Cemitas Puebla - A dry, artisinal run

How much weight do you attach to the culinary pronouncements of a grown man dressed like a suburban 12-year old circa 1998? You would think being a 30-something year old decked out in cargo shorts, wrap-around Oakleys, a flaming dice shirt, and platinum bleached locks aggressively spiked for a DragonBallZ convention would disqualify your judgment across a slew of categories.

Well, when you're Mumbles my former roommate, you take a certain amount of pride in your populism. You see, his antagonism towards "the elites" predates Palin, when in the early aughts he felt no one gave him enough credit for wearing faded, form-fitting shirts before the Strokes or American Apparel stormed anti-popular aesthetics.

Incidentally, the Gentile perfection of Mumbles and his partner DiaBetty threw Sizzlenuts for a goyem curve, but he recovered in fine form. One can only imagine how Sizzlenuts would just clean house on J-Date were he ever to concentrate his charm on fellow tribeswomen. Although I will miss ToucanSam during his winter in Sweden, Sizzlenuts brings a similar joie de vivre coupled with a certain Les extrêmes se touchent about him.

The eponymous dish at Cemitas (3619 W North Ave) is your standard torta, only with sesame seed bread encapsulating the avocado, meat, adobo chipotle peppers, fresh Oaxacan cheese and papalo filler. Yelp, the staff, Mr. Fieri; they all recommend the cemita atomica or the cemita milanesa. The atomica has three kinds of pork – milanesa, carne enchilada, and jamón. I feel guilty now for ordering the atomica, a full $3 more than any of the mono-carnal alternatives. Mumbles had to pay for my dinner since he had been foolish enough to make a bench press-related wager with me.

Visually the atomica was pleasing, but in combination the three meats muted each other out. Mumbles’s pastor cemita was far more rollicking while the carne enchilada apart from the cemita had a certain artisanal complexity. Like the 2004 Lakers, the cemita atomica whole was less than the sum of its parts. Looking through the Cemitas Puebla menu, I see several other dishes that fly under the radar, like the chalupas (not like Taco Bell chalupas) or the cecina tacos (don’t buy into the tacos arabes parade, btw).

On the drive back, as I smothered my farts into the seat to avoid rolling down the windows on a chilly December night, I realized I was the richest man of all…just as long as we avoid measures of money, power, and prestige.

Don't forget to check out all our trips on the food map

Jibarito - Puerto Rican for "Is that deep fried plantain for bread?"

Driving down Division Ave in Chicago's Humboldt Park neighborhood, you make a special detour from America to If-Lou-Dobbs-Saw-This-His-Pumpkin-Head-Would-Explode-ville.


Many things have been said about Puerto Ricans, but never 'understated.'
The jibarito is a Chicago specialty imported by the Borinquen Restaurant from Puerto Rico in the 1990s. The main ingredients are deep fried plantains, garlic, meat, garlic, lettuce, garlic, garlic mayonnaise, garlic, some sort of meat, garlic, and also an understated hint of garlic to bring out the subtle dashes of garlic.
Needless to say, this is a date meal, or better yet, a pre-date meal.

ToucanSam and I went to the original Borinquen Restaurant on California Blvd. If I recall the way I got us lost on that trip was taking the 90/94 Dan Ryan heading East instead of West, because clearly a freeway going North/South should be labeled as East/West. And also, as points of reference it should use states no one goes to (to go get to Division, should we head East on the Dan Ryan towards Indiana, or West towards Wisconsin?).

In any case, the fried plantains are a telenovela in your mouth. Talk about garlic infused: garlic took these plantains out back, got them pregnant, married them to save face in a small town, and now they live in the basement of garlic’s parents’ house to save money until garlic’s band takes off.

The classic steak filler left this reviewer cold, however. For $6, I guess I wasn’t expecting beer-fed and massaged kobe beef pounded to tender perfection, but, crap on bicycle, how about using the cows that can make the walk up the plank to the slaughterhouse?

Doing more research I came upon Papa’s Cache Sabroso. The first time we tried to get to Papa’s it was closed. Sullen, we ended up at some bourgeoisie nightclub that served an overpriced jibaritos platter that was awful. Jibaritos are like Mexican food: if you pay more than $8, it’s not going to be good (incidentally, the same cannot be said for peep shows down Khaosan Road in Bangkok).

The day we finally tasted Papa's, some kid was blasting Sponge Bob Squarepants full volume in the corner television right above our heads. If we had had something to talk about this might have been an inconvenience. Traditionally, a jibarito is made with steak, but at Papa’s, the slow-roasted chicken took my taste buds, slapped them across the face, twisted their arm till they called 'uncle', took their milk money, and sent them home a disheveled mess. In a good way. You’ll have to take my word about the chicken since ToucanSam is a vegetarian; his jibarito was a bit more passive. The garlic and plantains started off strong, but the finish was all lettuce. Its always a bit disappointing when you go in expecting a Menage a trois but end up instead with a greasy garlic sandwich. At some point, the owners, presumably the grandparents, asked the kid to turn down the TV. For some reason, at that moment everything just felt right.

Conclusion: pay your respects to the originator at the Borinquen, but go to Papa’s for the fillings. And the side rice will not be good at either place so just go for the white rice with beans.