Thursday, September 15, 2011.
Inferior Grill. Drew Brees And Me. Pechuga!
It's Daddy-Daughter Night. When I called Mary Leigh to ask about the plans, she said she really had too much work to do. When this came up later in the evening, she said that her course load is a bit too heavy. By my calculation, she's taking eighteen credit hours, which does seem excessive. By going to dinner instead of working, she took the first step toward dropping a course a few days later.
I suggested Superior Grill. She likes the place, but the first time we tried it no parking was to be found anywhere within three blocks. It's always like that there, along with a waiting list for tables. But we are still in the September Slump, whose severity is such that I parked right across the street and we were seated immediately.
Chips and salsa were good. The guacamole was less than brilliant but fresh and ripe, which is all I ever expect. Seemed to me we had room for at least some queso dip. I haven't been here in awhile, and thought I'd check as much food as I reasonably could.) The queso came out sloshy and later congealed. We knew that because half of the serving was about all we could stand.
Mary Leigh's entree was an oddity. "Flau-tacos" were exactly what they sound like: grilled flour tortillas rolled up like flutes around a shredded beef taco filling. Two of these were on the plate; she didn't find it interesting enough to eat more than half of the first one.
What I had was better, but at $24 it had to be: fajitas steak, marinated and grilled to juicy, flavorful tenderness. The word "Tampiqueño" in the dish description said that the platter would come with a cheese enchilada. I don't know the origin of that touch, but I like it. What I didn't like was the entombment of the enchilada under a thick lava flow of melted cheese.
Widely-held idea in restaurants with insufficiently evolved standards of taste: "If cheese is good, then more cheese is even better, and a ridiculous surplus of cheese is best of all." This is a fallacy.
We dug through all this and oscillated between academic issues and the incomprehensible ways of boys (ML is trying to figure out three of them right now). Suddenly she blurted, "That guy looks a exactly like--that IS Drew Brees!" Yes, it was, with two other large athletes, walking right past our table en route to the door. This was confirmed when a few people stood up and asked for autographs, which the Saints star gave. I jumped up to give chase. Mary Leigh, who never wants to call attention to herself, told me to sit down. But Drew Brees is her hero!
I was troubled by one other matter: Why he was eating in a marginal place like this? If the Saints lose this weekend, I will recommend some better restaurants for the team to dine in.
Dessert was an offbeat, just okay version of tres leches, overpriced (as I thought everything was here by about a buck.
While we looked over the menu at the beginning of the evening, I tried to get Mary Leigh to read out loud the name of a dish I'd never heard of before: "pechuga." (The unhelpful explanation on the menu was, "Grilled chicken topped with pechuga sauce.") She found the item, paused for less than a second, and said, "God bless you." Thus she short-circuited one of my running shticks, in which I get waiters and others to say words like "focaccia" or "ciabatta," and then I say "God bless you!" or "Gesundheit!"
So one of two things is true. Either my daughter is so sharp that I can't put anything past her anymore. Or my jokes have run too long for anyone not to see them coming from blocks away. I choose the first explanation. It makes me feel better.
Superior Bar & Grill. Uptown: 3636 Charles Ave. 504-899-4200.
