Los Portales

201 Main Street
Hillsboro Mo.

Gray skies of October

This weekend was different. Several things merged which I’ll admit up front may have made me a little out of whack and off my game.
Angel was out of town, somewhere in Indiana for a dog training seminar or convention. She left Friday afternoon and was scheduled back home late on Monday. 

Also I’d had a tense and extremely busy week at work and by Friday night I was essentially comatose with exhaustion. Saturday morning I went through the motions of weekend errands somewhat robotically. My beautifully sculpted brain was mostly on vacation. On top of that, a co-worker that I sit near spent most of Thursday sniffling sneezing, wheezing and coughing. The early signs of a team-stifling bug. She stayed at home on Friday and even reported in that she would be going in to see a doctor. So Saturday I found myself dim of brain and sniffling. Either I’d picked up the bug or was succumbing to the wild weather changes that affected the area late in the week. Only early October, the skies were heavy, gray, wet, and cold. Not the pretty, crisp bright blue skies of October that I love, but the dreary, stark, wintry cold of a day like you imagine funerals should take place.

So this was the stage, a recipe for disappointment.

Adam was tending to the dogs. Diana, Angel’s part-time trainer, stopped by to conduct Saturday class and work with a couple of the pooches. I, without Angel’s gentle guidance and counsel, myself, limp of brain, moped about rudderless and somewhat puny.

When it came time to decide on dinner, I suggested to Adam that we just grab a burger or a couple of pizzas and to not worry about a review. This took the pressure off. So after I awoke from an extended nap, I asked if he had any thoughts on the matter.

The Place:

  He suggested this and I immediately accepted the recommendation. It allowed me not to think about it much and it had the added advantage of being close by. I went out and cleaned off the passenger seat of my unimpressive little commuter car. Since no one ever rides with me the passenger seat doubles as a desk, dining table, pantry and closet.  Paperwork, snack crackers, lists, insurance reports, hats, gloves and three or four books, along with an embarrassing amount of small trash.

Los Portales is about the closest restaurant to our front door, beating Hardee’s by about a hundred feet. It’s across the street from the courthouse at the town’s busiest intersection. It takes about seven minutes to get there, but in my lethargic condition, this time we made it in about ten.

There was already a fair crowd inside, mostly small families with kids crunching on chips and moms and dads sipping bright, colorful adult beverages.

We were told to find a seat on our own, a heavy responsibility without Angel as a guide. I chose a booth by a window, one that was about as far away from the other patrons as possible. I had taken the camera and notebook with me, “just in case” I told Adam. A true writer/journalist does this, it simply can’t be helped. For a good writer/journalist never knows when a review-able dining experience might pop up out of nowhere.

Shortly, the always bustling and ample in number, pink-shirted staff took our drink order and delivered the menus and obligatory chips and salsa.

Taco Salad, with added tomato.

The Food:
The menu was daunting. There seemed to be a thousand choices, none actually sounding that appetizing. I realized that I should be hungry, not having snacked or lunched at all since my weekend-morning ritual coffee and breakfast biscuit at Hardee’s, but I wasn't. Stress, exhaustion and the flu all have a similar effect on me, though so does the occasional extreme change in weather. I’m as fragile as a thoroughbred horse that way, the slightest bit of out-of-whackness causes me to lose my appetite, though I usually make up for it in spades later. (I am also like a thoroughbred horse in other ways, a big heart and flimsy knees to name a few. How I respond to a whip or spurs is not open for discussion in this venue.)

I teetered between the enchiladas, which I’d had there before and always enjoyed, and a simple taco salad, which seemed somehow kinder and gentler. By the time our order was taken, I was on the salad swing of that pendulum. Adam chose a nacho dish, the Nachos Supreme. “No tomatoes please.” He clearly added.

We munched on the chips, and tried to conduct a conversation. Angel said “                ”    because she wasn't there, which left a major, nearly insurmountable gap in the discourse. I tried to think of something she might say, but came up blank.

So we discussed evening entertainment options, movies, neither of us knew if there was anything out yet that we wanted to see. “But mom would want to watch them too.” Adam said, not wanting to watch something without her that she’d like to see. That was fair, but it seriously reduced our coming up with anything.

Nachos Supreme, tomato removed.

Our drinks were in front of us, tasteless, colorless, lifeless tea for me, which suited my condition, and Coke for Adam.

It wasn't long before the plates arrived.

In my mind I was thinking of the kind of taco salad we frequently have at home. We use Fritos, Catalina dressing, lettuce, olives, onions, tomatoes, refried beans, bright yellow shredded cheese, sour cream, taco sauce, and seasoned ground beef. To call it a salad is a little ridiculous since the only thing ‘salad’ about it, is the quantity of lettuce.

This one looked different. It had the crispy flour tortilla bowl, lettuce, white shredded cheese, sour cream, and shredded, almost puréed spiced chicken. The bowl was glued to the plate by a dollop of refried beans.

Adam’s nachos came with a tomato, which he had specifically asked to be omitted. I took it, chopped it up and put it on my salad to give it, if nothing else, a bit of color.

I noticed that around the base of the bowl, that a milky, soupy stream had formed around the refried beans. I assumed it to be the excess liquid from the sour cream and chicken, etc. dripping out of the bottom of the crispy bowl.  It didn't look very appetizing, so I ignored it.

The salad tasted fine, but seemed to be missing a few ingredients. Adam seemed to enjoy his nachos pretty well, once he’d removed the offensive tomato.

The puddle grew bigger. Only a quarter of the way into the salad, the milky, soupy puddle grew and threatened to breach the rim of the plate. It also saturated the bottom half of the tortilla, eliminating completely, the crunch. My salad was turning into mushy breakfast cereal.

Being as my tummy was timid anyhow with whatever anomalies or combination of anomalies that were occurring inside me, I stopped eating about one third of the way into the salad. By this time the soup had indeed breached the plate and as the staff member took it away it left a trail on the table and the floor all the way back to the kitchen.

I munched on a couple of more chips, Adam finished his nachos, and we settled up.

Summary:

The puddle grows, seeping from the inside.

The tab was light. Los Portales is a pretty cheap place to eat. The bill came to a paltry fifteen bucks and change.

We've been to LP many times, this was the first time I had experienced anything like disappointment. I do not know if it was the nature of the salad itself, just a bad job of serving it up, or something else entirely. Like I said though, I was not in the best of shape. However, salads are not supposed to turn into soup, this one did; a milky, sickly beige gazpacho, a room-temperature puke-like broth. I cannot imagine this is what the chef had in mind, I cannot imagine that if this is what it was supposed to be, that anyone would ever order it more than once.
We'll go back. LP has pleased us plenty in the past, but I simply cannot recommend the taco salad.

_____________________________

I am writing this on Saturday evening, a time I usually use to just open up the blog and upload the photos and little else, leaving the bulk of the task to Sunday afternoon between laundry cycles. However due to the increasing nature of the sniffles and mind-numbness, I thought I’d better knock out as much as I could in case the viruses, or whatever, overwhelmed me. So if this  review seems off-kilter, rushed, and weak, I apologize. My brain activity is diminished significantly, to the point to where my current mental capacity is significantly reduced, almost to the point of being like everyone else’s.  I apologize for any reduction of entertainment and enlightenment this may cause.

Los Portales

Hillsboro, Mo.

Adam’s pick, no objections.

Hillsboro is not large in any respect, around 1,800 residents. It sits in the near center of the county, deliberately. While most of the county’s oldest towns were built around mines, railroads and rivers, Hillsboro was designed, built from nothing, to serve as the county seat. Private industry did not follow, to this day its most prominent features are the courthouse, sheriff’s department, other county offices and facilities and of course, lawyers, bail bonds, etc.

There’s a McDonalds, a Hardees, a Subway and a Dairy Queen. There’s three or four local restaurants other than the franchises. The city government boasts eighteen full-time employees, including eight police officers. Compare that to the County Sheriff’s office, also headquartered in Hillsboro, which has 162 sworn officers and 76 full time employees and manages a 260 bed county lockup in the middle of town. It’s an odd  situation because of its commutable proximity to the St. Louis suburbs. Tiny, little Hillsboro, population 1,800 is the driver’s seat for a county that boasts 225,000 residents.

The Place:

Across form the courthouse is Los Portales. It serves the town as a bar as well as an eatery. It is run primarily by people of the Hispanic persuasion, which, according to City-Data.com, there are only 39 of in Hillsboro itself.

It’s a rather old building that used to be something else. Inside the floors feel a bit old and slightly warped, I call it character. Like Hillsboro itself, there’s not a lot of effort wasted on décor or ambience, merely the requisite sombreros and Mexican artwork mounted on the walls. The entry is through the bar and it is immediately obvious that Hillsboro hasn’t adopted a smoking ban for such establishments.

We waited at the bar for a moment, a Hispanic lady stepped out and escorted us out of the ashtray and into the ‘smoke-free’ dining area, a large open room made to look much larger by the full-wall mirror on one side. Nearly half of the ten or so tables were already occupied by families with sticky, noisy children. Moms sipped margaritas, dads threw back Coronas. I’ve heard the margaritas here are quite good, if you like that sort of thing. They also boast home-made sangria, I don’t even know what that is. I prefer my alcohol of choice, white wine, as God himself intended it, fresh out of a box. I don’t say this to sound pretentious, rather that I just have more refined tastes and would not be a suitable judge of inferior mixed potables.

After last week’s beer problem, I decided to just order tea. Angel did so as well, Adam went for a Coke. The drinks, chips and salsa were delivered together, we dug in as we scanned the menu. I then noticed that a mere twenty feet away, in the smoking section, sat 37.5% of the Hillsboro Police department. There were three of them, one wearing the gold bars of a Lieutenant. I quickly checked my family for any overt signs of recent illegal activity, I hoped to avoid trouble. Then I recalled that cops always know the best places to eat, and these guys seemed well fed, so they probably weren’t there just to keep an eye on us. I relaxed but avoided eye contact the rest of the time we were there. As it turned out they didn’t arrest, beat up or shoot anyone. Maybe next time.

The Food:

The menu had gotten lighter since our last visit. My old notes said I’d had the #18 combo, this menu only went up to #15.

Me: #15, burrito, enchilada, rice, beans.

Angel: Three-shrimp enchilada with rice.

Adam: Two tacos, one burrito.

I looked at my notes again, the #18 I’d had then was the same as the #15 on the new menu. Oh well. There was also a notation that it would have been better with chicken instead of beef. Too late, the order was already in. We’d barely gnawed through half the chips when the lady returned with our plates. Still sizzling, aromatic, earthy and handsomely, though not delicately, plated.

I went about chopping up my food and swirling it all together, sopping up the beans with burrito, stacking rice on top of it all. I like my Mexican food just like I like my women, spicy, a bit disorganized, (some would say messy) and covered in enchilada sauce.

Angel disassembled her enchilada. “Not much in it beside shrimp, but it’s good shrimp and it has a nice little cheese sauce.” Just as she said this, her fork slipped and somersaulted into her lap, leaving a bright red stain on the front of her shirt. She looked like she’d taken a bullet, though the cops didn’t seem to notice. Out of sympathy/generosity/nobility I let her take a few bites of my beans, and as you know I don’t share my beans with just anyone.

 Adam wolfed his down with his usual speed and near-total silence. When I queried him about his food he replied “I like  consistency.” Which is about as high and verbose a compliment as he can give to anything.

My plate had the most food of the three dishes, I made it most of the way through. It was indeed quite good, but I still thought it might be a little better with chicken rather than beef. I wrote that down so I’d know next time.

The food at Los Portales is good, quite good. It isn’t complicated and it doesn’t have many delicate or subtle features. Many fancier Mexican places try too hard and lose the wonderful simplicity that is really good, Mexican food. This is the food of hard-working, common people. Substantial, savory and simple. It doesn’t need frill or flower. Good, fresh ingredients, solid recipes, and a gifted, consistent cook.

Summary:

I am quite unable to say anything bad about this place. The food is great, the service is dutiful and professional. Okay, the tea is lackluster and the bar smells like an ashtray. But put that aside and you’ve got the best Mexican food that we’ve been able to find anywhere in the area. The price is awesome, the total bill came in at just over thirty two dollars.

The atmosphere is relaxed, casual, and open. The overhead music is always lively or hopeful and not too loud. The patrons are pretty much all locals and there aren’t that many locals. The place is kid friendly, unfortunately.

I paid the tab. I thought about stepping over to the cops and offering a thumbs up or a thanks. They have a town to protect and serve, in the last ten years they’ve responded to no less than 0 murders, 2 rapes, 3 robberies, 118 assaults, 47 burglaries, 802 thefts, 28 auto thefts and 4 arsons. Impressive for such a small force.

Los Portales III

Hillsboro, Mo.

Once again our combined indecisiveness ruled the day. No one had really thought ahead. It was Adam’s turn to choose, we assured him it didn’t really matter much to us as we had no clue where to go either. So we headed to Hillsboro.

The Place:

Across the street from the courthouse, an old building that used to be something else. The door leads to an entry room, a couple of video games clumsily take up the space. To the right was the large dark bar. We were greeted by an attractive, well clevaged Hispanic lady who smiled and showed us to a booth in the main dining area. The laminated menus were already in place as we sat down. The only other patrons in the area were two young mothers and their four or five loud, slimy children, all under the age of four or five. There was a growing pile of debris around their table, plates and remnants of unfinished foods littered the table itself. Each of the children protested and screamed at one point or another, the mothers responded slowly and mechanically, it appeared that they were already numbed, exhausted from tending to the nasty little brats.

There was ample Mexican music pouring from the speakers, not blasting but definitely prominent. I don’t speak the language, but the emotions of the mostly male singers were obvious. Someone or something had done them wrong. Adam started shoulder dancing when the inevitable, frequent and lively accordion solos cut in.

We were brought our chips and carafe of salsa, along with a coupe of small bowls. We dug in while scanning the menus. I had mentioned earlier that I was not going to be ordering one of their five-plate everything combos.They're very good, but unless you haven't eaten for a few weeks, there's simply too much food.

The Food:

LP has a wonderful combo selection. One or two of just about every possible combination of delights. On the side of the menu was a glossary of terms which was very helpful. There were thirty-something numbered combos. I opted for number 18, one burrito, one enchilada, rice and beans. Adam went for number 25, a taco, a burrito, rice and beans. Angel was very hungry and went for the enchilada combo, one beef, one chicken and one cheese. The drinks; tea, tea and coke.

We placed the order as I fought to not stare at the ample cleavage directly in front of me. I wish I could stop doing that, noticing things like that. One of these days Angel’s going to catch me and get really, really upset. It's not like I have nefarious intentions, or am on the prowl, it's just that stupid hard-wiring in the more primitive portions of my brain.

The chips were all but gone as the plates arrived. Steamy, melty, aromatic. I chopped mine up and realized that it was all beef, rookie mistake. I prefer chicken, or at least a mix of beef and chicken. The beef (ground) is spicy and not bad, but two food items with just the beef is a little overpowering. I dug in anyhow as the red enchilada sauce was just about perfect. The rice was excellent, not over or under cooked or too spicy. The beans, all mashed up and mixed with a healthy dose of melted white cheese was great as a binder for all the loose burrito and enchilada bits, much the way mashed potatoes help get errant peas on a fork.

We all ate well and thoroughly enjoyed. I filled up fairly quickly. It was early yet so there was discussion about dessert, we decided to stop at Queen’s (the local old-style grocery store) and pick out something for later.

Summary:

Twenty seven bucks, yeah, really. The food is fresh, authentic, plentiful and well made. The staff is always friendly and never pushy. This is not an upscale joint; it’s more hole-in-the-wall/firetrap. It’s old, the floors are not exactly level, and there’s not even an attempt to make it seem like anything more than it is. Very highly recommended, we’ll go back, we’ll even take guests there.

Dessert:

We stopped at Queens’ on the way home. It’s an older style (50’s-60’s) supermarket that still posts hand-lettered paper signs with specials and sales on the front windows. Its old automatic doors struggle to open and close, the overhead lighting is not quite as bright as modern mega-marts. Fading and cracked linoleum tiles, dated signage and old shelving freeze this place in a former time. It’s not a great place for bargains, we never do a full grocery run there, but for grabbing a carton of eggs, or a loaf of bread here and there it’s much more convenient than Walmart.

We headed first to the Deli/Bakery section in the back. Angel wanted something relatively fresh. Adam found a slice of chocolate cheesecake, Angel finally decided on some cream cheese rolls. I already knew what I wanted. Nutter Butter Creme Patties. I love, love, LOVE these things but only allow myself to

have them on special occasions, because I will eat the whole package in one or two sittings. Which I did.

Next week: I'm on my own.

Los Portales II

Hillsboro, Mo.

Saturday was oppressively hot. I’d slept in very late due to the heat wave that had robbed me of sleep all week. Most of the day Saturday was an empty fog of heat and mental numbness, sweat-lag. Then I took a nap. You'd think that would have helped.

I woke up just in time to go to dinner, still foggy. Adam had chosen the place, a repeat, but a good one. It’s the closest food outlet to our home, on the corner across from the courthouse in Hillsboro.

“How was your day?” Angel asked as we got in the car. She’d been busy with dogs and dog people all day. I pondered for a few seconds, maybe a minute as I tried to comprehend the question. “What?” I finally asked, Adam snickered.

“Did you do anything today?” She sort of repeated, changing it up just enough to make me re-think it.

“Oh, yeah.” I answered and went back to the soothing, languorous hum in my head.

“Well?” She prodded.

“Oh, yeah. I went to the post office, and mailed those three books, I told the lady to send them first class or media mail, whichever was cheaper. She weighed them and stuck labels on them then asked me if I wanted any stamps or insurance or stuff. I said no thanks. Then she said it would be six dollars and sixty three cents, I handed her a ten and she gave me change and a receipt. Then I left.” I explained.

A silent moment went by, she stared at me. “I was expecting a punch line or something, is that it? That’s the whole story?”

“I went to the bank too, want to hear about that?”

“No, I just wanted to know how your day was.” She seemed disappointed.

“Well, that was pretty much it I’m afraid. Sorry it wasn’t more interesting, I’ll try harder next time.” Entertaining people is simply not as easy as it looks. You've just got to turn it off once in a while.

We got to Los Portales in just a few minutes; the SUV hadn’t even cooled down.

“Remind me not to order the Grande Special.” I said to them as we pulled up, I’d really overdone it last time.

“Don’t order the Grand Special.” Adam replied immediately, like a jerk.

The Place:

We stepped in to the old, plain building and were greeted at the small bar by a sharp Hispanic man dressed in nice jeans and a blue polo shirt. He led us to a booth (Angel must have called ahead) and slapped down menus. We ordered our drinks, tea, tea and Coke and in a minute or so were handed a basket of warm nacho chips, a decanter of salsa and a small bowl.

The salsa was red and a little lumpy and had an earthy taste. Some heat but not too much, not too sweet.

The place is old and worn, but clean. The floor sags a little, the tables wobble. The walls are covered to halfway up with vinyl faux-brick and painted white above a thickly-painted green chair rail. On the walls are sombreros, murals, a serape or two and lots of Corona beer signs and pennants.

Pleasant ranchera music played from the walls and ceiling, Men singing in Spanish about, well I don’t know, the songs sounded a little sad yet hopeful, maybe it was about their dogs, their wives/girlfriends or their pickup trucks, whatever slightly mournful yet ultimately optimistic Mexican men like to sing about. It was enjoyable because of the atmosphere, I won’t be ordering the CD.

The menu was well laid out, appetizers, drinks, lunches and dinners all separated nicely. I found the combo page, skipped over the ‘Grande Special’. That thing comes on three heaping plates.

The combo page listed thirty-seven numbered choices and clearly stated, ‘no substitutions’ which is fine because chances are at least one in thirty seven that one of the listed will be what you want.

The Food:

I chose #18, an enchilada, a burrito, beans and rice. Angel chose #4, one taco (beef), two enchiladas(1 beef, 1 chicken) and rice. Adam took the Nachos Supreme, without tomatoes.

We plowed through the chips. The food came quickly, in less than five minutes. Mine was just as I wanted it, an oozing flow of lumpy refried beans and cheese mixing with a thin red pool of spicy enchilada sauce.

The rice was well cooked and not as tomatoey as it is often the case. The beans were not completely mashed which is the best way to have them. I carved everything up and let it all run together in a chunky brown-red puddle of Mexican splendor.

We dug in, it was all excellent. We shared a little, Angel decided next time that more chicken and less beef would have been a little better. I discarded some of the burrito housing, didn’t need it. Adam nearly cleaned his plate which is very, very rare. Our entrees came as specified, the tacos had only beef and a little cheese, my enchilada and burrito contained only meat and a little cheese, no tomatoes or lettuce or anything Taco Bell-ish about them. This was working mans’ food, no frills, just texture, flavor and substance.

Summary:

There was nothing to complain about, nothing at all. If this place just had high speed internet I’d move in. The price? You’ll love this. We were filled to the gills, satisfied completely, for under twenty five bucks. You can barely get a prostitute in Hillsboro for under twenty five bucks, yet this meal for three delivered much more delight (and slightly less guilt). The service was sharp and attentive, the food prepared and delivered perfectly.

We have returned, we have recommended it, we’ve even taken family there (Angel did, I was out of town). It is by far the best restaurant in Hillsboro, and to date the best Mexican food in Jefferson or South St. Louis County.