My roommate has taken me to “his office”, Fiesta En Jalisco, which
translates to Jalisco Party, Jalisco referring to one of the states of Mexico.
It is Livingston’s only Mexican restaurant, and has been at its location on
Park Street for nearly a decade. This street sees the most traffic, as it runs
from one end of town to the highway on either end. My guess is any restaurant
on this street will garner a lot of business, regardless of food quality, due
to location alone. Roommate refers to this as his office because of its
hole-in-the-wall appearance, and the fact that it’s always empty. My first
question as we round the corner: “How are the margaritas?” “Awful,” he replies.
I ignored his advice because generally,
what a Latin restaurant lacks in food, it can make up in drinks. I looked at
the bartender, a young, timid girl who hardly looked old enough to be serving
alcohol, and though, how bad could it be? Let me put it this way: whoever
taught this girl to bartend needs to be removed of his duties. Unbeknownst to
her, she gained entry to my food and beverage hall of fame for making the worst
margarita I’ve ever had, beating even the swill my ex and I choked down at a
poor Latin restaurant in Cleveland last year. Forgoing a fruit puree, the guava
flavor was added to my frozen beverage in the form of Italian soda syrup,
lending a pale pinkish hue to my tasteless glass of slush. One sip and I
pictured melting popsicles, not a trace of alcohol bite to be found. I
requested she add another shot of tequila, but it, too, was lost in all that
water and syrup. Roommate fared slightly better, ordering his standard long
island iced tea, light on the sour and heavy on the coke. I love the choice to
serve it in a small carafe, however the straw was two inches too short.
The complimentary chips were pleasantly
warmed, served with zesty tomato salsa, clearly made in-house. The individual
flavors of cilantro, onion, and tomato popped exactly how they should, not
muddied together like the store-bought variety. A second bowl contained a sauce
unidentifiable, though its components were clearly tomato sauce and shredded
cabbage. The last time I checked, Mexico did not have the climate for growing
cabbage, and I’m still befuddled as to what the chef thought he was
accomplishing here. I had no further interest in the menu, but Roommate begged
and pleaded with me to share an appetizer with him: “Fiesta Camarones,” party
shrimp, which they were definitely not. I refused. After the horrible margarita
in front of me and the strange cabbage concoction behind it, I had no interest
in exposing my palate to any more offensive attempts at cuisine. When he
offered to pick up the $18 food tab, I conceded to having a bite.
The dish arrived on a huge round platter,
covered by a bed of shredded iceberg lettuce, then topped with the sautéed
shrimp and mushroom mixture and a light dusting of shredded cheddar cheese.
Around the edge of the mound were slices of avocado, tomato, lime, and orange.
Clearly intended to be a garnish, the bed of lettuce was misplaced, and eating
it was unavoidable. Furthermore, the old rule of thumb regarding seafood and
cheese held true, and cheddar was not making everything better. While the
shrimp and mushrooms were tasty, they lacked anything resembling Latin flavors.
Where is the onion? The lime? The cilantro?? The best one could say,
considering the colorful accoutrements, is the dish is deconstructed, but from
what is anyone’s guess. Overall, the dish lacked life and excitement.
The same could be said for the décor.
While the paint lends colorful warmth and a south-of-the-border feel to the
cozy room, the lone deer head has little to do with Mexico. Each of the walls
is plastered with a trifecta of corporate American hogwash: Cuervo, Corona, and
Coors. Cuervo gold, the original and most popular incantation of the brand, is
the equivalent of moonshine, not containing the 100% agave required to be
considered true tequila. Widely-spread rumors claim Corona to be produced for
export only, the natives of Mexico preferring a higher-quality Modelo, but in
true country fashion, God forbid the locals have one bar in town where they
can’t get their hands on a Coors Light.
“Would I come back here?” Absolutely not.
I was shocked to learn that not only are there are ten locations scattered
across the northwest, but the founding family is from Mexico. Mexican roots
aside, the most authentic thing about Fiesta En Jalisco is the can of Tecate
I’m holding. The worst part is only a small percentage of the population here
has traveled enough to know it. This restaurant is surviving on dumb luck and
feeding on the ignorance of the populace. I’d love to drive Manhattan’s Taco
Truck through town and show the people what they’re missing.
Fiesta En Jalisco
119 West Park Street, Livingston, MT
406-222-5444
Comments
Post a Comment