Straight from the state of Michoacán?

La Michoacana Meat Market is the largest independently owned, Hispanic grocery store in the US. Although it was started in Houston in 1986, the stores generously dot the city of Austin. My interest was first piqued because I noticed no matter what time of the day or night I passed one, it seemed to be flanked by tons of loiters.

On a Sunday exploration, between thrift store shopping and wildflower hunting, we decided to stop in for some fuel. We landed at one of the smaller locations, near Manchaca and Stassney, that was adequately crowded considering its square footage. After passing the bling corner where they ‘compramos oro’, we headed straight for the deli counter off to one side. All the signs and menus are written in that type of Spanish that uses reflectives and odd verb endings and obviously isn’t intended for college-level gringos. After trying to order at the counter, being waved off to the checkout line, finding the correct lane in which you could buy deli foods and returning to the ready-made food counter, we got a little nervous, fearing we wouldn’t be able to communicate what kind of carne we wanted; it appeared they didn’t have time to play language games. As I tentatively tried to request specific fillings, one cook took pity on us and called us to the end of the counter where we were able to talk meat.

For a whopping $5.50 we ended up with enough food to easily feed us both a hearty, might have to delay your actual dinner sort of snack.



The barbacoa gordita was stacked and sauced nicely. the tortilla halves were complementary bookends; the top thin and fried crisp, the bottom thicker with a bit of toothiness and grain to it. The barbacoa was plentiful, tender and not too fatty but lacked any salty highlights. the crema and key lime juice did their part to wet the mound of goodness. it was the kind of sandwich that leaves a small side salad on your plate to be devoured as a second course.

The carnitas taco was so excellent that we had eaten it all before realizing that neither of us had photographed it. The meat was flavorful and juicy, and accented well by green and red peppers that had been simmered along with the pork. With its sprinkling of onions and cilantro, it stole the show.

The Mexican drinks left something to be desired. Be sure to choose the ones that say ‘natural flavors’ to avoid that battery acid after taste.

La Michoacana also provided after lunch entertainment; weaving through the aisles we found tons of reasonably priced and well organized goodies. Although, we would go to a larger location next time for more real estate to explore. The meat counter revealed all sorts of cuts and bits that aren’t normally displayed in grocery stores. It’s stacked in lexan containers behind glass. In an attempt to order some loose chorizo I requested a half hour of book, but eventually got around to a decipherable medio libro.

The whole place is quite an adventure and the delicious food was a fitting reward for navigating some confusing protocol.


Ps. We found the wildflowers post-meal.
Pps. We didn't demolish the entire field by traipsing through it.

Japanese cause for celebration

Deep nostalgia about my time spent living in Japan creeps up often, but never more so than during early spring. It reminds me of Hanami, the cherry blossom festivals, and the days we spent camped out in the park admiring the delicate pink and white blossoms and partying with townspeople. It’s a magical sight, in March and April (depending on the year’s weather), when all the trees are in full bloom. Takada Park was minutes from my apartment and was home to an aged castle and one of the largest cherry blossom gatherings in the region. The sky would be awash in floating and fluttering petals and the land would turn to a sea of tarps topped with picnics, coolers of beer and revelers. For the entirety of the blooming spell, people would stop by the park on the way to work and stake out a coveted spot. You could leave a blanket and supplies unattended all day, no worries. After work, everyone would head straight to the park, party all night with any and everyone, straggle home late, and do it all again the next day.

In honor of the season, Andy and I decided to hit up the most izakaya like restaurant we know of in town, Ryu. We were excited about the prospect of Japanese bar food instead of the more usual fare of sushi and noodles that prevail in most towns. The menu nor the food disappointed.

We started on fresh palettes with a sampling of nigiri- hamachi, hotate, unagi, maguro that was all tender and resting atop tasty rice (bad rice is a show stopper for me…).

Aji tataki was the star of the evening. While tataki is sometimes construed as seared, it actually comes from the Japanese word tataku meaning to beat or hit. It refers to the chopping of the fish. This Aji was top-notch in taste and presentation. So much so, it warranted an iphone shot.

Small piles were positioned around the plate, each a different preparation. There were slices to be eaten as sashimi, chopped bits to be wrapped in accompanying shiso leaves and a dice mixed with ginger, scallions and sesame oil that was out of this world. Once finished, our waitress took the skewered carcass back to the kitchen, had it deep fried and chopped into sections. We ate the entire crispy, salty skeleton minus one eyeball and a tiny bit of head. Don’t grimace ‘till you’ve tried it.

We also sampled the seafood and vegetable tempura. The batter was spot on, but the pumpkin and sweet potato were sliced too thick and didn’t soften up adequately during fry time.

The nasu no shogayaki was perfectly reminiscent of the ginger-sauced sautéed eggplant we ate weekly in Japan.

Yakitori was a better-than-what-I’m-used-to representation of authentic Japanese chicken on a stick. But the cuts and pieces aren’t for the weak at heart; skinless, all-white breast meat was a minor player on the skewer.

I was excited by the willingness of our Japanese waitress to suffer patiently through my failing Japanese. She also took time to tell us about a recent trip to Japan that unfortunately had occurred a week before the cherry blossoms began to bloom.

I highly recommend checking out Ryu (which means dragon in Japanese) for the quality of the food and experience. One thing that was decidedly un-authentic is their lack of a beer and wine license. It’s BYOB until then or, if you luck out like we did, the bartender from a spot next door will stroll through with a few 6-packs tucked under her arm and hook you up, hoping that you’ll visit her for your ni-jikai (that’s Japanese for after party).

Ryu of Japan.11101 Burnet Road.(512) 973-9498