A Burrito Grows in Bavaria

The actual El Puente leading into the restaurant.

Nestled in the mountains of the proudest state in Germany, at the end of a road that twists more than a Lady Gaga dancer, in a town with enough syllables to make a thesaurus blush, is a little bridge (and it would help if you rolled your R’s when you said ‘bridge’). That’s because tucked between the gasthauses, crowded between the kirchens, sandwiched somewhere between the bratwursts and wienerschnitzel is a tiny Mexican almost paraiso called El Puente.

As you might imagine, Mexican food in Bavaria is about as common as compassion from American Idol’s Simon Cowell. There are other cuisines: Indian, Thai, Chinese, Turkish, Greek and others. And for the most part, all taste very good.

El Puente is just one of two … no. Wait. It’s the only Mexican restaurant.

I would have said “two Mexican restautaurants” back in that last paragraph, however, the only other local ”Mexican restaurant” is a place that shall remain nameless, but is a chain that is built around a bar that serves food. Here’s how I described the unnamed restaurant to a colleague Monday:

********** is a lot like a street walker in Santa Monica Boulevard. You may like what you see. It may even smell good. It’s dressed great. But it’s not until you actually get it home that you realize the horror of what you’re eating, it’s too late.

So when my friends and I found out about this place, jumping beans we became. No more five hour drives for Taco Bell. No more street-walker cuisine. Yo Quiero El Puente!  We were able to go Monday night, a night off from the once-per-decade Passion Play occuring in that town.

Walking into the restaurant, you step over an actual bridge (El Puente!) and enter an atmosphere that is something smashed together from Disney’s Big Thunder Mountain Railroad, the rock climbing wall at the gym and those three Mexican restaurants you really like in Madison, Wisconsin.

Our server approached, said “Gruss Gott” and started us with drinks. Now, there’s a certain rule for Mexican restaurants that is important, and it’s this: it’s probably a good idea to have something, aside from the food that is, well, Hispanic. Our server had platinum blonde hair. ALL the servers had platinum blonde hair, which is not unexpected in the Texas of Germany, but not necessarily the line-up you’d expect in a place called El Puente. Admittedly, there were sombreros, Cacti on the table and the skull of either a dead Swiss milk cow or Stone Phillips hanging on the wall (depicted in the photo above)

Music is also integral to the evening’s atmosphere. Despite how cool four 300-pound men in sombreros and lederhosen could look, the Oompah Mariachis would not be barreling up to the table. However, imagine my surprise having a loop of the same three Gipsy Kings songs play over and over again (Volaré, Djobi Djoba and Baila Me). To be clear, the Gipsy Kings are French. And they are Gypsies. And for the first time in my life, I longed to hear “Canción Mixteca” played over and over again by these guys:

On to the food. I ordered something called “Burrito Mixto.” If it’s the “Mixto” part that frightens you, you’re not alone. It’s advertised as something stuffed with a mixture of meats. Tht’s a red flag on any menu. But, I was wiling to give it a shot. In between, we six adults and six children smashed down three bowls of chips, salsa, and guacamole. When the food came, it looked like this:

As burritos go, the meat burrito tasted pretty good, filled with things like ground beef, corn and spices. There were a few jalapenos topping it off. I don’t eat rice, but I tried a scoop of the yellow rice and it tasted fine. The chicken burrito, however, was as dry as a British sense of humor. I didn’t finish it.

Around the table, the reaction to the food sat somewhere between “Sure glad it was a nice, sunny drive to get up here” and “Hey, is this the Gipsy Kings again?” In the end, the food reminded my wife and me of the “Mexican” restaurant in the Azores where the servers had the courtesy of a land mine, all its entrees were made with Mozzeralla cheese, and some sort of stringy “beef” lined its burritos. El Puente was better, servers and food to be sure. Just not “Mexican.”

Admittedly, of all the cuisines to replicate in Europe, Mexican has to be the toughest. First, there just aren’t a lot of Mexican immigrants to Europe. Second, Spanish food (that is, actual food prepared in Spain) is not Mexican food. Neither is Portuguese food or any other kissing Hispanic cousin. As an American, when you’ve had good Mexican food in the United States, you realize it’s a regional or even a local thing. The place I used to buy rolled tacos from in Point Loma, California, and, of course, Kelly Island in San Antonio, Texas (among a myriad others), and even El Cotija in Warner-Robins, Georgia, still set the bar.

We had our sights set high. And up here in the Alps, that’s not a bad thing. Good try, El Puente! We may cross your bridge sometime again, but for now, we’ll leave you to Oberammergau.

And your CD of Mariachi Estrella de Jalisco de Ernnesto Molina music is in the mail.

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