El Paisa Mexican Food

El Paisa Mexican Food
1801 N Lincoln Way, Coeur d'Alene
(208) 704-8775

Driving absentmindedly north on Lincoln Way one afternoon last month, my wandering eye was caught by a bunch of balloons bobbling in the afternoon breeze, tied to a sandwich board bearing the image of a hungry,  pissed-off looking Bramha Bull. Once I realized what it all meant, I had to roll my eyes so hard I nearly swerved off the road. Lordy lord. It was yet another Mexican restaurant in a town with eleventy thousand Mexican Restaurants. Sometimes it seems like another new one pops up somewhere every few weeks, and I haven't been terribly impressed with the majority of them lately (Taco Loco, you do rock).

Still, I was curious to investigate, since somehow the newsflash regarding El Paisa's sudden appearance on the Coeur d'Alene food scene never crossed the Get Out North Idaho radar. Problem was, I'd actually just eaten lunch and wasn't I remotely grumbly in the tummy for some taqueria nuevo action. I decided to just run in and give it a quick the re-furbed former Donut House a looky-loo and grab a copy of their take-out menu for future reference.

It was around 11 a.m. when I popped in, and the eatery was fully devoid of customers. I sorta got the eerie feeling that they'd only had their door open for business for a couple of hours max, and I was probably one of the first faces they'd seen come through, ever. I was greeted by three desperate, anticipatory smiles and a booming, warm "hola, bienvenida a mi amigo!" from owner/chef Francisco Padilla, who along with (I'm assuming) his wife and the cash register girl, gave up their counter lean immediately and snapped into action for me.

Oh, I'm just grabbing a take out menu real quick", I stammered, but they seemed so deflated that I gave a quick glance up at the menu board and said "um, actually, on second thought I think I'll get a glass of Horchata." Mmm, horchata. I can never pass up an opportunity to order a glass of the refreshing, candy-like Mexican beverage.

From where I was standing on the other side of the counter, I watched the Senorita do something I haven't seen very often, if ever. I watched her make horchata by hand, pouring the rice milk into a little pitcher and then blending in the vanilla, cinnamon and sugar right there on the spot. No dispenser-type machinery involved. Plus, she did it with a giant smile, as if she were putting on a little happy show for an audience of one in an attempt to impress me and ensure that I would return someday soon to actually dine on food.

It was a magnificent beverage, and the experience put El Paisa at the forefront of my brain until two days later, when I was able the first of many comebacks. On my earlier breeze-in, I hadn't really had the chance to absorb the random nature of the ornamentation cluttered around the walls. In the most charming way possible, it looks as if someone's dear abuelita spent an afternoon scouring the downtrodden art bins of every Salvation Army and Goodwill in the suburban barrios of San Diego.

There's a couple of framed tourist posters that, upon close inspection, reveal themselves to be images of the Greek Isles instead of Mexico. There's a kitschy black velvet painting of a psychedelic toreador that will certainly frighten children and the elderly. A photograph of a boring tiger, some unidentifiable brass hangy-thing, several Country Living 80's ceramic and/or toll-painted pictures of country cottages. It's a bit like a compendiary history of tragic and forgotten mortgage office decorating trends, late-20th-century edition.

Who cares, I suppose? One has to start somewhere and what they had going on was way better than the visual impression left by my first visit to another new Cd'A Mexican Restaurant, Atilano's, who had electrical wires coming out of open socket boxes and swashes of red paint all willy nilly on the walls to cover up any evidence of the dead KFC it took over from (note: Atilano's has since "decorated" a bit more). Anyway, El Paisa is utterly spotless otherwise, if not a touch utilitarian and cold with it's slate grey tables, chairs and nubby carpet..

There's nothing chilly about the service at El Paisa, each of the half-dozen times I've come in, they've been nothing less than engaging. It's always the husband and wife, and sometimes the counter girl, who is frankly the only one who'd likely be able to muster up much of a score on the ACT Combined English/Writing test. It happens like this: you order with her, and she shouts your order back to the other two in Español and they snap rapidly into action.

The times I have visited when she wasn't around, I did pretty much figure out that the other two do know un poco de Inglés, but as I've mentioned in past reviews, I like to use these opportunities to be able to fully geek-out with my ghetto Spanish skills. To their credit, he El Paisa folks didn't cluck or chuckle at me for doing so, in fact they responded in kind (slowly, as not to confuse the tragic gringo).

Here's the thing about El Paisa: OH MY GOD! THEIR FOOD IS LIKE, TOTALLY TUBULAR! Yes, that statement does belong in all caps and it's also an homage to how I was the only male Valley Girl in the 6th grade at Lakes Junior High, an age at which I had my first unforgettable experience with authentic, non-Idaho Mexican Cuisine at some long-forgotten dark, sketchy joint near my Aunt's house in San Jose, California. I've been trying to find a chile relleno platter that comapres with that fond, fuzzy memory from so many years ago, but with no real luck. El Paisa finally took me back to that happy place.

Okay, maybe I'd just starved myself to the point of delirium before I dug in, but regardless the dish was bright in flavor and light in texture, unlike some other chewy, burnt-egg tasting chile rellanos I've had the misfortune of suffering through. The cheese was bubbling up from underneath like a molten golden tar pit, and the thick red sauce was a rich puree of fresh-plucked tomatoes, herbs and Mexican spice. Rice is rice and pinto beans sprinkled with cheese are pinto beans sprinkled with cheese, but El Paisa does them really quite nicely, especially with a few generous splashes of their homemade green and red hot sauces (yes, both - why not?).

It escapes me now what exactly Jesi ordered on that maiden voyage to El Paisa, but I do remember she was equally smitten. In fact, separately between the two of us, we've returned nearly a dozen times since and the only minor complaint to arise has been that one day Jesi said the rice tasted "a bit off". Not unlike the hungry, pissed-off Bramha bull on their logo, I've plowed through sweet pork enchiladas (good heck, these were tender, succulent and just the right kind of sweet), taquitos rancheros (I never knew what a taquito could really be until I tried these, served with some sort of amazing ranch-dill sauce), and chicken tacos (made my bland experience with the ones at Atilan's fade into the mist). Fortunately for the Padillas and Co., it seems that I'm not the only one who finds El Paisa so addictively toothsome - on each visit the place seems increasingly more full of fanatic and famished folks.

Each time I've dropped into El Paisa for lunch, including the requisite glass of Horchata, I've ended up pulling less than $7 out of my wallet and have always come away feeling sweetly spent, like the joy synapses located inside both my brain and tummy were recovering from some kind of sublime and intense Mexican-food-gasm. And like various other other kinds of of "gasms", I always feel exactly like rolling over and having a little siesta afterwards.   

Ugly Fish Asian Bistro

Ugly Fish Asian Bistro
1927 W Riverstone Dr.
Coeur d'Alene
208 667 3689

Once upon a time, deep in the darkest dark zone of Osaka Bay, there was a bright young Caulophryne Polynema named Coco LaStrange. All the guys thought Coco had a real great personality and could really be a groovy pal to spend an afternoon fusing bloodstreams together with or watching old re-runs of  "Gimme a Break" (Male Hairy Anglers are well-known for their love of Nell Carter), but none of them wanted to bring her back home to mama's sea-cave and would never consider putting a shiny ring on her tentacle. Sadly, Coco LaStrange was an ugly-ass fish.

So, in an effort to lift her deflated spirits, Coco enrolled herself at the Thousand Fathoms Institute of Totally Fricken' Awesome Asian Cuisine. To make a dumb story short, she graduated with highest honors and went on to open Coco's Ugly Fish restaurant, which garnered ecstatic reviews from the press and three stars in the Michelin Guide.

Celebrity sea creatures and their Remora-like paparazzi would travel all the way from the thermocline in droves in order to ingest one of Coco LaStrange's amazing culinary creations. Now absurdly wealthy, it didn't take long for a handsome young gold-digging Umbrella Mouth Gulper Eel to come along and scoop her off her fin. Our dear Ugly Coco married her enormous-jawed lover and lived happily ever after.

Our deep-sea heroine may or may not have served as an inspiration for the proprietors of Coeur d'Alene's new Ugly Fish Asian Bistro when they were coming up with a name (update: she didn't, I made it up), but if I were to adapt that story into an off-Broadway music, this slightly surreal, mega-funky eatery in Riverstone would be perfect to serve as the backdrop.

Right upon entry, the decor of the place is striking. A softly trickling grey marble waterfall and a wrought iron wall of bubbly circles in the entryway lead in to a room that reminded me immediately of a night-club scene in an old mid-60's Japanese spy film. The retro-futuristic overhead lamps and trippy wave-textured white walls are pure Op Art kitsch and the red velour luxury of the booths and chairs, black linen tablecloths and edge lights that gradually, almost subconsciously, change colors, make Ugly Fish a local dining environment that's literally like no other. It's one I happen to find particularly comfortable, and even the schmaltzy elevator jazz pumping out from the sound system seemed soul-pleasingly loungey.   

The Ugly Fish menu is like a coffee-table art book, pages and pages of kaleidoscopic food pornography, wild fonts and playful layouts, all bound together with a thick textured maroon rubber cover. Those things are big and heavy, like a deluxe-edition Japanese import KISS triple live LP on 180 gram vinyl. There are so many items on the menu, it's a bit mentally exhausting with the weight of possibility. In fact, everything on the menu has an item number attached to it, and in full there are around 150 choices to make.

Let's break down a few highlights:

Appetizers -
Crispy Calamari with Jalapeno  Dipping Sauce ($8) (someone at a table near us ordered this and it was a mouth-watering tower of fried squid rings). Crab Haumaki and Shitaake Mushroom Egg Roll with Spicy Ponzu Sauce ($9). Chilled Drunken Chicken Top with Shave Shao Xing Wine Ice (that one reminds me of an particularization wild date had once back in my '20s).

Chef Signature Items -
Peking Roast Duck with Duck Soup and Walnut Orange Ginger Miso Salad ($32). Black Tiger Prawn with Thai Basil in Kaffir Lime Sauce ($25). Shanghai Wine Red Raised Pork Shank Osso Bucco ($21).

Chef Signature Rolls -
Banzai Roll ($14) (salmon, eel, cream cheese, crabmeat, "bake in dynamite sauce"). Tango in Snow Roll ($14). (rolled white tuna roe, with white tuna, fried garlic, green onion and flying fish roe). Las Vegas Roll ($12) (tempura shrimp, asparagus, spicy tuna, avocado, and mayo sauce).

Traditional Chinese-American favorites such as a three-star spicy General Tso's Chicken ($13),  Cashew Nut Chicken ($12), and Moo Goo Gai Pan ($14) are available in force as well, as are salads, fired rice, hot pots, and desserts. Ugly Fish touches lightly on Thai and Korean cuisines as well, but the sushi is what pretty much takes up the bulk of the menu, and a sushi itch was the main reason a friend and I decided to pull into the quiet corner of Riverstone and meander in last weekend.

Our waitress was enormously considerate and helpful throughout our experience, answering our questions about which items were freshest and finest that day with the encouraging reply "Let's put it this way. Everything you see up there in the chef's cooler was swimming around a few hours ago". Our busboy never let our water glasses get less than 5/8ths full, and when we asked for a couple pints of beer, he told us he couldn't get them for us (not old enough), but he passed our order to our waitress who brought them out immediately. There's a lot of staff running around, and they seem to communicate well.

After gazing starry-eyed at the menu for a while, we concluded that the best option was to order a couple of big "special rolls", a quartet of nigiri-style sushi pieces and split everything up. After we placed our order, we had to have a moment of silence for the late Takara, which was our favorite local sushi place for many years for a lot of reasons. One of them being that they'd always automatically bring out bowls of Miso soup and Sunomono (cucumber vinegar salad) with every order. We missed their presence at Ugly Fish.

Our rolls arrived first, a Rainbow Roll ($11) (assortment of  red snapper, tuna, salmon, and yellowtail wrapped around a basic California Roll) and a Crunchy Roll ($9) (also a California Roll, with the added insertion of tempura shrimp and fried with an exterior layer of tempura.) We didn't keep either around long enough to get to know them intimately, merely made acquaintances - they were simply too tremendously fresh and palate-pleasing to let linger.

We finished our experience with one piece each of wasabi and soy soaked nigiri pieces (Yellow Tail, Salmon, White Tuna, and Blue Fin), and each seemed more rich and butter-melty in texture than the last.  

You've probably gathered by now that Ugly Fish isn't likely to end up in the "Cheap Eats" edition of the Inlander anytime soon. One expects to pay a bit for quality sushi, and frankly, both my friend and I were feeling as suddenly poor as Paul McCartney after his divorce from Heather Mills.

Still, while we weren't able to really delve into the impossible plethora of food dimensions on offer at Ugly Fish (I may do a part two review covering their non-sushi side), we were able to get our sushi fix well taken care of without putting down a completely outrageous amount of cash (the bill came to just around $50) and left feeling full, content, and impressed.

Golden Dragon (Sandpoint)

Golden Dragon
100 Tibbetts Drive, Ponderay
(208) 265-5425

Take a nice, long gander at this kaleidoscopically colorful, mouthwatering picture posted to the left. I didn't use any fancy cameras or do any photoshop doo-hickery on it, I just captured the image with my plain old un-smart phone. But look! It glows like an abstract impressionist painting, the geometric shapes, the sense of balance, the serene blue ovals that surround the platters.

It's like some kind of psychedelic alien porn from planet MSG. The hazy, lysergic gleam of the neon celery situation, the basically obscene pinkness of the BBQ pork, the trifecta of perfect sprinkles - pink pork upon the rice, fried nut crumbles on the almond chicken, and julienned chicken confetti atop the chow mein. It's totally a winning nomination for the Chinese Food Porn Hall of Fame, and it really does a number on my appetite every time I see it.

It could be a mirror image, but these are actually two slightly different dinner combos that landed on the table in front of Brett and I on a rainy and spontaneous Sunday road trip to the northernmost parts of Sandpoint. We'd been up carrying on out on the town until the wee bitching hours the night before, and sometimes the dank intensity of a a Chinese lunch is the only cure for a case of the day-after hazies.

I had a vision of it in my head, I couldn't remember the name of the little red boxy Chinese place that had caught my peripheral vision a few times over the years as I'd gone speeding through Ponderay, ID on my way to nowhere in particular. It was a frustratingly gloomy Father's Day, the last leg of an entire frustratingly gloomy Car d'Alene weekend, and it seemed like a mini-vacation was a good way to shake the blehs away, so off we went.

It worked. Once 95 emerges from the hell pit of Athol, the drive starts to become absolutely gorgeous, even on a drizzly overcast day, when clouds hang low over juicy green valleys and there's nothing but flora and fauna and a series of Steinbeck-y farms, each decorated with approximately six broke-down Subarus.

We were ravenous by the time we finally made our way into the red building, and we weren't particularly knocked out by the name Golden Dragon - so generic, we thought. There must be a Golden Dragon in every burg across this hungry nation, in fact there's one right here in Post Falls. Brett asked our hostess if her place was related, and she said "Yes yes, we're all same family", which made us ponder the possibility that everyone at every Golden Dragon everywhere are all somehow related to each other. It's evidently quite a large family - a Google search for "Golden Dragon Restaurant" yields 2,570,000 results.

The interior of Ponderay's Golden Dragon was nothing to call HGTV about, what with the obligatory assortment of red paper lanterns, lurid Great Wall landscapes, and an ominous glass case full of Chinese trifles and whatnots. But overall it was a perfectly tidy and agreeable atmosphere, with the reassuring Mandarin (?) chatter of the two waitresses and cook (sisters and dad?) and some tinkly Asian elevator music providing an appetizingly authentic audio environment.

So was the food as good on the taste buds as it is on the eyeballs in the above photo? Generally speaking, yes it was. Golden Dragon is, in many ways,  a few notches above pretty much any Chinese food on offer anywhere in the Coeur d'Alene-Post Falls-Hayden triangle, but I still can't say it lives up to the best of the best Asian-American meals I've sat down to (locally, Spokane Valley's Peking Palace still holds that personal award).

But still, I'm finding it near impossible to find anything to really gripe and groan about. The Almond Chicken was definitely the highlight of the whole interlude, with a noticeable delicacy to the crispy breading, and a depth to the flavor of the gravy that places it a zither string or two above what normally comes toward me down the Great Almond Chicken Pipeline (don't we wish such a thing actually existed?).

The BBQ Pork slices were a bit on the overly tender side, but not totally undercooked and there was a freshness that came out in the taste of actual pork, leading me to believe they whip it up in-house rather than order it in pre-made. The veggies in the chow mein were youthful and crisp, also bringing the meal a touch above some places which serve chow mein that seems suspiciously like it's been sitting in a pot under a warming lamp since 10 am. The only thing that seemed a little weird was the fried rice, which was a mysterious brown color and contained rice and rice only with no veggies, fried egg bits or sprouts, and was a little on the bland side but not 100% un-tasty.

Brett ordered almost the same combo as me, but instead of the BBQ pork, his came with Egg Foo Young, which was formed into a perfect square, and according to him, was the best he had ever pushed down his quivering maw. I was able to clear most of my platter, he ended up asking for a to-go box only a few bites in.

Not that he didn't enjoy his food, in fact he was going off about it like it was the best Chinese meal east of Chinatown. He had actually already managed to fulfill his always-small appetite with the first and second courses - a cup of super yummy Hot-n-Sour Soup and a plate of habit-forming Crab Rangoon with a sweet, gelatinous plum sauce that by itself would have been worth the gas money spent on the entire adventure.

Am I too picky when it comes to Chinese restaurants? Perhaps I am, and Golden Dragon was as peachy keen as can be expected, especially for a nondescript little red roadhouse plopped next to a highway in rural North Idaho. But one of these years, I'm still hoping that I'll stumble across a classic Chinese eatery that will give me something to tell my great-grandchildren about. Well, tell my great-grandcats about anyway.

Dangerous Dog Serious Sausage

Dangerous Dog Serious Sausage
108 N 4th St.,Coeur d'Alene
(208) 819-0011

By nature, hot dogs are kind of lighthearted affairs. They're associated with old-fashioned good-time fun such as baseball games, trips to the circus, and thrift store anniversary sales. Or at the very least, a happy lunchtime trip to experience the simplicity of Gittel's 3 for $1.69 hot dogs, fresh from the prongs of the spinny machine, served with ketchup and mustard only.

"My wiener is happy to see you." It's the saying printed underneath a cartoon dachshund on a silly shirt I picked up from St. Vinny's a while ago, but never really felt compelled to break it out of the closet and put it on until I knew we were going on our maiden voyage to the new Dangerous Dog in the former City Perk location behind the Moose Lounge near 4th and Sherman in downtown Coeur d'Alene.

It seemed appropriate, also considering the recent extremely silly controversy involving Rep. Anthony Weiner's wiener being tweeted and flashed all over every news outlet everywhere. Lately, the Wiener/wiener jokes are pulsating through every blog, office, and bar in the nation. This probably doesn't sound quite right to say in that particular context, but right now wieners are way hot.

So, with all the wacky hot dog flapdoodle going on, it's a bit wry that Dangerous Dog uses the tagline "serious sausage". And they're not just dicking around with the idea, either. Twenty two different dog options currently appear on their menu, and each one has something completely unique, creative and sometimes slightly off-the-radar going on. It's obvious that a lot of serious contemplation went into the idea of jazzing up the basic frank and bun arrangement, and all the brain strain apparently paid off.

As I sit here typing, I am currently in a haze of hot dog bliss after consuming a divine Dangerous Dog lunch consisting of the #7, the All Cheese Dog. Cheddar, Monterey Jack, Mozzarella, Cotija cheese, and whole grain mustard all layered nice and thick on a plump wiener on an intensely fresh-baked bun that was soft and doughy on the outside and crispy golden in the center. It was a fantastic way to spend my lunch break and very well worth every penny of the $4 i put into it. Cheese nirvana!

Today was actually my third experience with the Dangerous Dog, and like cheap no-prescription narcotics mail-ordered surreptitiously from overseas, I'm totally hooked. These folks do wonderful, creative things with the blank canvas of a hot dog, and really, downtown Coeur d'Alene kinda got a few notches groovier overall when they decided to open up their doors.

Jesi accompanied me on my first visit to the place last week, and we were captivated right away by the sparse, urban vibe of the interior. Retro 70s chairs, raw plywood floors, the abstract art of neighbor Stevin Scroggins hung high below the exposed, unfinished ceiling. Indie-folk on the radio, and most perfectly, old Pink Panther cartoon on the flat-screen TV (it was still playing the other two times I visited). The place is open and airy, but comfortable and inviting, with the main focus being the huge chalk menu up on the wall behind the counter.

And oh, what a menu it is!A friend had raved gushingly about the #17 Chutney India Dog on Facebook a few days earlier, so I was pretty sure this was the one I had to check out, but with so many frankly bizarre options, the decision wasn't an easy one. The "Around the World in 80 Dogs" segment of the menu is a rotating selection of dogs that incorporate rarely seen ingredients from the culinary globe.

The #19 Chorzipan Argentina (Pork Chorizo, Mayonnaise, Chimichurri, Fresh Salsa) ($6.25) and the #20 Terimayo Japan (Pork Sausage, Teriyaki Sauce, Pineapple, Seaweed, Green Onions, Wasani Mayo) ($6.50) are just plain crazy, but the oddness factor of putting something like seaweed on a hot dog makes them something you'll want to throw down some shock and awe about when you talk about them later. 

Anthony Weiner might appreciate the #10 Naked ("Nothing at all. Your dog flying solo on a bun") ($2.75), but more interesting options abound such as the #14 Lamb Menguez (Artichoke pesto. Kalmata olives, Feta chesse, Lemon Dijonnaise) ($6.75), the #9 Blue Demon (Bleu Cheese dressing, Celery, Carrots, Gorgonzola Cheese, Buffalo Sauce), or the #12 Hippie (Veggie dog, Alfalfa sprouts, Mushrooms, yellow mustard, ketchup) ($4.25).

Jesi was the bravest girl of all when she decided to order the #6 P.B. Dog with peanut butter, sliced bananas, and chopped peanuts. She let me take a bite, and it's actually not as weird as it sounds and somehow the flavors and textures meld together in a unexpectedly right-on way.  Plus, the buns are so just-baked and delicioso, they could spread Shark Testicle Pâté, Vaseline, and sliced kiwis all over a plump wiener inside and it would still be incredible.

The Chutney Dog was the most expensive of the whole bunch at $7.25, and ultimately, it did seem a little wee for the price, but the thing was so cosmically flavorful and exotically enjoyable, I'd likely pay double when the craving strikes again. The mango chutney was house-made and full of sweetness and a terrific bang of spice, the cucumber riata was a bright flavor foil to the intensity of the chutney, the cilantro was a nice, perky touch, and underneath was a Chicken Mango Jalapeno sausage that was enough to make Oscar Mayer start selling his furniture on Craigslist.

Dangerous Dogs are great to go as well, as I found out when Jesi recently brought a #3 Pac Northwest (Cream Cheese, Caramelized onions, house sauce) ($3.75) to me at work at the bar. Advice: don't wear a white t-shirt while eating one of these incredibly tasty beasts, they are messy little buggers. I tried the soda water trick, but to no avail - so I just wore my hot dog stain proudly the rest of the night as a symbol of my love for Dangerous Dog and I just KNOW my customers were jealous.

Dangerous dog also serves ice cream and is open late (midnight weeknights and until 3 am Fridays and Saturdays).    

Atilano's Mexican Food

Atilano's Mexican Food
218 E. Appleway, Coeur d'Alene
208-664-8176

After extensive and truly difficult  research, self-styled "burrito expert" Cameron Coates has ultimately come to the conclusion that San Diego style burritos are the best burritos in the entire nation. In a 2007 Interview with the San Diego Tribute, Coates was asked, "What defines the San Diego burrito?" His reply was somewhat vague but basically understandable:

I have no idea. I can't figure it out. I think it's that they keep it really simple. They use two or three ingredients and really fresh tortillas -- grilled tortillas, not steamed. But why only here and not in L.A.? In San Francisco and a lot of other towns, they put beans and rice and everything in a burrito and it becomes a mess. It's the restraint, the clarity of their vision.

There seemed to be a lot of ballyhoo in the air surrounding the opening of the new Atilano's Mexican Food in the former KFC building on Appleway in Coeur d'Alene, with foodie know-it-alls suddenly acting like nobody in town had never had a damn good burrito unless they'd had an authentic San Diego style burrito. In fact, during my first chaotic experience at the eatery, on their second full day of business, a couple of strangers ahead of me in line were going on about how their families had relocated to North Idaho at some point and just never managed to find Mexican cuisine quite like what they'd gotten used to back in "America's Finest City".

The gushing comments that occupy the Facebook page originally set up for Atilano's downtown Spokane location (opened last year) is even full of hints that the buzz was something to pay attention to. Sadly, after two meals there myself and witness reports from a handful of others who've braved the throngs of people who've been crowding in to check out the new place, I have to say that I'm a bit baffled by the hype and that ultimately, Atilano's isn't quite the casa de la deliciosa cocina that we were quite expecting.

I've never been to an authentic San Diego burrito mecca, so I can't say with complete certainty how Atilano's compares to one, specifically the physical atmosphere. It's hard to tell if the owners just decided to leave things unfinished for the time being, or if they were consciously trying to emulate a place you might actually find in an especially broke-down, dozed-off section of the barrio.

The exterior is nice enough, with a splashy new yellow and red paint job screaming "we're authentic!", but open the door and walk inside and certain thoughts occur. Who broke into this poor old KFC, stole all the decor, then spray-painted over all the logos with a can of red spray paint? Was it a mad electrician with a fetish for exposed wires? (There are literally open outlet boxes with wires sticking out of the walls in several spots.) Can I still get a "famous" fried chicken, corn and mashed potato bowl and a side biscuit and coleslaw? Other than the employees, the only hint of old Mexico was the tejano music floating through lightly the air, and frankly, the place could use some serious sprucework and love on several levels.

Which leads one toward the hope that they were so concentrated on making fabulous food, that fancying up the raw state of the interior was low on their list of things to do. Both times I showed up, it was clear Atilano's staff was working their nalgas off to crank out the fruits of their massive, all-encompassing menu for the curious, hungry folks standing at least six people deep waiting to order. A dozen or so cooks were working the line behind the counter, and their high-speed frenzy of Spanish shouts and commands helped lend a vibe of excitement and authenticity to an already bananas affair.

Evidently, there wasn't even one moment available for someone to pause for a bit of cleanup time, as the kitchen floor was visibly littered with dirty, stepped-on chunks of meat, rice, and vegetables, which I can't say was the most inviting sight to see. When I made it to the front of the line, the cashier was friendly, but flustered and distracted and I had to repeat my relatively simple order three times as she kept wandering away from the counter as I was ordering (mid-sentence, actually) to tend to some other thing going on.

Perhaps it was just the high level of business giving Atilano's the opening week jitters or something, and I really did want to be awestruck by my lunch, but I came away pretty much unimpressed.

Atilano's menu is basically like this: if it's fast Mexican food, they have it. In fact, it's initially a daunting task to even decide what to get what with several dozen combo meals, around 15 burrito options, a pinata full of side options, and anything one could ever make by randomly combining tortillas, cheese, beans, rice, sauces, lettuce, tomatoes, and you know the rest. It's nice to have some selection, but there is certainly something to be said for simplicity ( I'm looking at you, Taco Loco) when you've got a dozen customers waiting at the counter looking up at the menu board indecisively, holding up the show.

In addition to being open 24 hours a day for those post-tequila-marathon munchie sessions, another noticable perk at Atilano's are the reasonable price points, with most of the burritos in the $3-$5 range and the combo plates all around $7. Curiously, the "salsa bar" consisted of a bowlful of pre-made cups of salsa verde, a bowl of red hot sauce and a scoop but no cups to scoop it into, and some spicy pickled carrots. That's it. Both sauces tasted fine, but in my book, three items does not a salsa bar make.

My initial visit led me to an encounter with some rather bland pork enchiladas, some rather bland rice, and some rather bland refried beans. The corn tortillas (I wasn't given the option of flour) blanketing the enchiladas were chewy and the dish included big chunks of some kind of rather bland green pepper situation, a fact which wasn't mentioned anywhere on the menu. A friend complained to me about this later as well, as she is a green pepper hater and said she was totally "turned of by those gross, slimy things." The chicken hard taco wasn't quite as rather bland only after liberal applications of the salsa verde to cover up for the fact that the chicken inside was, yes, rather bland. Actually, the chicken taco was greasy enough to past muster overall, but I really did drive away with a case of completely-bland-itis.

As I was leaving, I looked again at the Atilano's sign and realized that I might have missed the whole point. "San Diego's Best Burritos" I read, reminding me of what the whole fuss was supposedly about in the first place. I returned a few days later to see if maybe this might be the key to the mystery of the eatery's appeal, this time avoiding the madness of the dining room for a twenty minute long trip through the drive through.

Indeed, their Adobada (Spanish for "marinated") pork burrito was a giant and much tastier affair. Still, it did vary from the expert's description at the beginning of this review by utilizing a steamed, not grilled burrito, which didn't really hold up well and made for a sloppy mess as I dripped its contents all over my desk, floor, and self when I got it home. It wasn't at all rather bland, in fact the flavorful, rich pork, beans, potato chunks, and pico de gallo came together in a pretty okay, "maybe this place isn't so terrible" kind of way.

It's hard to besmirch the good name of tater tots, and they didn't, but when they are sold under the guise of "mexi-fries", one expects a few sprinkles of seasoning instead of just Plain Jaunita specimens. Still, after all was said and done, the highlight of both meals was the large cup of delicious horchata, a staple Mexican sweet beverage that's irritatingly hard to track down in this area.

About 5/8 way through my Adobada burrito, I felt a sudden attack of an "oh God, I'm uncomfortably full", not-so-fresh feeling that sent me straight to the couch, where I felt the need to recover for the rest of the evening until crawling into bed with a case of the ughs still lingering. I woke up the next morning with a tummy that was still quite iffy and wanted to print up a souvenir tee-shirt which read, "I survived the the Great Atilano's Bloat of 2011".  

Jonesy's Breakfast and Lunch

Jonesy's Breakfast and Lunch
816 Sherman Ave., Coeur d'Alene
(208) 666-1641

Personally, I've never really had a nickname that stuck with me. When I was just a wee moppet, my mother would occasionally refer to me fondly as her little "Stinky McGooberkins", but if anyone called me that now, they'd most likely get shanked in the spleen with the business end of a broken bottle of Jägermeister. On the other hand, Tim Mitchell, owner of downtown Coeur d'Alene's newly opened Jonesy's restaurant had a childhood nickname that he thinks still rocks. According to the Jonesy's Facebook info, the name on the sunny yellow sign out front is what has always made Mitchell's head turn and say "huh?" every time someone says it. Kind of like how I usually respond when someone says "hey, bitch".

I've already spilled a ton of pixels on this blog about the black luck voodoo curse that seems to hang over this particular downtown building. Last September, the disastrous Sherman Junction was just opening its doors for a sad two and half month flounce, and I wrote optimistically, "Welcome Sherman Junction, and thanks for providing the chance to return to an old favorite place so we can once again enjoy a relaxing meal and take in that iconic, comforting old view of Sherman Avenue from behind those enormous picture windows."

It wasn't a complete surprise when they went tits-up. At least a dozen good intentions have been laid to waste over the years within the corridors of 816 Sherman Avenue since it was constructed in the mid 1970's. My recent visit to Jonesy's did give me a serious case of deja vu all over again, but I'm a positive kinda guy, so I'm going to repeat myself (literally) and say, "Welcome Jonesy's, and thanks for providing the chance to return to an old favorite place so we can once again enjoy a relaxing meal and take in that iconic, comforting old view of Sherman Avenue from behind those enormous picture windows." 

It may be too early to get a good feel about whether or not Joney's is on the right path to betray the hex, but I will say that as far as I can tell, they're off to a generally fine, if a bit jittery start. While I can't come up with anything to be directly catty about, my Sunday morning solo breakfast there didn't necessarily compel me to perform ecstatic delectation rituals for Ganesha either.

Jonesy's might be smart not to have invested in any renovations or major redecorations right off the bat. I've seen way too many places fail epically because the owners invested nearly their entire wad of cash on making their place all Fancy Nancy, then going out of business because they have no money to keep running the show.

It might just be me, but I can't really see where Jonesy's has really done anything different with what Sherman Junction had going on interior-wise. The 4000 square foot eatery kept the same ho hum pale yellow walls, washed-out moss green valances and generic grey berber loop-pile carpeting.

It's not uncomfortable at all, in fact in a way, the space's simplicity and lack of hype is somewhat refreshing,  it just seems slightly devoid of personality and could seriously use some magic swishery from David Bromstad, host of HGTV's makeover show "Colorsplash", who often proves that it doesn't take a lot of cash to create a unique interior. However, Jonesy's still wins bonus flair points for the huge, colorful chalk mural of their menu that greets diners upon entry.

The nifty wooden counter is also a holdover, and that's where I chose to land rather than wait the approximately 15 minutes to get a booth by the window. The place was pretty hopping and it was entertaining to watch the cook and his prep guy scamper about quite effectively directly across from me in the open kitchen. I ordered the Country Fried Steak and my order arrived fast, landing on my rooster place mat with a reassuring thud.

"Alright, here you go, and I'll grab your toast in just a sec", said my waiter and walked away, out onto the floor to take a few long orders from other diners. A bit odd, especially since I saw a small plate of sourdough toast (they type I had ordered) sitting across from me under the heat lamp looking quite lonely. With my tummy all a-rumble and a plate of steaming breakfast in front, I noticed another minor problem right away: I had no utensils to eat with.

I sat there looking at my food forlornly and a little bewildered until after a few minutes, the guy sitting at the counter next to me, a total stranger, noticed my dilemma and offered to give me his rolled up napkin full of knife, fork, and spoon. Charitable indeed, and I nearly felt like handing him my waiter's future tip for his troubles, but I resisted asking him if I could have his toast too.

My waiter swooshed by behind me at one point and I asked to my toast, please. He disappeared back into the kitchen and made a few fresh slices himself, leaving the rejecto toast withering under the lamp. He was friendly enough, and once I started digging into my food, I was in a forgiving state of mind.

Not that the my breakfast was overly divine, but it was winning for the most part. Everything was quite obviously home made from scratch, no frozen hash browns or mysterious eggs poured from a carton here. Some might call the country steak a bit on the wee side, but personally, I don't always like having some huge monster in front of me that makes me feel like I have to finish it all and end up feeling Kirstie-Alley-at-the-Chinese-Buffet full.

I didn't leave hungry, let's put it that way, and it was doing the job of hitting the spot - tender cube steak, not at chewy, a thick, crispy coating of deep fried goodness, and a dollop of rich gravy smothering it like a creamy puddle of love (that sounded way wrong, but I'm keeping it). It's hard to mess up scrambled eggs, and they didn't.

My only beef was with the hash browns - I always prefer the option  of O'Brien style action, and these were the shredded kind, a bit too on the un-crispy side with a bit that stringy, soggy, par-hard texture in the middle that I just can never really get with. Like the decor, my meal was agreeable and un-fussy, but lacked a noticeable amount of jazz and personality. Will I be back? Most likely, yes.

The menu itself, printed in a plain black font on plain white paper, covers the typical waterfront of reasonably priced breakfast and lunch diner items, but also suffers from an absence of anything dynamic. Denver Omelet, Western Scramble, Biscuits and Gravy, Spaghetti & Meatballs, Tuna Melt, Club Sandwich, Fish & Chips, Chef Salad.  Classics all, but quite bare bones, although in a way I do admire the direct approach to naming items, contrary to many places which cause eyerolls galore with their flowery approach to naming the basics.

The one place where they do strike gold on this front is with the burgers, which according to the menu were "named after some of our favorite people". I've no idea who Rooster, Nae Nae, Best Bud and the "Veg-a-nater" (I'm not touching that one) are, but at least they've inspired some fun in an otherwise overly basic production.

Jonesy's is open for business from 6 a.m. to 2 p.m. daily (closed Mondays).