MY FRIEND, the legendary El Camote, strode with weary portent to the dark corner table where I sat, the horizon of his wide sombrero pulled low on his brow. Faint orange lamps glowed like sleepy torches dotting a fortress wall amid Mextiza’s dense shelves of liquor. The busted shanks of his boots creaked as he settled into his chair, smoothing his heavy woolen duster. A young couple seated next to us paid him no heed as they spoon-fed tender beans to a baby with a shock of sable hair.

“All the way or not at all?” I asked, perusing the long list of unfamiliar Mexican specialties. This was rhetorical. Every meal with El Camote ended with great wakes of piled china and variegated skylines of bottles on our table as the ticket grew to the floor, the giddy staff watching their gratuity swell.

“Let’s start with that $7 guacamole, and work through the lunch items ’til supper,” he said, his lips hidden behind the great coat brush of his storyteller’s mustache. He ordered at length from a crippling inventory of tequilas, and then rattled off a litany of dishes.

The guacamole arrived quickly, a generous cupful of near-pureed green dip. Piled next to it and dusted with dried cotija cheese were hefty stacks of house-fried tortilla chips. Camote drew a bead on it.

“That’s a $6 guacamole and there’s no two ways about it.”

“Explain yourself.”

He scooped up a great dollop and chewed it thoughtfully. “It’s damn good, don’t get me wrong. But I like a variety of textures, and it seems like they’re jackin’ the tab with sweat.”

“I didn’t know refinement was such a rarefied ingredient these days,” I said, admiring the sweet ghosts of jalapeño and cilantro that had been teased into the mixture.

He stooped to retrieve a paper airplane that a young chavo had landed at our feet, and flew it back to him with a wink.

A trio of handsome sandwiches on golden, brioche-like rolls was whispered to our table, each about the size of a 12 wide shoe. One was filled with a generous, tender scaloppine of Milanese-style fried tongue, completed with a quietly spicy habanero mayonnaise, chilled iceberg, and plump wedges of perfectly ripe avocado. Its companion, a fried rockfish filet, was a treasure to behold: It gave fish to the fish lover, flesh to the flesh lover, and sweetened it all with a cool green jalapeño aioli. Iceberg lettuce, often an afterthought, lent these sandwiches quench and texture. No such polite parlor banter was offered by the torta ahogada—a formidable mountain of braised, shredded beef, its bread drowned in light red chile sauce and covered with fiery raw onions.

Camote stepped outside for his mid-prandial tobacco, and more plates arrived. Zuisas were a mild trio of petite chicken and cheese enchiladas, artfully drizzled with a green chile-tomatillo sauce and cream, and strewn with paper coins of marinated radish. The tender pollo rostizado, a rotisserie chicken quarter butchered to include the spine’s oyster, was served under a heaping mat of wilted onions and caramelized pineapple, with a cold potato salad. Doraditas, explosively flavorful crisp corn shells bursting with juicy chorizo and potato, reinvigorated my senses after these safe plays.

My returning companion paused to assess the table of a young Latin patron, heavy with scholarly books and draft beer, and soon after, a threesome of ridiculously fat little tacos callejeros was set before Camote. He declared the tender, stringy chicharrón the finest use of pork rind outside of keeping a pig from leaking, and he deemed the quivering, custardy menudencia the finest tripe in town.

The diffuse sun grew weak behind the even gray clouds. A swarthy businessman with severely parted hair ordered the cabrito; upon seeing the groaning plate, heaped with an abundance of shredded crisp goat, roasted potatoes, and a personal sea of frijoles, Camote did the same. He then signaled for the lechon yucateco, another feast of moist rotisserie pig, showcasing an honest variety of succulent loin, lacquered skin, and gristly bits for mawing. His appetite flagging, he “saved some for hash” and drilled room for dessert into his stomach with a mezcal.

Across the room, a dapper, balding abuelo finished a plate of chocolate empanadas, hot from the fryer and topped with airy mint ice cream. Camote went with that and the crumbly pineapple tart, topped with refreshing citrus wedges. The little old man smiled approvingly, took his hat, and departed. We were the only two left in the quiet restaurant.

“Well,” Camote said, “that was an education.”

The surprisingly modest bill arrived, and we paid generously and strode into the night, now sturdy against time.

All lunches $8.50, seven days a week. Dinner entrées average $15. Noise: pleasant, conversational. Service: very good.

Mextiza

2103 N Killingsworth289-3709mextiza.com

34 replies on “The Treasures of Mextiza”

  2. What the fuck, Onstad? Are you ever going to write a food review or are you content to practice your third-rate HST impersonation every week?

  5. ” … great wakes of piled china and variegated skylines of bottles on our table as the ticket grew to the floor, the giddy staff watching their gratuity swell.”

    You could unpack that sentence fragment forever: tickets growing, gratuities swelling, bottles making skylines, piles of china leaving wakes (or is it holding a wake?). This isn’t a review; it’s bad creative writing.

  8. agree with #6

    This review paints Mextiza in deep color, even if you dislike the narrative format.

    Haters grow up and join the rest of us: enjoy the good from a piece, ignore what you don’t enjoy, and live better for it

  9. Or y’know: do whatever you want, regardless of what some stranger thinks about expressing your personal opinions on the internet.

  13. Mercury owners and investors please take notice (if one persons input counts for anything)….
    I only started reading the Mercury again upon Onstad’s first review (Tambayan), based on a friend’s recommendation that I do so.

    A few short weeks later, I think you should know I will not be reaching for a future issue for the foreseeable future. His writing is absolutely horrific on all technical levels. But more poignantly, I just can’t power through it to get to the substance.
    I genuinely wanted to read this review of Mextica, as I’m very interested in eating there soon. However, I honestly gave up less than half way through. Chris’s writing style is silly, childish, amateurish, and ….. simply flawed.

    I hope my non-angry rant will prove useful to you and your advertisers.

    Sincerely,
    N. Thompson, Portland, Oregon

  14. @13, +1. This is sure to result in Onstad’s sacking, as the Mercury’s entire business plan depends on snaring the lucrative demographic of “Priggish ‘n Butthurt.”

    But more importantly, HOW WILL HISTORY REMEMBER THE N. THOMPSON ERA?

  15. Alright, so now we’ve got the holy trinity. If you thought this review was painful to read, you are a “hater,” you need to “grow up,” and finally you’re “butthurt.”

    While the restaurant itself sounds pretty good, that doesn’t change the fact that the review of it was fucking awful. It detracted from its subject; i.e. the restaurant it was trying to praise, and so failed to do its main job. I’m reserving the right to say so, and not just as a “hater”, because I’m not just indiscriminately hating something for the sake of doing so. To call everyone who disagrees with you a “hater” is childish and lazy, just to say it one more time.

  16. Better examples of childish and lazy are found in the detractor-comments, like this gem: “writing is absolutely horrific on all technical levels”. How many technical levels are there? Maybe you didn’t mean “all technical levels”. Maybe you are referring to grammar and grammatical errors? Syntax isn’t really in the “technical” realm. I have a feeling you object to his word choice and writing style… but those aren’t really “technical” either. Maybe you could cite a single technical error to help us understand. As it stands, this drivel is the childish and lazy stuff, not the review.

    From the vehement, sloppy comments that really are about taste (no accounting for one’s choice of car color, partner, pet, food review preferance), it’s hard not to conclude that “butthurt” is pretty accurate. Maybe we’ll read something the detractors write that isn’t a Merc online comment, someday. Later, when they’re older. But probably not.

  18. Man, Chris Onstad, I have loved attempting to decode the surrealistic humor in your wonderful Achewood comic strip– so divine– and now that you have moved to town and begun writing these Merc reviews, I have to say that I don’t understand where the detractors are coming from, with their negativity, and I wish they would appreciate your style more. Because it is a style, and it shows you have a lot of style. I don’t think it shows you are full of yourself, as one of these aholes said. As a matter of fact, I wish you would write Everything in the Mercury– that way there would at least be a glimmer of creativity in the populace of this city, which has evidently declared itself Above All That, because it’s cool to Not Do Things, suddenly, apparently.

    Haters, Those Hurt of Butt, and Non-Grown-Ups: what would you like the review to consist of: a bulleted list of menu items, ending with a picture of a thumb pointed in some direction? “I was like, ‘Yum’, and then I was like ‘Woww… cheap!’ You know? Organic!” I don’t get it at all. Did I miss the legislative session that caused it to be some sort of crime to think about things creatively and express them on a printed page? Last I checked, that there is known as “art,” and it’s something this food column has been sorely lacking since Onstad’s predecessor took over. Now that he’s finally gone, maybe we can… I don’t know… “Keep Portland Weird,” or something? Isn’t that why you moved here/ stayed here? Do you think maybe it’s time to move somewhere that appreciates your gentle lack of humor and fun?

    Also, HST helped to refine a “style” of writing that, in my opinion (not that I’m allowed to express one, obviously) started with the surrealists (Andre Breton stated in his manifesto that “the more the relationship between the two juxtaposed realities is distant and true, the stronger the image will be — the greater its emotional power and poetic reality.”)– does that mean that any bizzarro, comic, train-of-thought, or magically realistic writing style has to be lambasted, and the epithet “HST” hurled at it? How weird, indeed, this culture. Jeez.

    Go get a black coffee and brood somewhere. I’ll be waiting on tenterhooks for the next issue of the Merc, for More Onstad!

  19. @ rich, there’s nothing wrong with not liking what Onstad’s doing. That’s just a matter of taste. But these people who are INCENSED about a food review in an alt-weekly are just bananas. I reserved “butthurt” for the crazy pomposity of #13. There’s nothing wrong with saying you don’t like a writer’s style/approach/whatever, but saying “I’ll never read this paper again because of article X or writer Y” is so far beyond the pale of acceptable adult reactions that it deserves to be ridiculed.

  21. Commenty Colin,

    I’m confused by your commenty comments, as well as by Sagging Flint’s. Did you actually read my entry? I don’t know what butthurt means (nor is it a word). And, Sagging Flint, there are many technicalities to writing. The flaws in Onstad’s reviews should not be used as a smoke screen however. I should have left out the extreme language so as to not blur the focus of this discussion. The annoying factor of the writing style is all that really matters, technical flaws aside.

    To clarify and respond to you both, in short, here are the bullet points:

    1. Why would it be important for my era to be remembered? You’re detracting from the discussion with that snide comment. I didn’t bed that question. Why did you ask it? I don’t want me/my era to be remembered for anything. Do you think Onstad’s “era” is supposed to be, or will be, epic?

    2. As for the comment about not reaching for the publication again, it’s simple: I only began reading the Mercury for the food reviews. There isn’t anything else in it worth reading (unless you’re under 23 years old. And I mean that practically, not sarcastically). Hence my letting the ownership and advertisers know (commenting here is the only way to reach the advertisers as a personal email to Mercury would never be shared with the advertisers). I’m just one little person. No delusions of grandeur. No big-headed opinions of myself or my import whatsoever. Just my right to share what the advertisers spend a bunch of money trying to research and find out on their own.

    3. At at most basic level, my reason for commenting, my opinion(!), is that a review, regardless of it’s good or horrific writing style (the later in this case), should actually, well, cover some sort of information about the restaurant. Chris O. mentioned the giant liquor selection (with artistic flare even)…. what liquor? What special options does Mextica offer that make it worth a trip there rather than some other cantina closer to my house? Do they offer flights? I’ve heard they do. Perhaps a little insight into what really unique options I could enjoy if I go to Mextica? What made the guac not worth the money? What does he mean by “sweat” being in the food? What common or uncommon cooking techniques are being used in the kitchen? The reviewer is familiar with the industry enough to recognize and differentiate old and new cooking trends and techniques, yes? I was certainly hope so!

    Food: (it is a food review!) Sure Chris mentioned a few menu items amid the thick prose. But there were no culinary terms used to help me understand the unique regional Mexican preparations of each dish discussed. How much do the dishes cost? Other than mentioning the “six dollar” $7 guacamole, there is no mention of specific prices other than an general averaging overview at the end of the review of the average lunch or dinner price. Not that a lot of time should go into the art and decor necessarily, but I left this review with a blurry mental image of toppling walls of nameless liquor, over priced guacamole, and a vision of this perhaps partially fictional character that Chris apparently dined with.

    I’m allowed to have my opinion and that’s all I stated. The only fact is that I won’t be reading the Mercury. And that’s the only part that needs to matter to The Mercury and it’s investors. I’m sure Chris is a great guy (I truly don’t doubt that). But this writing style insists upon itself, and belongs more in a college underground ‘zine or campus paper where other aspiring writers can appreciate it or critique it. Frankly, it would probably be welcome there. It’s bloated with the writers flare, and usually by the time an editorial writer reaches the pro level their style has fine tuned a bit. Ironically, “famousperson”‘s comment about “Go get a black coffee and brood somewhere” is exactly what I pictured when I imagined Onstand (and the fans of this review) writing (and enjoying respectively) this review. Whatever old school hat is fashionable with the young 20s now, small cafe table, macbook open, smoking an American Spirit, or better yet a hand rolled shag tobacco cigarette. It’s embarrassing to read. And more importantly, the review is just plain difficult (and painful) to read. I couldn’t power through. Well, I could have, but I chose not to. And that’s all that matters for me, myself and I. And the only part that the Mercury needs to know about. If I have to scan the editorial writing, than I’m likely scanning by the ads. It’s that simple. Like I said, just one person’s opinion.
    The End 😛

    Lastly, thank you Rich Bachelor for being sane.

  23. I’m simply appalled at the negative comments here. If you wanted lists of menu items followed by repeated the same insipid descriptors, go read the Oregonian. I think Chris is doing something great with his column, trying to capture a mood and a scene rather than bullet point the menu. Food reviews are so typically droll and boring. The menu items and prices can be found on the restaurant’s website, so why not let Chris give us more.
    -Jeff McCarthy

  24. The only mood and scene that Onstad has captured is one of two aging hipsters, stuffed with too many readings of On the Road, Fear and Loathing, and the alcohol-fueled ravings of Tom Robbins.

    Mextiza sounds pretty good, I think. I don’t know too much about the atmosphere, though, because Onstad was too busy waxing poetic on his fat friends mustache.

  25. Eileen Brady,

    I wish I had your foresight and poise. You managed to say in three concise sentences what I wrote paragraphs to get across. You’re 100% accurate, but the young hip crowd will never see this, so we’re wasting our “breath”.

    Jeff, REALLY??? You like this style? I’m gonna punch you in the nutz next time I see you… ;-P
    I really don’t like his style at all. Not for a professional restaurant review column. Though to be clear, I’m not saying he should do bullet points by any means! That was someone else’s comments. I just plain don’t like his style. And that’s all up for opinion, but my only real point is that the Mercury is losing readers and not helping restaurants if the public doesn’t have time, energy required, or frankly, desire to power through the droll, severely unnecessarily wordy “art” that Onstad pours forth from his penny pencil with voracious lucidity (pun intended).

    Ugh…. how is this even a discussion? His art would serve better on a private blog. Restaurant reviews should contain a review of the restaurant. Should stating the obvious be so necessary? sigh….. come on Portland… please stop embarrassing us in the eye’s of other food-centric cities. This is totally 101.

    Lastly, Before posting, I thought about it… with honesty. I guess I understand that this style CAN potentially be appreciated by the younger set that enjoys like editorial work in the Portland Mercury. It’s just not my scene at post-20s. So I am trying to stay open minded and understand, this is what that crowd likes. I just don’t see that age group frequenting the restaurants being reviews in cases like this one. Seems like a disconnect. It’s not cheap, vegan, or politically charged.

    over and out.

  26. The Merc really needs to let us upload reaction images…

    Also, I tried to read the article but couldn’t. Looking and the beginning and skipping to the end, I got “…strode with weary portent…” and “…strode into the night…” So I guess I didn’t miss much.

  27. But Jamdox, there’s these people here who say that by disliking this review, you fail to enjoy fun! One of them is someone whose only previous comment was a long, florid attempted takedown of Tony Perez’s bad review of Broadway Skyline Burger, and the other one more or less seems like a sock puppet for Chris Onstad’s mom. By disliking this review, you also are in favor of boring reviews in which no creativity is ever exercised, according to these commentors, as if Overwrought and Sterile were the only two choices.

  28. Jesus, RB, I never realized I was such a urethral zit, what with my failure to find fun fun! I thought I was a UZ for COMPLETELY DIFFERENT REASONS and now I am INFORMED.

    Also, I am hereby congratulating myself for resisting the urge to go for the obvious “Onstad’s mom/sock puppet” joke. It takes a lot of effort, sometimes, to do the right thing!

    Also also, Overwrought and Sterile … totally not mutually exclusive where my genitals are concerned. Yeeeah.

  29. I was really trying to avoid the “sock puppet” meme here too, but it’s just too apt. In fact, I feel like the entire thread has been a nice encapsulation of everything that’s annoying about discussions on the internet.

    For the record, I think ‘Achewood’ is pretty funny.

  30. Fail to enjoy fun? Are you joking? This clown obviously can neither write nor create real humor. He’s obviously reading too many pretentious novels in between jerking off with his thesaurus.

  33. I’m bummed that there’s such animosity about Onstad’s reviews. I find them quite delightful.

    I think the review went quite a way towards describing the atmosphere. What it didn’t do was beat you over the head with it, like “Ok gang, now let’s talk atmosphere!” Look, we’re talking about restaurant reviews in a free alt-weekly here. The point is: there’s a new Mexican joint on Killingsworth- go if you feel like it.

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