Say Cheese

*Alas, CLOSED down.

Joey and I were despondent. Full of ennui. It was cool, muddy, clouds were rolling in, snuffing out the city with black. Hong Kong tea couldn’t even help us. We watched a couple sit alienated next to each other while we waited for our cups. It broke our hearts. We were lovelorn. What else could we do but ask complete strangers where to eat? We argued, we broke cardinal food writing rules. We went after places not even open a month. Went in, sat down, read menus, lamented, left. Defeated and driving in the dark.

It was near 9 o’clock before we saw Joe Fromaggio’s bright yellow lights calling us late into the night.

It was a nostalgic space for me; I recalled last summer on EI, pining for a waitress day after day, hunkering down with barflies, waiting for afterhours every single night. Its space still held onto some residuals of its old design: floodlights, polished tables, smooth wooden chairs. Only now, it was like the home of a newly minted urbanite trying to reconcile his own Thoreauvian guilt by adding rough wood paneling and forest greens, as well as kitsch that explicitly showed a bizarre obsession with cheese. Of course, this is Joe Fromaggio’s selling point. The name says it all. Sure, I thought it was something Italian, it’s everything cheese and novelty. Is there any other way to live? Not here. You can’t escape the stuff on the menu, but I’m not sure you’d want to. The combinations are a riot. Joey and I couldn’t stop laughing. Grilled cheese sandwiches, and even sushi, with macaroni; some with Sriracha, that popular pervasive internet hot sauce, a confusingly popular condiment for cooks everywhere; pastas, and sandwiches made with what the place wants you to believe are leftovers. If you’re in a good mood, you probably can’t wait to come back. I was already imagining what I’d get next time, before even ordering anything. We started by splitting an appetizer of sirloin spring rolls. Shanghai style wanton wrapped around burger beef, pickles, onions, and of course, cheese. It was a fantastic idea, and even more delicious. Savoury, rich and dripping with cheese, tongue tingling with pickles, so greasy it would put BP to shame. The worst culinary oil slick Joey and I ever came across. There was enough oil left over on our plates to fry whatever else we wanted. But damn was it fun and gluttonously satisfying. Next, Joey asked for deep fried risotto balls, fried darker than we would have visually preferred, but not enough to do any damage. We weren’t particularly impressed, however. Creamy innards sprinkled with bright green peas were bland and carried only with a stale pungency brought on by paprika. The dish was accompanied by a pasty marinara I thought raw and obligatorily peppered with spice.

My meal was one of many novel grilled cheese sandwiches on the menu. They called it the ‘Life Changer’: a peanut butter and aged cheddar sandwich sacked with bacon and sprinkled with, yes, Sriracha. I chose to accompany my entrée with a side of cheddar ale soup. Cheesier than I would have preferred too, it wasn’t reminiscent of a good chowder for me. A little too thick, a little too salty, and without any elements from the ale it was made with. It was a crying shame for a side.

My sandwich came to me on marbled rye, grilled golden without a hint of char anywhere on the bread. It worked well. Neither peanut butter nor cheese were stealing each other’s thunder. It was always a savoury bite of cheese, followed by a smoky bang of bacon, finished with peanut butter that lingered on the palate. And if you think I’m missing something, you’re right. The Sriracha, unfortunately, was barely there. It appeared once in a while, but usually when I peeled back a slice and scraped it off of wherever I could find it. A crying shame too, the sandwich really could have changed my life.

Joe Fromaggio

50 Westmount Road N,

Waterloo, Ontario

N2L 6N9

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(519) 884-8558

Mon - Fri: 11:30 am - 12:00 am

Sat & Sun: 12:00 pm - 12:00 am

ANY PAYMENT

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Damn

Public Kitchen and Bar is wasted on location; and though I’m abraded by its dining room’s pinache, reminiscent, to me, of the first apartment a freshly minted university girl graduate passionately decorates with retro and white, I can’t help but worry if its kind of cuisine is being overlooked as it situates itself in Kitchener’s more quiet neighborhoods. But seeming cosmopolitan and stranded may be the only thing that works against the poor little tapas bar. It’s certainly not the food. And though I can’t help but argue that people would prefer it in the deep down depths of the city, especially if they want to drink and eat and drink some more, the better part of me knows eaters will have no scruples about making the uncool trek to its little strip station.

Beggarhood makes me a scrupulous gourmand, but Public gave me no excuse for some of the tastiest food I’ve had in the city’s haute circles. Yes, tapas are usually a little pricey, but for a generous hour Thursday and Friday nights you can have some of the most aggrandized dishes for a ridiculously reasonable price, and maybe a little something extra to splurge on. 

Splurge I certainly did. I got everything I could, a heaping bowl of mussels for two in a bright sweet Romesco sauce, a cassoulet of white beans and stewed pork, bruschetta, patatas bravas, all at 5 dollars apiece. It was almost cruel getting everything I did for so little. To absolve my guilt, I added rolled taquitos with an avocado mousse. It was a lounger’s dream.

The mussels were the favourite, brought out first and accompanied by thin crisp twice baked fennel speckled bread. Saffron made it glow, red peppers and tarragon (I like to imagine) made it sunny and citrus like; and a mysterious sweetness had me flabbergasted, challenged by its flavor and in love with elements that made it Asian in its phantasmagoria of taste. The cassoulet was nostalgic. Creamy stewed beans and tender pork hock infused the dish with a smoky savoury flavour my company and I were fighting over.

Next, our bruschetta, riddled with vegetable ratatouille and garnished with pecorino cheese, cubes of salami, and a pungent ramp pesto had me a little leery, if only because the pesto looked too fresh for something available only a month out of the year. Still, it was another incredible dish, with mellow tender vegetable compote cooked enough to maintain body and bite. I liked the chewy alien texture of the salami in the medley, the softer bread, but would have preferred something a little warmer in my mouth if only to prevent the cheese from becoming a little elastic. Still, it did nothing to ruin the thing.

The patatas bravas were certainly the heartiest. Crisp potatoes dusted with paprika were paired with a simple aioli sauce that left a distant brassy finish on the tongue; and though the dish had an otherwise bland pairing, nothing stopped us from dipping our potatoes in everything else. Unorthodox? Don’t ask me, I don’t know. But I liked doing it. And playing with food didn’t stop there. 

Our taquitos, rolled and stuffed with chorizo and Oaxaca cheese, came with an assembly of avocado mousse and spicy oil painted on the plate. And taking the small but potent side salad of cilantro, lime, and peppery arugula, gave us eaters a fun food palate to paint, combine, and create with. It was something neither of us had any objections to enjoying. I’m almost conflicted with the ever changing menu; sad to see good things go, but excited to see what else the place can cook up. For the city’s only tapas focused bar, I don’t see the necessity to change, but I certainly see the passion. Regardless, I am privileged to have tasted the effort.

PUBLIC  KITCHEN & BAR
295 b Lancaster Street West
Kitchener, Ontario N2H 4V4
(519) 954-8111

Thu – Sat: 5pm-1am
Sun: 5pm – 10 pm

ANY PAYMENT

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Good Gracious, Gordita!

Joey’s stomach knows no bounds. And when it receives the call for a particular cuisine, not even a sushi spot where the host calls him handsome could make him choose otherwise. Not even a 2 hour’s drive could make him change his mind. No, it would only make him want it more. Even if it meant driving out of town; even if it meant driving to Cambridge. That’s right, my dreaded culinary wasteland. What keeps bringing me back to this place? A jaded palate in Kitchener-Waterloo, a big wide culinary world, and a little bit of serendipity, I suppose. But all that aside, I was humbled by Joey’s tenacity because it brought us to what I consider the only true Mexican restaurant between the two cities: El Rinconcito Mexicano. Forget the stalls, forget the tienda-esque Mexican places in Waterloo, they can’t compare. Its own name is even too humble for the sturdy meals that bolster it to local culinary admiration. If you’re in the mood for Mexican, you’d be foolish not to make the journey to a fantastic, and already well received place like El Rinconcito. And if you already live in Cambridge: congratulations. You have somewhere worth eating. 

El Rinconcito’s great kitchen is pulled together by its culturally themed dining room, well thought out with Mexico's colours, as well as edifice that you’d like to expect in any South American restaurant, but done well, even with whatever items of kitsch strewn along the walls, which surprisingly don’t unravel the illusion, but make it more inviting. The menu is nothing short of manageable; reading it, you may think the prices daunting, but when you receive your meals, you’re most likely to change your mind, thinking you ordered too much, as Joey and I both did asking for sides of poloze soup, a phenomenal Mexican stew rooted in culinary ritual and complex flavor. Garnished with crisp diced lettuce and radishes, the maize based stew was reminiscent of nothing else but Creation. An earthy flavor bound up in its savoury tomato tart broth, and accented further by oregano and juicy pulled pork, the 5.99 dish came as a side, but could have easily been a meal all alone, especially with the deep fried, puffed up tortilla shells that accompanied it. 

Pozole and laughter.

We took our time extolling the dish, adding copious amounts of lime, dipping in constant shells, deciding that if anything came close to a garden, the pozole was it. My entrée, another meal in itself, was a delightful, generous combination of gorditas, rice, and refried beans. 

I can’t begin to describe how my sandwiches lifted my spirits. Stacked between two of the most texturally satisfying corn cakes was more pulled pork (my choice), creamy goat cheese, and a pungent, but reviving medley of bright coriander, onions and lettuce, which, it seemed in all of El Rinconcito’s dishes, do an excellent job of lifting up the heaviest of savory, otherwise over-satiating flavours. My chewy, but exteriorly crunchy gordita shells had a unique smoked corn quality that contributed to the pork’s meaty and reminiscent barbeque quality, even though stewed. And, contrary to what you may think, the goat cheese, though mild, took nothing away from the flavor. 

My only qualm with the dish was the rice and bean sides. Though the beans tasted canny, and the rice, riddled with diced vegetables, and too familiar to the stuff we boil from boxes, I was imparted with some advice by another party joining Joey and I on our meal: we didn’t come for the rice and beans. I was apt to agree, even though it was my first time. I’d be apt not to, however, if everything wasn’t as delicious as it was. That said, it was delicious. It was food I could eat every day. I thank you El Rinconcito; eating is exciting again. 

EL RINCONCITO MEXICANO 
49 main street 
Cambridge, Ontario 
N1R 1V6 

(519) 623-4100 

CASH AND DEBIT 

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