By David Minsky
By Jen Mangham
By Bill Wisser
By Laine Doss
By Bill Wisser
By Dana De Greff
By Laine Doss
By Zachary Fagenson
So I propose we set up test kitchens every hundred miles along the U.S.-Mexico border, to be used exclusively by those with culinary experience who wish to enter the country. Mexican teachers, doctors, lawyers, farmers, and pharmacists will still apply in the usual manner while the kitchen stations could serve as chefs-only SunPass lanes on the road to citizenship. Anyone wishing to take part in the program will stop at the designated area nearest his or her home, and if he or she is able to whip up an impeccable chimichanga, or some other specialty, in front of a small panel of food-savvy tasters, whoosh welcome to America and here are your papers. Sure there are expenses and logistics to be ironed out, but government plans call for $39 million to be spent for every one mile of fencing along the border. I'm pretty certain you can build a decent test kitchen for a lot less.
Those who don't pass can return home and work in a restaurant to upgrade their abilities, and then try again in a year, and a year after that, for as long as it takes. The extra culinary training will only help their future chef endeavors.
9513 S. Dixie Highway
Miami, FL 33156-2802
Region: Coral Gables/South Miami
To get to Mexico Mio, a new Pinecrest venture, head down South Dixie Highway to SW 95th Street and hook a left into the strip mall. The eatery's twenty wooden tables are set atop tile floors and surrounded by earth-tone walls adorned with bright artwork. An able and affable waitstaff is quick to carry salsa and chips to the table, which generally spur diners to order beverages most notably wine-based margaritas and beers from a wide array of Mexican imports.
A typical bill of tacos, tostadas, tamales, burritos, flautas, enchiladas, and chimichangas are available as main courses or à la carte items, but the menu is not your common mumbo-jumbo of combo plates. In fact there's only one, the "Mexico Mio Platter," a starter selection containing a fresh beef taco; crisp chicken flauta; no-frills quesadilla (a pale tortilla with a thin line of melted cheese); regrettably dry pork tamal; and queso fundido, which is a bowl of melted cheese enlivened by sautéed tomatoes, onions, and peppers. Sour cream and guacamole are offered, too, the latter not the pastel green of fresh, ripe avocados but the darker hue of ... something other than fresh, ripe avocados.
The restaurant's self-proclaimed signature dish arrived in a large, black lava rock bowl called a molcajete, which contained strips of beef simmered in a heartily seasoned, if overly salty, tomato-guajillo sauce. The red guajillo pepper is similar to chipotle in its medium-hot, slightly tart taste but offers a less-pronounced smokiness. A small, thin grilled cactus paddle protruded from the side of the molcajete, as did a thumb-size rectangle of grilled Oaxaca-style string cheese and a couple of limply cooked scallions. Parsimonious portions of yellow rice and refried beans accompany this and most other entrées; the former was too dry, the latter too wet. Choice of flour or corn tortillas are offered, too, but $21.95 is a bit much for what amounted to a small portion of meat in sauce. Most main courses run from $9 to $12.
I forgot to add one detail about my proposed immigration plan: Upon entering America, each successful participant will be handed a pamphlet describing truth-in-menu laws. This way we can avoid the sort of unfortunate misrepresentations that permeate Mexico Mio's bill of fare. Shrimp cocktail, for instance, comprised eight plump crustaceans clinging to a glass a generous amount for $10 but the shellfish were not "marinated" as advertised, simply boiled and served with the sort of sugar-laden, cornstarch-gloppy salsa one usually associates with cheap bottled brands. The "variety of fresh fish" in a main course ceviche was tilapia, small cubes of which were ringed by shredded lettuce, diced tomatoes, and avocado (not listed on the menu, but a nice, ripe surprise). The ingredients practically floated in the plates' deep pool of lime-juice/cilantro marinade.
I will not quibble with the "giant" poblano pepper of chile relleno not being particularly large, nor will any complaints be registered regarding the fluffy battered exterior and fulsome flavor of shredded beef within. However, as for what is described as "delicious ranchero sauce," better to leave the adjective-writing to those who get paid to look them up in a thesaurus. I would define the tomato-based sauce as wait a second fair to middling.
Much to our relief, there was no curry involved in the enchilada swathed in "curry molé sauce." The term is presumably meant to imply that molé, like curry, is composed of a mix of spices. The sauce was heavy on the bitter chocolate and sweetness, but the shreds of chicken rolled within the corn tortilla were tender and moist, as if just torn from a freshly roasted bird.