Sahara Cafe

First, let's start with the God-awful: Baba Ganoush (pictured below).

Due to the simple fact I was starving, I had to eat some of it, and even though I shared some of it with Mama's Boy, this was all that we could eat, and let me reiterate: we were STARVING. This Baba Ganoush was lumpy, bland and even had a sort of chemical taste to it. Very disappointing. Thankfully, things were going to get better for us at the table, albeit slowly, very slowly.

The Sahara Cafe has two employees, one in the kitchen and one to serve the customers; we customers would quickly number twenty, which meant that the pace of service would be charitably described as glacial. Tectonic is probably more appropriate.

I arrived about five minutes before Mama's Boy, Doppelganger, Falcon and THE MOLE, and was lucky to be the only person at the restaurant. Therefore, I was watered without having to wait the fifteen minutes my lunch companions endured without beverage.

Our lunch conversation wasn't better. Doppelganger was obsessed by an anus, particularly the anus owned by THE MOLE, and what we would rather do, hypothetically, as opposed to tossing THE MOLE's salad. Doppelganger had set the conversational bar rather low. And as children often do, we proceeded to remove the bar altogether. At least there weren't any _actual_ children in the restaurant. The trauma would have resulted in years of therapy.

The food: not bad, really. I had a gyro sandwich (tasty) and a small plate of falafel (tastly, but very salty, and coming from me, that's pretty serious as I'm a saltaholic). Around the table were a variety of sloppily assembled but well proportioned plates of meats with hummus and salad, which were mostly cleaned by the end of the meal. Falcon had some kind of meat pie thing that looked pretty cool.

At the end of the day, however, Sahara suffers from two fatal flaws. 1. The service is too slow. It should not take an hour and a half to eat what is, essentially, fast food. 2. It's biggest problem is that it's only a couple of miles from Cleopatra, which is, hands down, a far superior restaurant serving better food at lower prices.

Two more notes:

THE MOLE is a figment of our imagination. He's far too slovenly and uncool to occur in nature.

Also, following this post, Mama's Boy will again do a guest review, this time of the Sahara Men's Room.

That is all. Please return to your regular programming.

Went to Rotolo's; Don't Make that Mistake too.

Okay, so it wasn't _that_ bad. It wasn't worth the fifteen minute trip to Belle Chasse, either, that's for sure. I was accompanied by Falcon, Doppelganger (who scared the women at the table next to us by reading the menu in a very menacing voice, as if he were the announcer at a monster truck rally), Mama's Boy (no report from the loo), and last, and probably least, Scott Baio who was dressed like Scott Baio.

I ordered an appetizer of breadsticks and a calzone with this unfortunate name: "Sweep the Floors," a moniker so unappetizing, I had no choice. It had to be ordered.

And they came out at the same time, which rendered the breadsticks about as useful as a second appendix.

Doppelganger (who had graduated to a sort of Tourette's-like stream of curse words for the benefit of the six year old at the table behind him. "Mommy, what does 'Felching a chicken's anus mean?'") and Mama's Boy both had Blackened Chicken Alfredo sandwiches, which they both described as boring and bland.

Scott Baio loved his Chicken Caesar sandwich. I got a little creeped out when, in the middle of our meal, he named it Joanie and then had to get up and go to the bathroom for a little "Chachi-time."

Falcon was there the whole time, but somehow was also missing. I think it had a lot to do with the virus I gave his computer also acting on the human body.

Still, all in all, if you want to eat something that's an approximation of good, but only if you have to concentrate really, really hard on convincing yourself it's good, then Rotolo's is right up your alley!

A Message From Mama's Boy

Yesterday, after eating our lunch at Kim Son, Mama's Boy required a trip to the men's room, during which, he felt compelled to photograph and describe the urinals therein. Below is his take. The Mama's Boy Speaketh!

Even though I am a frequent restroom user during lunch hour, never have I seen such ingenuity applied to something that doesn't really need it. I guess this is the pre-precursor to the auto flush? Seems funny that the whole time you are relieving yourself the water will be flowing. I wonder how many people are actually confused when they step up to these or are actually scared by this technology and decide that the stalls are safer. Needless to say, the guy that designed this didn't like touching the flush handles. It actually made me come to the realization that urinal handles prolly got other guys junk juice on'em. Just sayin'.

Kim Son

According to my lunch mates (Falcon and The Snowman, Mama's Boy and Doppelganger), what I ordered is called the penis platter: (pictured below)

It's actually called Charcoal Broiled Onion Beef Roll on the menu. However, since I dine with children... but I digress.

It comes with a garden full of stuff (lettuce, cucumber, carrot, basil, mint and cilantro) and wrap all this up in rice paper.

It's entirely unlike pho, which makes sense because it's not a soup, nor does it require a spoon to eat it, even though they give you a spoon, which is something I haven't figured out yet.

Later on, I will be posting something from Mama's Boy. He visited the loo at Kim Son and found it more interesting than his meal. So hold your breath!

Mexican Can Be Blurry

Especially if Falcon orders the Taco Salad from El Mesquite Mexican Grill, because something is wrong. Falcon doesn't order anything with "Salad" in the name of the dish.

After rushing him to the emergency room, we discover that it doesn't matter what you order at El Mesquite: everything is good. Not to say that it's like eating at the Taj Mahal or anything... it's certainly not the best restaurant in the world, but if you're looking for above average Tex-Mex, using good quality ingredients, at a place where they're not afraid to actually season their food, you can't do any better than El Mesquite, at least, not on the West Bank.

In previous visits, I've had the fajitas, which have always been much more flavorful than at most places serving the same dish. My default order is a cup of the Mexican Cowboy Bean Soup (a must eat, thoroughly delicious - Falcon is converted as well) and the Quesadilla lunch. They use queso fresco which tells me, right away, that they mean business and shredded chicken, another dead giveaway in the quality department. The quesadilla is then flattop grilled with some butter. Sides of rice and beans, but really, who gives a rat's ass about rice and beans?

Mama's Boy ALWAYS gets the Supreme Burrito, but what's really strange is that every time we go, he has a different addition / subtraction from the dish, as if he's trying to mold it into something that his pre-pubescent taste buds can wrap themselves around. I've thought about recommending he order the grilled cheese off the kids menu, but Mama's Boy is a lot bigger than I am. If I insult him, he might give me a wedgie.

El Mesquite: It's kind of like getting picked second for the pick up team. You're not the best player in the world, but you're good enough that they want you to play with them.

Worst. Analogy. Ever.

Yesterday and sorry for today

But I'm going back to Diawa for lunch today. I know, I know, I know. This is no way to run a food blog. You can't concentrate on one restaurant over and over again. It just gets monotonous. Except that it doesn't. The food there has been just that good. DEEEELicious.

About yesterday's lunch: It was at Banana Blossom on Belle Chasse Hwy. Everything was good, but, as is always the case there, paying $4 for two pieces of bread and a dipping sauce is NOT overpriced. The naan bread there might be the single greatest bite of food in the world. That's right, in the WORLD.

One day, I'm going to go there with a pair of twenty dollar bills and order 10 of them. And you will all be very jealous of me.

Falcon ate something, but I didn't pay any attention. Cake had something as well. I didn't, couldn't pay attention. I was in naan withdrawal.

Gattuso's

I've been going to Gattuso's for a few years and I have my favorites for good reason: when I veer off the beaten path, I've been disappointed more often than I've been happy. Which is why yesterday's visit, for both reasons listed above, was so unfortunate. I have a sneaking suspicion there is a new chef in the kitchen, one who hasn't fixed their existing problems and has introduced a few more of his own.

With Falcon and the Snowman in tow, we waited for about 10 minutes before finally snagging a tiny bar table for three.

I suggested the French Onion soup which Gattuso's runs as a recurring special. What used to be a floral, silky, oniony bowl of goodness ended up being a thick, gloopy, bland mess. Even the cheese: the crouton sank it to the bottom of the bowl where it required a knife to break into edible pieces. The soup: What an utter piece of crap, an insult to both the Frogs and onions.

With the exception of Falcon's Dirty Bird, our sandwiches are disappointing as well. I've noticed a meat to bread proportion problem at Gattuso's po boys: not enough meat, too much bread. The Snowman's corned beef po-boy (pictured) suffered from that fate. Usually, it's smarter to order sandwiches here on regular bread. On those, the proportion works. To add insult to injury, the bread was stale.

I decided against my better judgement to order off my reservation by getting the Muffeletta. It suffered from the meat to bread problem to the extent that the outer half inch of bread was bereft of anything but bread. Very disappointing.

I really do like their regular sandwiches, their gumbo and their burgers. But since none of that was ordered, Gattuso's gets the turd bomb award. Poop in a toilet.