Cafe Espanol/Rosa Mexicano

CAFE ESPANOL

Note before you read (I wrote this right away). John's comments have been added almost a month later. Just saying. If you have complaints, direct them to him! :) And I will promptly tell Caitlin about how much you all think her part of the blog is lame/boring/painful/etc.


Yes, it was a big culinary weekend for the Just Ate team. It's like the A-Team, only no one is pitying fools, and there will be no terrible movies made about our hit TV show a mere decade and a half after its been cancelled (Lord willing). Friday evenings are our favorite times to go out because we can unwind from the week and re-acquaint ourselves with one another and tiny, dead shrimp. Neil and Kate, our friends from Holy Cross, accompanied us on this evening's jaunt (for those of you who don't know, a "jaunt" is a "short, pleasurable excursion"...you can tell Cait's been reading her trashy paperback novels). We headed to Cafe Espanol in Greenwich Village (A Spanish restaurant in an area of the city named for the whitest town in Connecticut. This should be good). We arrived about 30 minutes before Neil and Kate so we sat at the bar to enjoy a cocktail (or two). I noticed that sangria seemed to be the most popular choice of dinner guests. What caught Cait's eye were the itty bitty mini-pitchers of Sangria that the bartender kept putting on the side of the bar for waiters to bring to various dinner guests. So when we were seated Kate and I ordered a pitcher. Neil made a face at both girls along the lines of "woah, slow down, ladies" because, I mean, they ordered a fricken' pitcher of booze. Apparently there was a big one because the passion fruit sangria that was put down in front of us was more than twice the size of the pitchers I had seen while sitting at the bar. If we were in Goldilocks and the Three Bears, this would have been Papa Bear's pitcher of Sangria. Caitlin was more in the mood for a Mama Bear sized pitcher of the tasty Spanish beverage.



Sidebar! Now, honestly. If you were to order a pitcher, you'd thing you were getting a pitcher, right? Caitlin, on the other hand, didn't realize that she had to specify "cute, tiny little pitcher." Plus, in a restaurant where the entire wait-staff speaks Spanish, if you ordered a "cute, tiny little pitcher," there's a good chance Pedro Martinez would walk out from the kitchen.



John ordered a mixture of fajitas - steak and chicken. Neil joked that I apparently thought we were at Applebees. I ordered seafood paella and Neil and Kate shared a tower of appetizers (apparently my non-conformist wife refuses to refer to them as "tapas") which included Champinones Rellenos (mushrooms stuffed with crabmeat and breadcrumbs), Tortilla Espanola, and potatoes in a Spanish sauce that I couldn't find when looking back at the menu! I can't comment on their food. Neil's on the back end of a fat spell, so I didn't dare try to take food from his plate. Kate notoriously eats substantially less than the rest of us, so when Neil pointedly asked if she wanted anymore, she indignantly informed him that she had had two helpings. As we delved deeper into a Kate-sized "helping," we discovered that she had eaten about 16 mini potato pieces, 3-4 mushrooms and a small piece of omelet.



John may question marrying me--I'm not a cheap date to feed! This has nothing to do with the rest of the blog post, but I'm not going to argue with the fact that Caitlin steal my money, when I'm in need, yeah she's a triflin' friend indeed, oh she's a gold digger way over time, that digs on me.

Finally, (she says "finally" like it took us awhile. In reality, I had two beers and was enjoying myself, unlike the sangria-hound who accompanied me to dinner, who after a glass and a half each of fruity red wine probably could have given GaGa a run for her money in a race from normalcy) Neil and John finished their beers so they could assist with a glass each of sangria. Again, I had two, but by then, Cait was seeing double, so she lost count at one. It was delicious but wow it was a lot! Cait got crunk. We definitely recommend Cafe Espanol. Caitlin recommends the miniature pitchers of Sangria. The service was efficient, the decor tasteful and the seating much larger than it appears when you first walk in.

Seeing as though we're supposed to be food critics, let me get us back on track for a second. As mentioned above, I had the fajitas. Overall, they were good, but nothing spectacular. The chicken was delicious. The steak was decent, except for one piece that was pretty darn tough (I had to spit it into my napkin, which was cloth. So sorry, Pedro Martinez, who probably had to deal with that in the kitchen.) Also, the fajita "pancakes" were very tiny...so I couldn't throw much meat on any one fajita. If they were a sangria pitcher, Caitlin would have been very satisfied. I'll go back, but next time I'm getting the tapas (or, as my mono-lingual wife would call them -- "appetizers").

ROSA MEXICANO

Sunday was John's birthday. July 18th! Rock on. To celebrate, our mothers came into the city and we again took advantage of Restaurant Week, visiting Rosa Mexicano in Union Square. It was so celebratory, in fact, that afterwards it felt like there was a Cinco de Mayo parade marching down my tummy. We got off the 4/5 at Union Square. For those of you not from New York, the 4/5 is a Subway line. Caitlin had no idea what I was talking about when I said 4/5 until a month after we signed our lease. When we got to 18th street we didn't know which way to turn. I thought John had looked it up! She's shocked that, while battling a hangover on a 95-degree day, and rolling out of bed about 20 minutes before our mothers arrived, I didn't have the sense of mind to HopStop the restaurant. I didn't realize I was responsible for putting together my own birthday lunch. (Hey! Interjection! I planned the whole weekend! sort of...) All I knew was the restaurant was located at 9 E18th St. The first building I saw was 119. Sunday was 95 and humid (like almost every other day last month). I had blisters, sweat and a building annoyance (which has been building for about, umm, twenty six years). But I smiled anyway! No she didn't. Luckily it turned out to be only a block and a half away. Lucky for me...she could only complain for a block and a half! My husband, the sweetheart.

The restaurant was absolutely beautiful inside. On the left, when you walked in, was a wall with a gentle waterfall flowing down it. And jumping out of the waterfall were either little Greg Louganis action figures, or clay salmon...I forget.

We sat in the rear room, which was a big room with skylights (I'm no architect, but I'm not sure that when the entire ceiling is a window, you can characterize it as "skylights"...but who am I to judge? Oh, right, a judge), making it bright and inviting. You know what else was bright and inviting? The house where the child-devouring witch lived in the German classic "Hansel and Gretel". But I digress.

We were led to our table, which was next to a young couple and their two-year-old son. He was gnawing on a nectarine and grinning at us with his huge cheeks. I was in love. It made me want a puppy. At one point he threw his plastic green sippy cup. John heard something fall but didn't hear from where. He bent down and saw the plastic and asked his mom, "Did you drop this?" My mom and I burst out laughing as Joan commented that she "had given up sippy cups." John turned beet red as he realized it was in fact a sippy cup and not a Nalgene bottle. That's not why I was red! I get flushed when I ingest enchilada sauce. Lies.


Our three course meal started out with Joan and I ordering the guacamole, which they made at the table. My mom had chicken flautas (of which she gave me one because I'm the one in the family who eats all things spicy!) (hence why she married such a spicy fellow) and John had the soup (it was a spicy soup). This came out in a (spicy) bowl with (spicy) pieces of (spicy) chicken and (spicy) tortilla strips, sans soup. Literally, no broth. John and I looked at one another (I thought it was a moment of passion, Caitlin was just confused), until another waiter walked up and poured broth into the bowl. I had never seen that before! A Mexican busboy? Really?!

By the way, the soup was PHENOMENAL. I'd go back just for the soup, even if there weren't little Greg Louganis's all over the walls.

Everyone else had chicken quesadillas, while I had steak tacos. The waiter laughed at the three orders of chicken quesadillas. I then laughed back when I noticed the rat tail hanging off the back right corner of his head, slung over his shoulder like a piece of spaghetti being eaten by a toddler. Usually a chicken quesadilla covers half the plate. This was one whole plateful. Some cows (or "vacas") had some serious work (or "trabajo") to do for the restaurant (or "restaurante") to serve so much cheese (or "queso") Definitely could have shared! My steak tacos were do-it-yourself endeavors. The steak came in a hot skillet (that's what Cait used to call me before we got married) with a side of corn (that's what she started calling me after we got married), chipotle sauce, beans and cheese. The wraps were corn, while I prefer flour. :-(

I ate my tacos "naked," (we're trying to keep this family-friendly) which was no problem since I was already (in the nude?) full from the guacamole (oh, that).

There were two choices for dessert, (1) cheesecake with baked apples and caramel or (2) a chocolate cupcake with a chocolate hazelnut filling and rich chocolate sauce. The waiter asked if we wanted two of each. We, of course, said no. We then proceeded to go around the table and order. I ordered a cupcake. Cait mulled over her decision, then got the cheesecake. Cait's mom then ordered the cheesecake as well. Then, my mom took about a minute to decide. She even asked the guy which he would get. She ultimately decided on the cupcake. I looked at the waiter (luckily, the non-rat tail side of his head, so I could keep a straight face), and said "that was just a long-winded way of saying 'Yes, we'd like two of each.'" Only, I'm not sure how well he spoke English, because as soon as I got to "winded", he sort of took half a step back.
The cheesecake was round with a hole in the middle filled with caramel and little clumps of baked apples along the edge of the plate (kind of like me). Heavenly. (also like me) The chocolate cupcake was rich and unbelievable as well. (the comparisons just keep coming) John declared multiple times that we would be back here-a hangover cure apparently! Just writing this makes me want to go back...delicious.