Date Night - an occasional series

Yes, we here at the wine wall realize that we've been slacking off. What can we say? You've heard our excuses before (holidays, snow, our "real" jobs getting in the way, etc). But we've made a resolution (better late than never) to begin again. Yes, despite our best intentions, you will never hear about our adventures in Little Rhody (Johnny cakes, both East and West Bay style, latkes, or the exact right cheese and wine to pair with Scrabble), our trip to Mexico, our Christmas party, our Election Night party, or even our most recent dinner at The Herbfarm (although it was amazing and we took lots of pictures). But the future is bright . . .

We are bringing back an old favorite - Tuesdays with Market - a weekly exploration of Pike Place Market's bounty (ie our quest to eat everywhere in the Market that sells prepared foods). And we are starting a new tradition - Date Night - aka "I worked late, got stuck in a parking lot on I-5, and we realized we had better set our sites a little closer to home." That's what happened tonight and it was the perfect excuse for us to hit one of our favorite Greenwood haunts . . .

Gorditos claims to be "Healthy Mexican" but the only thing healthy about it is the portions. They have a burrito there the size of a baby. Seriously, there is a side by side comparison photo on the wall and the burrito actually appears to be slightly larger than the baby. We usually get that burrito's slightly-less-large-but-still-too-big-to-ever-be-eaten (even by the likes of us)-in-one-sitting cousin. I like the veggie one, not because I'm trying to save the planet but because it comes with free guacamole inside, and Paul usually gets a meatier version. We also like them "wet," meaning smothered in cheese, salsa, and sour cream. While, like all Seattle burritos, they suffer from a distinct lack of cohesion and must be eaten with fork and knife, these are certainly some of the most satisfying efforts at Mission-style burritos around. And, after one of these and a Pacifico and some chips, a healthy food coma will wipe out the stress of that meeting that ran over and even the I-5 commute.

Finally, Good Mexican

Malena's Tacos - This is the best kept secret in Ballard! Forget La Carta de Oaxaca, this place does Mexican better, bigger, and cheaper. Plus, it is completely lacking in pretension and you don't have to wait in line. We got the carne asada burritos to go and our first bites immediately took us back to the Mission in San Francisco and a little tacqueria called La Tacqueria where a similar level of burrito love can be found. No beans. No rice. Just a pile of perfect, tender, grilled steak smothered in fresh avocado and peppers. Deeelicious! Go now, before everyone knows about it, and you can't find a table.

Tuesdays with Market

Puerco Lloron- Oh, Marron.

When it comes to our cultural and political figures, we often tolerate a great number of character flaws. Think Bill Clinton. Muhammed Ali. Papa Hemingway. If only restaurants were given the same wide berth. And when a restaurant seems to flaunt its faults as egregiously as Puerco Lloron, it makes me want to cry. Does the name of the restaurant, the "weeping pig", seem to taunt you, too? Can they get away with this? It's thus far unclear. What we do know is that this hole-in-the-wall Mexican restaurant, tucked away in a long-forgotten lower level of the Market, is wonderfully- blissfully- filthy. Even if Samuel Jackson's character in Pulp Fiction were half-correct in his estimation of a pig's hygienic standards, this place wouldn't pass muster as even a stop-through-for-the-night kind of sty. Allow me to digress, to express my Mexican food bona fides, if you will. Many a wonderful weekend afternoon did Helen and I spend, along with my lifelong buddy Adrian, in the Mission District of San Francisco, sampling many a bottle of beer, hunting down this tostada with room temp ceviche, that tongue burrito, often in the type of establishments in which refrigeration as we know it had not yet made landfall. The difference: the food at Puerco Lloron, I'm sorry to say, just ain't doin' it for me. I ordered the carne asada. In the flavor department (Platonic ideal: rich, juicy complexity of lime juice and jalapeno love) it fell short; the insult was that it was also saltier than hell! And this coming from Mr. Just Regained His Palate After Oversalting Every Meal He Prepared. No, that ain't cool. Helen was happy with her stuffed pepper, and the beans and rice estaban bien, pero ... there was crusted salsa funk spread from one corner of the open kitchen/counter/hot line to the other. Nothing looked fresh, nothing was bustling except the cucarachas. Don't give this place a second chance. It appears to have somehow survived, and I understand the complete and utter paucity of good Mexican this far north, but let's either throw the subpars overboard or starve the beast altogether. Seattlans deserve better, damn it!