Zapatista
Ratings Guide:
Half handshake, half chest-bump hug – 5 stars
Chest bump – 4 stars
Fist bump – 3 stars
High five – 2 stars
Handshake – 1 star
Manly ass slap – ½ star
Fone and fone – 0 stars
Restaurant: Zapatista
Location: 1307 S. Wabash
So about a month ago the wife took the kid to visit her family down in Missouri for a week. What this meant for me was a week of, well, whatever I wanted. In case you’re wondering what that means, you can refer back to the week leading up to the marathon. Except that this time I didn’t have to worry about needing to run 26.2 miles on a Sunday in 90 degree heat with 100% humidity while bodies collapsed around me like a scene from Braveheart. All I had to worry about was getting up in the morning to get into work. And if I had to call in sick, so be it.
So after I spent Monday night at a friend’s watching football, Geoff and I decided to grab some dinner on Tuesday night. At the time Geoff was “working” from home, so he could hit up the town on a Tuesday night and not worry too much about it. We spent the day trading emails about where we wanted to grab grub. Geoff kicked things off with an extensive list of places he’d never been but wanted to try, along with a list of places where he had been but would be more than happy to head back to. I responded with my own list of places I hadn’t been along with some old faves. In the end we decided that we wanted to both head someplace new, so we narrowed down the list accordingly.
Word got out about the event, and soon everybody wanted a piece of the action. First to jump on the guys-nigh-out bandwagon was Po. Apparently his wife had plans for the night (dinner with co-workers) so he had somewhat of a free pass to head on out and enjoy himself. He jumped on the email chain, but quickly realized he was out of his league and decided to let the experts pair the list down before he officially voted. We finally got the list down to a top 5: Chalkboard, Hopleaf, La Fonda Latino Grill, Zapatista, and Maza. Some choices barely missing the cut were Irazu (really small, and we didn’t want to go there and either have to wait for a table or take it to go), Harold’s (wasn’t the right kind of night for fried chicken (which I know sounds weird coming from me)), and the Rusty Armadillo (really I just wanted to go there because of the name. I think the Rusty Armadillo would be a great name for some disgusting sex move. Maybe that’s what the 2 Girls, 1 Cup gals were doing – the Rusty Armadillo.). Geoff and Po had read that Chalkboard might be crowded, even on a Tuesday, and we didn’t want to wait for a table. Peace, Chalkboard. Hopleaf seemed too far away, and if we were going out afterwards (and I was going to force people to go out against their will after dinner since the aforementioned wife and aforementioned kid were out-of-sight-out-of-mind), we didn’t want to be so far north. Deuce, Hopleaf. Pretty much the same story for La Fonda Latino Grill (although the name “La Fonda” really made it a contender for Geoff). Maza was a strong contender, but Geoff eats at Sultan’s Market at least 23 times a week, so he wanted the break from Mediterranean food. Plus Po had been. Verizon, Maza. Zapatista was upscale Mexican, which is Geoff’s favorite kind of food (and probably mine, but then again food is my favorite kind of food). And him and Po checked the menu online and liked what they saw, so they made the decision for us. Zapatista it was (even though it was my #5 choice, and I had it ranked at #5 because I knew about the place, but hadn’t heard anything about the place (good or bad), so I didn’t know what to expect, which made it my #5. Not that you care.).
Rusty (our friend, not the sex move) then heard about what was going on, and he wanted in. Word on the street was that his wife was also nowhere-to-be-found, so he was looking to get out and enjoy himself as well. Once we decided on a place, we were trying to figure out a time. I told Geoff that I would probably be ready to go around 7, but that 7:30 was more likely. Now, we didn’t set a time. We didn’t say, “Be at the restaurant at 7:30” or “make sure you pick me up by 7” or anything like that. All we had decided was that I’d be ready around 7 or 7:30, and that I’d swing by and pick up Geoff and Po at some point after that. Well, when Geoff talked to Rusty he told him we were probably going to eat around 7. But again, he never said, “We are meeting there at 7.” In fact, I think Geoff even said something like, “We’ll probably rendezvous around 7, but I’ll let you know for sure.” Well, Rusty was obviously excited to have dinner with the Big Delicious. And I know what it’s like to have a hall pass for the night. So I can’t really blame him for being at the restaurant at exactly 7 o’clock. The only problem is that the rest of us didn’t make it there until 8. So he spent an hour chilling at the bar by himself, scoring the bartender’s number (I think his name was Tom), and memorizing the menu.
Now, I think I made it clear that this was pretty much a “guys night out” type of thing. Everyone had a hall pass from their significant other (even Geoff, who made sure his Mom said it was cool if he went out for the night). So it came as a pretty big surprise that when we walked into an almost empty restaurant there was Katie, Po’s wife, having dinner with her co-workers. Of all the places in the city, Po voted for the one place where his wife was eating. What a coincidence. Except they’re married. So, of course he KNEW his wife was going to be there. And he still voted for Zapatista. Knowing Po I shouldn’t have been surprised at all that we ended up at the one place in the city his wife was also at. Oh well. He’s The Joker to me. Moving on.
When we finally showed up Rusty was bleary eyed but happy to see us (well, to see me at least).
We sat down two tables away from Po’s wife (oh, not sure if I mentioned it but we ended up at the one place in the city where Po’s wife was. Even though the whole idea was to celebrate our freedom. Even if for only a couple of hours. And don’t get me wrong. I love Katie. Might be the nicest person on the planet. I have nothing against her. Just Po.).
For starters I went with the Queso Fundido. Why? Because it’s cheese that’s been melted. I know, shocking. But what do you want from me? They did have the good kind of Queso, which is melted Chihuahua cheese, so you have to scoop it up with a fork and put it in a tortilla to enjoy it. A lot of places just make Rotel dip and call it Queso Fundido, and I’m not knocking it, because I love it, but if you’re looking for the best kind of Queso, some melted Chihuahua cheese is where it’s at. And it included chorizo and poblano peppers to boot. Just delicious.
Next I ordered the Tortilla Sopa (that’s Spanish for “soup”. “Tortilla” is Spanish for “Tortilla”. I’ll let you guess what El Grande Delicioso is Spanish for. Oh, and speaking of Spanish, pick up “Then We Came To The End”. Great book.). I don’t know why, but I can’t not get Tortilla soup when it’s on the menu at a Mexican place. When it came out I was extremely skeptical. It looked really thick and not brothy (or is it brothey? Or does it matter because it’s a word I’m making up anyway?). I like a brothy Tortilla soup. My first bite was very average. It was really smoky and had this funky texture that I can only describe as pureed lettuce. Either way I wasn’t thrilled. Then I had another bite, and the soup started to grow on me a bit, but I was still convinced that I wasn’t going to bother finishing it. Then I had another bite. And another. And another. Next thing I know I had finished the bowl and really liked the soup. It just got better with every bite.
For dinner I was really torn. I was trying not to get anything that someone else got (I don’t know why I do this because I always end up with the worst meal at the table). Geoff got the tacos (which I was thinking about getting). Po got the tilapia fajitas (which were probably #1 on my list). And Rusty got a burrito (which wasn’t on my list, but to each his own). So I opted for the Chipotle Chicken Enchilada. My expectations were low. I don’t know why, but I was just preparing myself for an average meal. But I took one bite and was blown away. Was it because it was that good, or because I had low expectations and it was just way, way, way above those expectation? I don’t know. What I do know is I loved my meal. Every bite was fantastic. Plenty of flavor, but not so much that you couldn’t focus or enjoy it. A lot of times places use so many seasonings and flavors that it ends up being a mess of flavors and you don’t actually just get to enjoy one good flavor. This dish didn’t have that problem. I was very, very happy.
What didn’t make me happy was my side item. I had ordered the Chipotle Mashed Potatoes, but the waiter brought out the Creamy Chipotle Spinach. Um, did he not know who I was? Did he really look at me (and my belly) and think for a second that I would order spinach over potatoes (especially ones that were mashed and mixed with cream)? It took me (actually Rusty) a while to get the waiter’s attention and correct the problem. Once they did my frown turned upside down. Good stuff.
I’ll say that the best thing I had all night was the bite of Po’s Tilapia Fajitas. Really, really good. Hot, spicy, flavorful. I’m pretty sure that Katie ordered the same thing for her dinner. Again, not the least bit surprised. Po, if you’re reading this, know that you’ve been put on notice.
My only real complaint was the service. Very laid back. Too laid back. Again, only about 3 tables filled in the whole place, so I appreciate them not standing over our shoulder at every moment. But some attention would be nice. It took forever to place our order, took forever for Rusty to get the waiter’s attention to fix my order. And it took FOREVER to get the check. This was the most annoying part. He came and took our plates away, and we told him we didn’t want any dessert, so the next step would be to give us our check. Even if we weren’t ready to leave, we already stated we weren’t going to order anything else, so drop off the check and tell us “no rush, take your time”. Instead, he didn’t bring us our check. For almost 30 minutes (no joke), when we finally flagged him down and asked for it. Then it took him a ton more time to come back and take all our credit cards. Very annoying. Shorted him on tip a little bit. On the plus side I think the prices were really reasonable. I think I spend $34 or something, and I had a bunch to eat and drink.
But the real story took place after dinner. Again, in case I didn’t mention it earlier, my wife and son were out of town, so I could do what I wanted. Stay out as long as I wanted. Drink as much as I wanted. The sky was the limit. Of course it was a Tuesday night so finding people to go out drinking with is harder than you’d think. But I figured since I was with a bunch of guys who had a hall pass, it wouldn’t be a problem. Well, Rusty bagged out, but he’s a teacher and has to get up early, so he is forgiven. Po went home because his wife was there. He is not forgiven. And maybe never will be. So it was up to Geoff to make my dreams come true. The only problem is we both ate way too much, and he was ready to just go home and sleep. I was able to convince him to go out for one drink, so we headed to Fulton Lounge for a beer (we were trying to find a place where we thought there might be some people out, so we weren’t just a couple of dudes alone at the bar). Fulton’s didn’t have much going on, so we decided to bounce. Geoff agreed that he’s go out for one more drink. We checked out about 4 places, and every one of them was either dead or closed. So it seemed like we were going to call it a night. Well, at dinner we were drinking margaritas, and I had mentioned that Matchbox had the best in the city. Geoff had never had one, but he did know about their secret ingredients (powdered sugar and egg whites). Lucky for me he lives close by, so he agreed to go for one drink. And lucky for us Matchbox is the smallest bar in the city, so even on a Tuesday night the place felt packed. All it took was one margarita and Geoff was back. Five margaritas later and we closed the place down. It was two in the morn and we weren’t going to do much better than that, so we headed home.
It was a great Tuesday night. Then my head hit the pillow. Then I ran to the bathroom and puked. Then my head hit the pillow again. Then I ran back to the bathroom again and puked. This happened about four times. Then I woke up in the morning, could barely stand, had blood vessels popped all around my eyes, and pretty much wished I were dead. But I was prepared for that and more than happy to call in sick. Except that the cleaning ladies were coming over, and I wasn’t really in the mood to sit on the couch or lay in bed and watch them clean up my puke that donned the toilet and surrounding floor as I tried to keep a piece of toast down. So I headed in to work. Again, a bad idea. It was a miracle I didn’t puke on the train. Then I had to close my office door (yes, I have an office. Yes, I’m kind of a big deal.) and take a 45-minute nap. Then I got some McDonald’s, which seemed to do the trick. I finally felt good enough to brave the el and head back home. And when I got there I noticed that the cleaning ladies cleaned everything but the toilet and surrounding floor. They are also now Ennis Del Mar to me.
The moral of the story? Don’t ever let your wife and kid leave town. Or hire a better cleaning service.
Anyway, Zapatista really pleasantly surprised me. Good, solid chest bump.
Got a question? Send it to josh@borntofork.com.
posted by Josh Kell @ 9:42 AM
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