Ride Along Memory Lane

Not to contradict Bryan Adams,but it was the summer of ’95. One balmy evening,post work,the parental units decided to brave the social embarrassment of taking their rambunctious offspring to a restaurant. Being six at that time,food was about as appealing to me as an elevator to a claustrophobic. But this place was different. One entered it after a flight of stairs through swinging saloon doors. The small round tables had saddles in place of chairs. The waiters were dressed as cowboys,with stetsons on their heads like vultures on a desert bush,embellished boots and even guns in holsters around their waists. Despite my anathema to food at the time,I could relate to this eatery,despite learning that the guns weren’t real after a thwarted attempt to grab the nearest one. I can’t recall what we ate nor the music. I don’t think we ever returned. But the waiters and the saddle chairs made a lasting impression,probably as this was my first intimation to the fact that food could be fun. Oh,and the name of the place. It was called Rodeo.

Cut to the present day. 18 years,several Western movies and some enjoyable Mexican meals later,I was back,in a far more critical frame of mind. While,nostalgia,like an ounce of sauce,can cover a multitude of sins,it can only take you so far. And tex-mex in its current avatar,with paneer tacos and such like,is a sadly diluted cuisine. But this particular trip down memory lane proved to be a pleasant ride.

The restaurant may have been recently revamped,but it still retains its air of a hospitable saloon. The swing doors are still there,as are the horseshoes embedded in the walls. There is red lacquered wallpaper,the windows curtained with lace and the entire place has the air of a party of Gentiles about to descend for their afternoon bourbon and ice tea. And indeed there is such a drink on the bar menu with other authentic cocktails including the rum-based Django (a tip of the hat to Franco Nero’s western oeuvre,not Quentin Taranntino’s blood splattered offering),and of course the margaritas,for which the restaurant is particularly celebrated.

This time I could read and appreciate the menu. Apart from a couple of sections that pander to paneer and pasta (read Indian and Italian,the city’s culinary juxtaposition du jour),it is largely undiluted with a large variety of Tex-Mex cuisine,with fajitas,burritos,steaks and Mexican rice dishes jostling for attention. Apparently,five star hotels even source their nachos from the restaurant due to their authenticity. But best of all,the saddle stools and denim-clad waiters are still the same.