The Cuban
A few weeks ago, when Fidel Castro stepped down after almost 50 years in power, I decided to treat myself to a Cuban. And I'm not talking about a cigar. Or a human being.
A step into Pullaro's Italian Restaurant is a little like a step back in time. John Pullaro opened his restaurant on 901 W. Picacho in 1972, but in a lot of ways, it feels like 1952 inside.
The walls are filled with Italian paintings, maps, pictures, flags, family photos and memorabilia. There's even a signed photo collage of NMSU basketball coaching legend Lou Henson.
You're welcomed by Italian-friendly music, classic 1940s and 1950s tunes by crooners such as Dean Martin and Jimmy Durante. On a previous visit, I heard Durante singing "Hello Young Lovers" and some stuff that sounded like Leon Redbone.
The menus are in vintage red covers with tassels, and the red shutters keep the room darkened to an intimate level, even on the brightest summer day.
The day Castro stepped down, there was a foursome at the next table speaking a foreign language that sounded vaguely like Spanish. But even a gringo like me could tell it was actually Italian. I figured, wow, Italian tourists.
I asked Pullaro about it after they left and he said, "I passed the test."
They were seeking spaghetti al dente, meaning it's cooked less, with a little bite to it, not soggy like many Americans make it. I figured that says something, if real Italians like the place.
And while he wanted to be sure those customers were satisfied, that's the way he treats everyone.
"Hi Frank," says Pullaro in his boisterous voice, greeting a customer who's obviously a regular.
I'd stopped in a couple of years ago and tried John's Cuban sandwich. He regaled me with the history of it, and I asked him to refresh my memory.
John spent time in Florida, where the Cuban sandwich is ubiquitous.
"It's like a burrito is around here," John says. "Everybody sells them."
Everybody except John Pullaro.
"I'm the only Italian restaurant here that doesn't sell Mexican food. I'm a diehard."
He's also a diehard about his ingredients.
"When I started in 1972, I bought my cheese from Italy. I still buy my cheese from Italy."
It's Picarino Romano cheese, and he pays $300 for a block of it. But to John, it's well worth it to maintain the quality of ingredients and the continuity for his loyal customers.
The Cuban is a cold cut sandwich with ham and salami, mustard and pickles.
You can get it served hot or cold. Both are delicious.
But the signature of the Cuban is the long, thin bread roll on which it's served. Some would mistakenly call it a sub sandwich or a hoagie, but it has its own distinctive style.
Just like Pullaro's Restaurant. And just like Pullaro himself.
Nice People
Business Products Center, on El Paseo, occasionally runs an ad in the Sun-News with a simple, yet unique, headline.
It says, Nice People. That alone caused me to venture into the store. Just curious, I guess, to see if the headline was right.
And it was. And there's more than just business products in there.
Over Christmas, I found it much easier and quicker to mail packages from BPC than the post office. I guess that's no surprise.
But they also sell boxes and stamps and wrapping paper, and greeting cards.
I found a really cool card for my oldest daughter's birthday. When you opened it, it played the classing song "Shining Star" by Earth, Wind & Fire.
Wednesday, March 26, 2008
Friday, March 14, 2008
The Dapper Man and the Roberto's Can
The Dapper Man With No Name
Every day I drive in to work on North Main, heading toward downtown. Once every three weeks or so, I see a guy I dubbed the Dapper Man. He's always walking north, away from downtown, on the west side of the street. He's the Dapper Man because he's always dressed up. Usually with a suit and tie, though the suits look as if they were last stylish in 1979. OK, by me, since I'm sort of stuck in the 1970s myself. The Dapper Man has a nice beard and always wears a cool hat, kind of a flat top hat with a wide brim that appears to be of leather. The beard is more gray than dark, and I'd guess he's probably close to 60. But he walks swiftly, his movements unencumbered by age. One day I was listening to Q-101, and they were playing War's classic "All Day Music" as the Dapper Man was walking by. I felt briefly transported to 1973.
But here's the coolest part. When it's chilly outside, he wears a poncho. Not just any poncho. It's a wool poncho with a Southwestern pattern. I swear it's the same one Clint Eastwood wore as the Man with No Name in the Good, the Bad and the Ugly trilogy. I don't know where Dapper Man is headed on these days, but he always looks and moves like he knows exactly where he's going.
Roberto's Can Full of Fame
I went through the Roberto's restaurant drive-through the other day to get a chicken taco plate. You can't go wrong with Roberto's. Roberto is most famous for making the giant enchilada at the Whole Enchilada Fiesta.
But in my book, his crowning achievement is the Roberto's red chile tamale. Growing up in Oklahoma, my experience with tamales were nasty things that came in a can, or something bad chain Mexican restaurants made with a flimsy, soggy, corn tortilla. When I finally had a real, New Mexican tamale, it was an epiphany. And when I finally had a Roberto's red chile tamale, it went beyond that. I swear one time it cured me of a cold.
Anyway, I placed my order at the sign into the talking speaker with the Charlie Brown teacher filter. The only local drive-through speaker that's more difficult to understand is the one at Jack in the Box on El Paseo. No biggie though; if you know you're in for a Roberto's meal, you don't fret over slight imperfections. Besides, if they somehow screwed up your order and you got a chile relleno plate, or a red enchilada plate instead of the chicken taco plate, you're still in for a big treat.
Anyway, after I told the speaker that was it for my order (at least I think that's the question I answered), I rolled around the corner to the pickup window. And it was gone! The window wasn't gone — in fact, a brand new window was there. What was gone was the big aluminum can in the wall. Roberto's fans know exactly what I'm talking about. If you're not familiar with Roberto's, up until recently their drive-though window featured a big aluminum cylinder that worked kind of like a revolving door. When you drove up, you saw the closed side. On the other side of the wall, they'd put your order in and spin the cylinder. One-hundred-and-eighty degrees later, you'd have the open side and there would be your order. It was like a magic trick. To me though, it was beyond magic and closer to divine. The cylinder somewhat resembled the tabernacle that holds the eucharistic communion wafers at a Catholic church. I don't mean to be sacrilegious — I'm Catholic myself. But if your order happened to be a Roberto's red chile tamale, well, that truly is like tasting a slice of heaven.
The new window is clearly more functional and practical. The old cylinder wouldn't hold big orders very well. But as you have guessed by now, I'll miss the beautiful old icon.
Every day I drive in to work on North Main, heading toward downtown. Once every three weeks or so, I see a guy I dubbed the Dapper Man. He's always walking north, away from downtown, on the west side of the street. He's the Dapper Man because he's always dressed up. Usually with a suit and tie, though the suits look as if they were last stylish in 1979. OK, by me, since I'm sort of stuck in the 1970s myself. The Dapper Man has a nice beard and always wears a cool hat, kind of a flat top hat with a wide brim that appears to be of leather. The beard is more gray than dark, and I'd guess he's probably close to 60. But he walks swiftly, his movements unencumbered by age. One day I was listening to Q-101, and they were playing War's classic "All Day Music" as the Dapper Man was walking by. I felt briefly transported to 1973.
But here's the coolest part. When it's chilly outside, he wears a poncho. Not just any poncho. It's a wool poncho with a Southwestern pattern. I swear it's the same one Clint Eastwood wore as the Man with No Name in the Good, the Bad and the Ugly trilogy. I don't know where Dapper Man is headed on these days, but he always looks and moves like he knows exactly where he's going.
Roberto's Can Full of Fame
I went through the Roberto's restaurant drive-through the other day to get a chicken taco plate. You can't go wrong with Roberto's. Roberto is most famous for making the giant enchilada at the Whole Enchilada Fiesta.
But in my book, his crowning achievement is the Roberto's red chile tamale. Growing up in Oklahoma, my experience with tamales were nasty things that came in a can, or something bad chain Mexican restaurants made with a flimsy, soggy, corn tortilla. When I finally had a real, New Mexican tamale, it was an epiphany. And when I finally had a Roberto's red chile tamale, it went beyond that. I swear one time it cured me of a cold.
Anyway, I placed my order at the sign into the talking speaker with the Charlie Brown teacher filter. The only local drive-through speaker that's more difficult to understand is the one at Jack in the Box on El Paseo. No biggie though; if you know you're in for a Roberto's meal, you don't fret over slight imperfections. Besides, if they somehow screwed up your order and you got a chile relleno plate, or a red enchilada plate instead of the chicken taco plate, you're still in for a big treat.
Anyway, after I told the speaker that was it for my order (at least I think that's the question I answered), I rolled around the corner to the pickup window. And it was gone! The window wasn't gone — in fact, a brand new window was there. What was gone was the big aluminum can in the wall. Roberto's fans know exactly what I'm talking about. If you're not familiar with Roberto's, up until recently their drive-though window featured a big aluminum cylinder that worked kind of like a revolving door. When you drove up, you saw the closed side. On the other side of the wall, they'd put your order in and spin the cylinder. One-hundred-and-eighty degrees later, you'd have the open side and there would be your order. It was like a magic trick. To me though, it was beyond magic and closer to divine. The cylinder somewhat resembled the tabernacle that holds the eucharistic communion wafers at a Catholic church. I don't mean to be sacrilegious — I'm Catholic myself. But if your order happened to be a Roberto's red chile tamale, well, that truly is like tasting a slice of heaven.
The new window is clearly more functional and practical. The old cylinder wouldn't hold big orders very well. But as you have guessed by now, I'll miss the beautiful old icon.
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