So how as a nation can we sit around and eat Mexican food and drink beer and make friends? That’s the question. If we can do that on a broader scale, I think we’ll come out of it all right.
– Supreme Court Judge Sandra Day O’Connor
Interior décor at Los Magueys in Inverness, FL
[Warning: this post may induce cravings for Mexican food and/or TexMex.]
You know the drill.
Robie and I will order queso and a quesadilla (beef if it’s steak, chicken if it’s ground beef) and judge the fare. The benchmark for the queso is simple – is it real cheese? With the quesadilla, we want to know:
- Is the filling balanced?
- Is the tortilla properly toasted?
- And does anyone remember our order of jalapeños on the side? (Fresh preferred but pickled perfectly acceptable).
There are style points for ambiance and décor. Plus, if we uncover a particularly good restaurant story worth sharing, we’ll pass it along.
By the time Robie and I turned south on I-75 in Florida, we’d established a pretty good system. While Robie drove, I researched Mexican restaurants along our route and read menus and reviews out loud. It was a tactic that kept us both constantly hungry. But what else was there to do after we’d run through the deck of sports trivia cards I bought at a gas station in Mississippi?
To celebrate our arrival in St. Petersburgh, we made a detour to Ted Peter’s for a palette cleanser and ordered their famous fish spread. This, it should be noted, is pronounced fishbread in case someone ever mentions it and you imagine a loaf of bread with little bits of fish baked in. Because that’s not it. And if something like that were a thing, I believe Jesus would have turned the loaves and fishes into fishbread and fed the five thousand.
But I digress….
For dinner Robie and I decided to try Grand Hacienda on Gulf Boulevard not because it had once been our hangout when we lived in nearby Madeira Beach (the restaurant didn’t exist back then), but because it was close to our hotel and the weatherman said Tropical Storm Debby was about to make landfall. And if we’d been less concerned about the weather, we wouldn’t have stayed. Because as someone once mused, “What’s a Mexican restaurant without a margarita?” Or at least one without Mexico’s most important contribution to world cuisine, tequila. So, let me just state for the record that white wine mixed with Cointreau and lime juice just doesn’t cut it.
After the disappointing drink menu, I was pleased to see that this place explained something few people know about Mexican food. And it’s crucial here for me to point out we aren’t talking about TexMex. So, no nachos, fajitas (yes, there’s some dispute about the origins of fajitas but until Ninfa’s in Houston put it on the menu there wasn’t even a name for the sizzling plate of meat, onions and peppers), no burritos or even what Robie and I consider quesadillas.
True, authentic, real Mexican food was the first cuisine on the planet to be named to UNESCO’s List of Intangible Cultural Heritage.
You read that correctly. Mexican cuisine. Not French, not Italian, not hamburgers or pizza. While some people got their knickers in a twist and have since lobbied to have their cuisines added to UNESCO’s list of culturally important foods, it was Mexican food with its dark, rich moles and vibrant salsas, New World spices (chiles), native fruits and vegetables (tomatoes and squash) and techniques mixed with European meats (pork, lamb, beef) and grains (rice) that was the first to be recognized.
Grand Hacienda pays tribute to that proud heritage with a description of the restaurant’s choice for a logo, the royal Aztec headdress worn by Moctezuma II made from 500 plume feathers of the exquisite quetzal bird. This beautiful work of art given to Cortes by the doomed ruler eventually found its way to an Austrian count in the Spanish court. Then for three and a half centuries the crown was lost. It was rediscovered in 1878 at a castle in Innsbruck and resides today in Vienna despite the Mexican government’s request for its return.
Reproduction of Moctezuma’s headdress in The National Museum of Anthropology in Mexico City (photo by Thomas Ledl – Own work, CC BY-SA 4.0)
For the family behind Grand Hacienda, the headdress symbolizes beauty and spirituality where “from our logo to our décor to our food, we believe full-heartedly in holding strong to our roots and sharing these aspects of our culture.” Unfortunately, they apparently don’t feel the same about their country’s contribution of tequila. At least not at this location.
As Robie and I sat with our faux margaritas, my fingers raced to figure out how I’d made such a mistake. And when I discovered Grand Hacienda’s sister restaurants all served tequila and mezcal (along with a full bar), it made the company’s website misleading. Because nowhere on their online list of classic, handcrafted cocktails did it mention that those same drinks weren’t available at the St. Pete Beach location. Only a 6-year-old Yelp review said anything about it. And that was inexcusable since any restaurant failing to offer the same quality of ingredients across their brand should notify people before they walk in the door.
As I continued to fume, Robie discovered an item on Grand Hacienda’s menu we hadn’t seen since leaving Texas, queso fundido. And that little number helped assuage my indignation over wine “cocktails”.
Served in small, individual cast iron pans like Resident Taqueria in Lake Highlands, the queso fundido was a blanket of melty white Chihuahua cheese covering toasty brown, crispy-fried goodness. And when topped with delicate tendrils of sautéed rajas (poblano strips, for the uninitiated), they mostly plopped unceremoniously on the table every time Robie and I dug our spoons into the molten queso and came out with impressively long cheese pulls we lovingly dolloped onto pillowy flour tortillas.
Grand Hacienda’s Queso Fundido (pictured with chorizo) in St. Pete Beach, FL
The queso fundido boded well for the beef quesadilla that was still to arrive. But like every other Mexican place east of the Sabine River (that’s the border between Louisiana and Texas, y’all) the good folks at Grand Hacienda didn’t believe in making cheese the star of their quesadillas. But neither did they confuse the flavors by adding onions and peppers, so the quesadilla tasted good even if it was chintzy on the cheese. The service was warm and welcoming, but the orange and yellow walls lacked character and the red cushions in our booth needed to be restuffed to fix what felt like large, permanent divots.
As we left Grand Hacienda, Robie and I wondered if we were reaching our limit of Mexican food and should augment our diet with other cuisines. But when we opted to leave the decision till later, an encore seemed inevitable. Because we both knew that given the chance, we’d happily devour TexMex every day.
After waiting out slow-moving Debby and watching the storm from our window at the Postcard Inn, Robie and I hit the road heading north to Citrus County. And another Mexican restaurant.
Los Magueys in Inverness sits on U.S. Highway 41 just north of State Highway 44. And this little gem behind tinted windows in a stand-alone structure was nothing short of delightful as we sat surrounded by furniture with artfully painted jaguar warriors and Aztec princesses, field workers on siesta, horses, bulls, birds, guitars and serapes. String lights were draped around a wooden arbor as decorative tin chandeliers accented the room perfectly. And their mural above the bar depicted scenes from an agave harvest.
Los Maguey’s brightly decorated interior, Inverness, FL
Plus, it seemed Florida restaurants understood the importance of queso fundido since like Grand Hacienda, Los Magueys offered the delicious, gooey cheese dish. And because Robie and I were having lunch with his mother and brother-in-law, we got the chance to see two newbies enjoy their first taste of fundido up close and personal. As their eyes rolled back in their heads involuntary yummy noises escaped parted lips and a calm serenity enveloped them.
Yeah, queso fundido’s that good.
And for any amateurs in the crowd, queso flameado is the same thing as queso fundido except instead of cooking it on the stove over high heat, the dish is doused in liquor and lit tableside like a Fourth of July firework display. Because flaming cheese? Yes, please!
It’s a shame more people aren’t familiar with the two dishes because they’re the equivalent of a hand-massaged, beautifully marbled cow to make a succulent Kobe steak as Velveeta is to oxtail (not that oxtail doesn’t have its place, but you wouldn’t serve it like steak). Quesos fundido and flameado are like comparing beluga caviar to anchovies, champagne to Schlitz Malt Liquor, an emerald to a rhinestone.
I’m just sayin’.
And while Robie stuck to our plan and ordered the Steak Fajita Quesadilla, I veered off course just this once to get something that’s hard to find even in Texas, beef tongue tacos (spelled ‘tonge’ on the menu).
I mention this because if I ever start a business, it will be as a consultant to all the mom-and-pop restaurants of the world offering English translations they don’t know how to spell. And because the misspelling was the only thing I found to complain about at Los Magueys. Everything else was superb. After our friendly server remembered our jalapeños (fresh ones!), he told us about Los Magueys’ five other locations scattered across Central Florida. And if they’re as charming as the Inverness restaurant with food that tastes as delicious, I would unreservedly endorse them all.
Robie and his mom as we said goodbye outside Los Magueys, Inverness, FL
Following lunch, Robie and I made our way across Florida to Jacksonville stopping at the newly opened El Cabo Restaurant near Regency Square Mall to wait for our friends. And since we were just killing time, we planned to order nothing more than the queso. But when we saw it was Velveeta, we couldn’t bring ourselves to sully the memory of Los Magyues’ queso fundido and so settled for chips and salsa.
While I’m certain I’ll get condemned for dissing Velveeta as some will invariably insist, “But that’s the flavor of my childhood,” let me just say this: That it may be, but Velveeta ain’t cheese.
The lab experiment that became Velveeta was conceived by Swiss immigrant Emil Frey after the Monroe Cheese Company charged him with coming up with a way to use the broken and misshapen cheese wheels no one wanted to buy. And when Emil discovered that melting scraps of cheese with whey byproduct produced something cheese-like with a smooth, velvety texture, he knew he’d hit the jackpot. When Kraft bought the Monroe Cheese Company, they marketed Velveeta as a healthy, nutritious cheese that was “highly nourishing” for “weight watching moms” and “growing youngsters.”
Yet despite Emil’s use of cheese in the original recipe, today’s Velveeta has none. The golden block is now made with nothing more than whey protein concentrate, milk protein concentrate, milk, fat and preservatives. Even by the Food and Drug Administration’s admittedly lax standards, that’s not cheese. Classifying it as “pasteurized processed cheese product,” in 2002 the FDA forced Kraft to change the label from “cheese spread” to “cheese product.” And according to a February 2024 class action lawsuit in New York, Kraft has mislabeled Velveeta Shells and Cheese as “made with real cheese” despite no cheese appearing anywhere in the ingredient list.
But I say go ahead and keep your runny artificial cheese dip. Just please, don’t call it queso.
Despite the promising name of Fajitas Mexican Grill at Eisenhower Crossing in Macon, Georgia the following afternoon, Robie and I slid into a booth and waited for our eyes to adjust to the darkness. But as is too often the case with dimly lit restaurants, the lights were turned down for a reason.
Our Cheese Dip was made with “delicious Land O’ Lakes white melted cheddar.” To be clear, the product’s official name is Extra Melt American Cheese Loaf, White described by Land O’ Lakes as a “premium process cheese [that] can do it all and withstand just about anything you throw at it.” And Fajitas Mexican Grill’s queso tasted about as mouthwatering as that sounds.
But the quesadillas looked more promising with options for Shrimp, Ranchera (one steak, one chicken), Fajita (steak or chicken) and something called a Margarita Quesadilla that had it all goin’ on – steak, grilled chicken and shrimp along with peppers, onions and tomatoes. But you probably know where this is headed. Robie and I certainly did.
Where’s the cheese? Fajitas Mexican Grill’s chicken quesadilla in Macon, GA
Despite the nicely griddled tortilla with appetizing brown spots, there wasn’t enough cheese in the steak quesadilla. And this time it wasn’t just us. Because while Robie and I readily admit our cheese bias, one reviewer shared her innovative hack to get more cheese into her chicken quesadilla by posting a Fajitas Mexican Grill’s triangle dipped into a cup of Land O’ Lakes queso.
Who knew?
Sadly, the restaurant’s gloomy interior didn’t help the food or the ambiance. Other than the many TVs that made us feel as though we’d accidentally walked into a sports bar, the only decorations were huge, hammered copper chandeliers. And while gorgeous, the fixtures offered little in the way of light and merely brought attention to the open, industrial ceiling painted black.
Plus, the server forgot our jalapeños.
After Robie and I spent a few days with family, we picked up a friend at Atlanta’s Hartsfield International Airport and drove straight to Los Mariachis Mexican Restaurant in Fairburn, rarin’ to get back in the saddle.
Los Mariachis Mexican Restaurant in Fairburn, GA
But our arrival between lunch and dinner coincided with the kitchen blaring beatbox music in an otherwise empty joint. And that made it difficult to conduct our final piece of business.
After driving 2,000 miles since Dallas, it was time for Robie and I to get rid of our last major possession. And once the waiter kindly adjusted the volume and the music selection, we got down to signing over the title to Robie’s car.
Then we got serious about our last meal in the United States.
Since it seemed likely that the places we planned to visit for the foreseeable future had probably never heard of chimichangas, chicharron, chapulines or Chihuahua cheese; had never tasted dayslong, authentic mole; eaten tamales on Christmas Eve; or knew huitlacoche from Wheaties, Robie and I knew only one thing.
We had to make this meal count.
The Queso Fundido Puebla, described as a “melted bead of mozzarella cheese with poblano pepper slices,” seemed an encouraging start. For quesadillas, we had what had to be an overstuffed Veggie Quesadilla (with mushrooms, spinach, onions, peppers, tomatoes, jalapeños, black beans and squash), the Quesadilla de Carnitas (with pork, onion and mushroom), a Triple Quesadilla (a triple-layered behemoth of steak, chicken and shrimp), the Isla Mujeres Quesadilla (filled with Mahi Mahi, tilapia and shrimp along with cooked red onions, cilantro, tomatoes and jalapeños), and finally the Quesadillas Chilangas (3 crispy quesadillas stuffed with chicken or brisket, lettuce, avocado and queso fresco topped with a jalapeno sauce).
But when I saw the rest of the quesadillas on the menu, I knew that brothers Mario and Jose Garcia, owners of Los Mariachis, knew what they were doing.
The first was something called “Traditional Very Cheese” which I hoped was lost in translation and meant the tortilla would overflow with melty cheesy goodness whether I chose plain (cheese only), chicken, beef or brisket. Under Fajita Style Quesadillas I saw all the usual suspects (chicken, shrimp and steak) and one newcomer I hadn’t seen anywhere else: the option to order a quesadilla with no cheese at all. Just meat.
While I could quibble about calling something with no queso a quesadilla, this little surprise proved one thing: the brothers Garcia understood their audience. And that boded well for anyone choosing to dine at Los Mariachis. It certainly did for us.
The melted mozzarella queso fundido with poblano was sublime. The steak fajita quesadilla (made “very cheese” just because we could) served alongside a cup of fresh, sliced jalapeños tasted of TexMex heaven. And when paired with a refreshing salt-rimmed beverage, our final meal in the U. S. was transcendent.
Not long after, Robie and I stood on the airport curb waving to our friend as she peeled off in what was now her black Toyota 4Runner. As our eye locked eyes, we placed hands over our hearts, inhaled deeply and took that giant leap of faith into the abyss.