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Health & Fitness

Tex-Sex in the Twp—And Beyond

The state of Southwestern cuisine in Middlesex County.

For years after I moved from Texas to Jersey in the 80's, I had a common complaint with friends back home—they had very few authentic Italian restaurants in the Dallas-Ft. Worth area, and we had very few (in fact zero) authentic Mexican restaurants in Woodbridge.

Let me clarify what I mean by authentic: I don't mean food as it's actually prepared in Mexico—that's not Mexican food. Mexican food, in my brain and those of similarly self-absorbed Texans I was raised with, is what is served in Texas—the endless variations on corn tortillas, ground beef, chile, guacamole, yellow rice, and refried beans known as Tex-Mex.

Much has changed in my quarter-century living in Woodbridge, especially in the last ten years. Where transplanted Tex-Mex lovers once had only the barely passable Chi-Chi's to remind them of their lost tamales, now township residents have—uh, well, actually there's still no real Tex-Mex here. But there are several thriving establishments making stabs at serving Southwestern staples previously missing from the local cuisine scene.

So let's talk about Tex-Sex—Texas food in Middlesex County. (Get it? Sorry if you thought this was another piece about sending erotic messages from your smartphone). Three places within reasonable weeknight driving distance qualify as Tex-Sex standard bearers: José Tejas on Route 1 in Iselin, the Texas Roadhouse on Route 9 in Old Bridge, and Famous Dave's Barbecue on Route 1 in both Metuchen and New Brunswick. Let's throw in a fourth: On the Border in New Brunswick, to get back to the Tex-Mex portion of our program.

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All these places are parts of restaurant chains, making them suspect in the critical thinking of many reviewers. But not me! I grew up where Pizza Hut was the pinnacle of the Italian culinary arts. A greasy spoon with a familiar name can be a welcome sight. And since we have no choice, let's not worry about it. Instead of thoroughly researched, hard-nosed critical appraisals, I'll just offer up some general observations on these haunts that claim to be Southwest savvy.

José Tejas, amazingly, is the granddaddy of this lot. It opened in Woodbridge several years ago and soon became a big success. Part of the Border Café chain with locations in Massachusetts and Delaware as well as Jersey, José does the Texas roadhouse look better than, well, Texas Roadhouse, right down to the giant "Eat" sign out front. That to-the-point landmark, familiar to anyone who traveled around Texas in the mid-to-late 20th century, apparently flummoxed some Jersey residents to the point that they think the restaurant's name is Eat.

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No matter. The sign makes its point, and people do in fact eat it up. It's dangerous to go to José hungry, because you're more than likely to fill up on the free chips and salsa long before your meal arrives, especially if you include one of their ample margaritas. I like the ambience, the music, and even the crowds (we plan our trips to avoid their busiest times), but the food we eat at José has almost nothing to do with Tex-Mex or even Mex-Mex.

"Eat" does an acceptable job with enchiladas and quesadillas. (Beware the salt content of all José dishes if you're watching your intake.) But I prefer the Chimichurri Steak (tell your server you want the original Chimichurri sauce with it), and my wife usually goes for the Swordfish Tacos Veracruz.

Both of these dishes would be considered high-falutin' in a traditional Tex-Mex joint down south. The beauty of José Tejas, and the source of its popularity even in tough times, is that its prices are more than reasonable. It's downright inexpensive to eat at José, and its amalgam of Texas, Louisiana, and New Mexico tastes make it a consistently winning experience. I give it a high B+ on the Texameter. Food: B. Ambience: A-. Value: A.

Texas Roadhouse goes the carnivore route, emphasizing its burgers, ribs, chicken and pork without pretending to be a barbecue palace or going anywhere near a Mexican dish, save for a cup of chili (margaritas don't count). TR's ambience is more like a conventional modern restaurant once you've passed the butcher's case, where you can select your own cut of steak.

But TR, like José, grabs you quickly with its version of chips and salsa—Parkerhouse rolls and cinnamon butter. Who doesn't like to eat dessert first every now and then? A bucket of unshelled peanuts also sits on every table to keep you busy with your beer while you wait for the main course. TR is the best place around for what they call "country fried sirloin"—tinhorn for chicken-fried steak, the beloved Lone Star staple. (You can also get "country fried steak" at Chili's in N. Edison, but that southwestern "grill and bar" has been around a long time and, for me, never became a place to revive my Texas tastes.)

Something you can only get at Texas Roadhouse: a line-dancing wait staff. Both José and TR pump out the best of 90's rockin' country on their sound systems, but only TR has their servers break regularly for dance routines. So if you miss the heyday of Garth, Strait, and Reba, and the synchronized hoofing of the era, TR is the place to be. And if you want to pony up, you can get some excellent steak as well. Food: B+. Ambience: B+. Value: B.

But if you want slow-smoked barbecue the way they do it in Texas, the closest you'll come around here is at Famous Dave's. With a full selection of ribs, brisket, chicken, sausage, and sides like cornbread, Wilbur beans (baked and loaded with meat), creamy slaw, and potato salad, as well as a half-dozen sauces to choose from on your table, Dave's does a good job of combining elements of barbecue joints from Texas to KC to Tennessee.

I stay simple at Dave's. I love the Texas beef brisket sandwich with the Sweet & Zesty sauce, just like the beef-and-bun behemoths I grew up with. Dave's food is filling, and we always have plenty to take home. Desserts are great, too. Food: A. Ambience: B. Value B.

As for Tex-Mex, Woodbridge still needs help. If only one of the great Texas restaurateurs would set up shop in these parts. The best Southwestern chefs in Texas have reached heights that make the above-named mass productions embarassingly inadequate, creating a new level of south-of-the-border cuisine now known as Mex-Tex. You can sample some of this "new wave" in Manhattan at places like Toloache and Pampano. But in our humble bedroom community, your best bet for a Texas-style taco-and-guaco fix is Across The Border. Yes, you have to drive to New Brunswick, but that's where you're going to get the best selection of fajitas, enchiladas, chimichangas, burritos, and the other comida reconfortante that defined Tex-Mex in its adolescence—before the Mex started to come before the Tex. ("What about Chevy's?" you ask. Don't ask.)

Of course, there are some local Mom-and-Pop efforts that deserve mention, but I'll save those for another post. They're easily found these days through the magic of Google. Anyway, for the foreseeable future in Woodbridge our main choices for Southwestern food are outposts of chains, until an inspired Texas chef with lots of experience decides to lend his services here.

In the meantime, enjoy the local offerings, such as they are. Just remember, as you gaze hungrilly at the giant "Eat" sign—it's only a minor neon burnout away from spelling a related word: "Fat."

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