FOOD STYLE: Tex-Mex
LOCATION: Easy to Miss; Limited Parking
Yo Quiero Mediocrity!
Genuine, classic "Hole-in-the-Wall" eateries generally possess three characteristics: 1) they are hard to find if you've never been, 2) they are beloved local institutions, and 3) their food is exceptional or noteworthy in some respect.
Of all the joints that grace this metroplex of sweltering concrete, condos, and congestion, perhaps none is more lauded or famed than the infamous Chuy's. Ask anyone in this town to ID a local "Hole-in-the-Wall", and, with a hungering smile, "Chuy's" is likely to be the first name to roll off their moistening lips.
Nestled in the heart of the modest urban wilderness of Knox & McKinney, and tucked away in the brambles of a confusing pastiche of strip stores and backlots, Chuy's is not a place often discovered by passersby. Indeed, Chuy's most prominent entrance is not from the obscured front of the building, but (perhaps prophetically so) from the small rear parking lot, which can only be accessed through one of three dumpster service alleys. Were the path not already etched into the minds of millions, Chuy's could easily serve as a close second to the lonesome caves of the rocky Afghani hinterland. So a big 'check' for being hard to find.
The next criteria on the list could pass without mention. Chuy's has legions of passionate devotees who's ardor for the humble eatery would do justice by the adherents of Reverend Moon, the blood-crazed supplicants of Kali from Indiana Jones, or the 20 deranged Germans who still cherish Michael Jackson as the unseated, uber-manly "King of Pop". Talk to fans, and you almost expect to find crowds of swaying disciples standing outside the doors, chanting "Kali Ma. Kali Ma!" Although, considering the logistics of the area, it would be more apropos if they were shouting "Par-King! Par-King!" (Get there by 11:30 for lunch or forget it.)
You cannot underestimate the pull this restaurant has on some people. The stories of their devotion border on the religious - a man who moved to California 20 years ago who flies in 4 times a year just to dine at his favorite Tex-Mex-ery ... a person in my own office who eats lunch at Chuy's nearly every day ... and people who live 2 hours away who drive into DFW each week to feast on chalupas and queso.
How many restaurants inspire that kind of love?
Naturally, this brings us to the third criteria - the food. And it is here that the vaunted Chuy's Juggernaut comes to inexplicable ruin. In spite of all expectations and hopes to the contrary, the food is simply ... average. Strikingly average. Ignoring the kitsch, the puffery, and the remonstrations of the faithful, this supposedly favorite pit stop of Elvis Presley is little more than an 'El Fenix' or warmed-over Taco Cabana. There is nothing on the menu (nothing!) which is particularly interesting or compelling.
Supposedly representing the best of 'Tex-Mex', the crowded menu offers a litany of the same-old dumbed-down, genericized and Americanized combos of tortilla, beef / chicken / shrimp, cheese, beans, rice, and salsa you'll find at any low-budget Mexican franchise in the US, served up as tacos, enchiladas, quesadillas, etc straight from the corporate franchisee handbook. Absent is any sense of the rich pantheon of flavors, creativity, and spices common just a mere pole-vault to the south.
For example, Chuy's and its admirers rave about its fresh, home-made tortillas, as if the stuff were manna from the heavens. But they are so lacking in character and taste that in a blind test most people would think that they were eating a bag of Mission tortillas from the bread aisle at Kroger's. They are as inconsequential as the tortillas from Blue Goose, which are also freshly made and provoke the same question - why bother if this is the result?
In general, Chuy's main offerings compare equally with the standard "Fiesta!"-brand frozen Mexican entrees you might find in your local Albertson's (with new improved White-Bread flavor!). It might explain the appeal as being one borne of comfort and familiarity, versus authenticity and originality. The shrimp specials do stand out as one of the better choices. But again, they're just okay, and taste more of the aquaculture farms of Thailand than they do of the petroleum-scented sweetness of real Gulf shrimp.
The side dishes at Chuy's are especially bland and unlikely to pique the interest. The rice, refried beans, and pinto bean sides are flavorless and serve mainly to occupy decorative space that might otherwise contain the disappointment of diners. Even the regulars often leave their sides alone and stick to the watery salsa and chips.
Chuy's obviously does appeal strongly to a large segment of the population, and my words will pass by them like so much barking in the night. Still, Chuy's aspirations to true greatness will likely remain firmly grounded for years to come. read more