whole contraption with some parsley; what a nice delicate touch! Eating isn’t about rushing thru a mound of food, you’re supposed to take time and enjoy the various elements: this seems more apt for a trough, dispense with the fork and shove your face in it! They should’ve just wrapped the whole thing in a flour tortilla and invented the HR burrito! (Note to self: invent the HR burrito) Saddest of all, the individual items in this plate were actually tasty. The beans nice and fresh, the queso flavorful, eggs cooked just right, calabacitas were okay. (Though I should note, no spicy red sauce, no fried tortilla, and what’s with the parsley?) But when you add too many good things to a single tostada, all you get is a pile of edible goop, a bit of moderation (or a proper plate for that matter) in this dish would be an improvement. It’s a bitch trying to cut through that soggy tostada with plastic utensils on a sheet of paper, que mensos! Y que lastima.
So a solid round of boo, hisses go out to Martin’s Comida Chingona and another one to me for carelessly tasting the waters in towns down yonder, I should stick to what I know. What I do know is this: si comes comida chingona, te chingas!
Martins Comida Casera 557 N. 4th Ave Tucson, AZ 520.884.7909
PS. I just started posting over at blogging.la where I plan to put stuff related to LA. If you want an even worse taste than HR’s made for maranos, subscribe to my feed!
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Congrats on the MetroBlogging gig.
I literally gasped.
I must say, I’m happy you’re also at b.la.
damn!!! bro, te aventaste with the restauran review, i don’t want no cowboy eggs. on paper!!!
I don’t event like eating “dry” food like a sandwich on a paper plate in a restaraunt. What the hell is the paper plate and wax paper about. That is going to make a sloopy mess. I guess you ate the McDonalds version of huevos ranchers on paper.
such a great read, this review, and i’d better start reading blogging l.a. more often now. congrats.
Toooooos!
I went to school there but never ate at that spot. Guess I didn’t miss much.
Its 8:15pm on Friday, what am I doing still in the lab? I have this urge to spill the bitter ink of today’s abuse by the owner of Martins “comida chingona†(555N. 4th Ave, Tucson), which I assumed it is Martin Fuentes. Let me tell you my dear lector that I’m Mexican and that is why I feel this restaurant should not represent our cuisine.
Around lunchtime today, I took a break from writing my dissertation and went to 4th Avenue. I decided to take a look inside Martins (probably because “comida chingona†means “darn good foodâ€. I’ve heard about it, and when I realized it was Mexican food, I decided to enter. It was a cozy little restaurant with square tables and a counter that divided the kitchen from the tables with chairs (customer’s area). I was very hungry, and the waiter was very kind to offer me a menu. He was busy and I was standing looking at the menu. It was my first time in that place so I did not know if I should wait for someone to tell me where to sit, or if I could just go sit. I had a great impression so far. But then, while looking at the menu (nothing impressive, other than the overpriced bean tostada at $5.75 which pulled a smile out of my face because those better be beans grown in the Moon to be that expensive) a pile of (flour? corn? I couldn’t tell) tortillas caught my eye. I don’t know if you have been in an authentic Mexican restaurant in Tucson but I’ve been in quite some, and it is not unheard of that you can actually buy handmade flour tortillas there). So –innocent me- I thought those tortillas in packages, inside plastic bags were for sale. Out of curiosity I approached that table and when I was about to touch one of those tortilla bags the cook (which I did not know is also the owner) yelled at me: “No touching my tortillas!!!†like if he was yelling at a dog taking a crap on his leather shoes… he did not say: “I’ll be with you in a minuteâ€, or “someone will take your order shortlyâ€, or “please sit wherever you please†nothing except the reprimand… so I did not say anything, I turned around and went to eat at Quetzal (which is great!), a restaurant just down 4th avenue. Well, while having lunch I was also talking to my husband over the phone and told him about the “yell to your dog†incident and he encouraged me to go back and let them know my feelings. I did not want to bother, but at the end I decided to give them another chance and let them know that they “hurt my feelings†and that I was a customer who was willing to try their food some other time (if things had gone different).
So I went back and outside it was the cook(the owner) who yelled at me having a smoke with a friend. So I went inside (it was pretty empty, go wonder! Only one table with people in the other room) and waited for about 3 minutes.
Finally Martin finished his cigarette and came inside.
Martin: “You wanna eat here?â€
Me: “No, thank you I already had lunch. Are you the one that scolded me for touching the tortillas?†(after that comment he caught my Mexican accent so he answered in Spanish… almost perfect Spanish except for some bad words?…) so after this I will translate what he said to English so everybody can get a grasp of the lowlife person running that place.
Martin: “Yes, I hate it when people touch the tortillas and make them dirty with their filthy hands.†(he kept raising his voice from loud to very loud throughout the sentence)
Me: “Excuse me? Those tortillas were not in your kitchen, they were on a table, and I thought they were for sale. And please don’t yell at me.â€
Martin: “I’m not yelling.â€
Me: “Yes you are, I am a customer, and you are not only going to loose me as one, but also my lab group, which I was going to bring if I liked the food today.†(Obviously he did not take Restaurant Management 101.)
Martin: “You can shovel you lab group up in your ass. Get the fuck out of my building. This is my building, get the fuck out!â€
Me: “I’m leaving, you don’t need to be an asshole.â€
Martin: “Get the fuck out, fucking fat bitch, native-indian face.â€
Me: “Take it easy, you are not that slim yourself.†(I know this was extra, but I was really holding it in by now)
Martin: “Shut the fuck up!, fucking bitch, I may not be slim but I’m very handsome, not like you!†(yelling at me, now across the street while I was leaving in my car)
Well, I left. I still don’t understand why, Martin, having Mexican origin could have been that rude to me. Sometimes it saddens me to encounter those situations. Please don’t think we are all the same.
I think this blog might have missed the original point of the restaurant.
Now, this is not meant to be a personal attack on the sophistication of the writer’s palate, but they’ve gone ahead and personally attacked the place I feel is a second home to me, so i’m going to go ahead and defend it.
While im sure your Nana or your Tia or your Ama made you the best Huevos Rancheros around, I know mine did, this is a dish that is open to interpretation, and ours is Vegetarian-friendly street-food.
To begin my defense im going to have to point out the composition of Huevos Rancheros, traditionally, is a sloppy dish. You pointed out that our plate was missing spicy red sauce, flour tortillas… I hate to point it out to you but these two items paired with the traditional over easy egg doesn’t exactly make for a clean dish. It’s messy food. So if you’re mad that the food is messy, then I can’t really help you there.
Id like to point out that in your blog you seem rather confused as to how you want to paint the food. I don’t know if that’s due to the mechanics of your writing style, or maybe our concept got you a little confused. You said “Saddest of all, the individual items in this plate were actually tasty.”
Pardon my confusion, but Im pretty sure that’s the point – good tasting food.
So is it that you’re put-off by our presentation?
Why don’t you take the nopal off your head for a second and don’t be so offended at the plate, first of all. Like I said, its street food, and the place was designed for efficiency [remember, street food.] We’re basically a really nice taco-stand. You come in, you get your food rather quickly, you eat it, and you go. Pretty simple. Hence the simplicity of the plates. Oh! and since you’re so concerned about them, and its been a while since this post was originally published… we’ve moved on from styrofoam to a biodegradable plate. Now we’re Green-friendly, gringo!
Finally, im going to correct your mistaken pejorative and tell you, no, we’re not all Gabachos. We’re all proud Mexicans. However, I will thank you for the compliment of forward thinking, we do strive for that.
By the way, its just as much of a bitch cutting through your soggy writing, ese.