Dallas Food - Mexican on Jefferson: La Palapa Veracruzana

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Mexican on Jefferson: La Palapa Veracruzana
Posted on Sunday, November 23 @ 21:15:36 PST
Topic: Mexican

One afternoon in May, when meeting Theabroma for antojitos at La Hechizera, she pointed out a "coming soon" announcement in a storefront across the street. Months went by as the interior work continued. In mid-fall, La Palapa Veracruzana opened. On to the food...

La Palapa Veracruzana, 118 W. Jefferson Blvd.

The menu for the first two weeks was limited, seafood-oriented, and, in keeping with the restaurant's name, filled with specialties from Veracruz. Tinkering continued with the menu and the space. The latest menu is more expansive and includes even more Veracruzan items.

Every meal began with a complimentary cup of chilpachol de jaiva. The light broth tasted of shellfish (except on a visit where chicken stock was apparently used), dried chile (guajillo and maybe de arbol), tomato, and garlic. Though the soup doesn't seem spicy on the tongue, its heat is noticeable when swallowed. The cups contained one or two pieces of blue crab in the shell (lobster cracker provided). With a generous squeeze of lime, this makes for a lively, unique starter.

The chiplachol is also available as an entrée. Same soup, but more of it and with much more crab.

The signature item at La Palapa Veracruzana is arroz a la tumbada. The first time I ordered it, it arrived more like a soup than I expected. Dark, slightly spicy broth barely covered the rice. The rice held a variety of seafood--shrimp, crab, a fat, unpeeled Gulf shrimp, baby octopus, mussels, and a little catfish. The seafood was great (especially the shrimp), though I could've lived without the catfish. When I asked the waitress if they always do the arroz a la tumbada as a soup, she said they could do it either way and that all I had to do was tell them how I'd like it.

Rather than making any special requests in subsequent visits, I just allowed them to serve it however they chose. Each time, it has been more like "ricey soup" than "soupy rice." I just used a couple of slices of the buttered sesame seed toast to sop up the broth while it cooled down, leaving the rice and seafood more exposed. The spiciness varies from batch to batch, but the broth has been delicious every time I've had it.

Though camarones al mojo de ajo can be found in some Dallas marisquerias and taquerias, it is a properly Veracruzan dish. La Palapa Veracruzana's version of the salsa was very direct, tasting of little more than garlic, lime, and salt. Perhaps because of the salsa's potency, the kitchen served shrimp whose freshness would not otherwise bear scrutiny. (Quality of the shrimp hasn't been an issue in any other visit.) The shrimp were served along with arroz verde, some overcooked veggies (cauliflower, carrots, and zucchini), a basic salad (iceberg, onion, tomato, avocado), and some buttered, sesame seed toast. This was probably my least favorite dish at La Palapa, even leaving aside the quality of the shrimp. (No photo, due to technical difficulties.)

Though not strictly "traditional," on the recommendation of a waiter (from Guanajuato) I ordered the pasta con camarones. The tail-on shrimp were fine this time, clean, plump, and firm fleshed. They were served over a monstrous portion of angel hair pasta in a cream and seafood stock sauce (slightly spicy and with garlic), dotted with vegetables (e.g., peas, lima beans, corn, and diced carrot). Though "al dente" was a dot in the rear view mirror by the time the pasta stopped cooking, I could see the appeal.

Picaditas are an antojito of Veracruz--a near cousin to sopes. Masa is pressed into a circle, griddled, flipped, pinched up around the edges, then filled. The boat was filled with tomatillo salsa and tender beef, topped with dry, crumbled queso anejo. (In more recent visits, they've switched to grated queso fresco.) Coming two to an order, the picaditas are a sharable appetizer.

Ah, enfrijoladas. Handmade tortillas, lightly fried, dipped in pureed black beans, folded in fourths, and topped with queso anejo and raw onion. I suppose bean-coated tortillas are a hard sell for a lot of gringos (unless you sprinkle them with jumbo lump crab meat to "add value"). But if you've had enfrijoladas at home, in Mexico, or some other city with greater representation of southern and coastal Mexican cuisine, you know they're an accessible, quintessential comfort food.

La Palapa Veracruzana offers another rarity on the Dallas scene with enmoladas. Same concept as enfrijoladas, except that the tortillas are dipped in a sweet mole. Scattered shreds of tender beef were picked up along with the mole. Good stuff. (Enchiladas originated as a similar dish--tortillas lightly fried and dipped in a chile sauce, with none of the fillings that most gringos today would consider the substance or purpose of an enchilada.)

Long, caramelized slabs of plátanos fritos were covered in crema and shredded queso fresco. Can't say I've seen fried plantains in many local taquerias. (When I have, the restaurants were operated by Guatamalans, Hondurans, or Salvadorans.) Worth ordering, but eat them while they're still hot to get the pleasant temperature contrast between the plantains and crema.

The camarones a la diabla had a darker sauce than I'm used to around here. Less tomato and adobo; more earthy, roux-like chipotle flavor (with lingering tingles on the lips as if from habanero). Though some diabla sauces can seem gimmicky in the heat level (e.g., the ones that taste like a can of La Costeña chipotles en adobo pureed and sautéed with onions or garlic), this one felt like it came about its burn honestly and with greater balance. Rather nice.

Not terribly common locally, even in marisquerias, is the tostada de ceviche. A crisply fried handmade tortilla base (still warm) held the salad. The mild, firm-fleshed fish (maybe tilapia) was dressed with cilantro, chile, tomato, onion, lettuce, crema, avocado, and of course lime. Though large enough to straddle the line between appetizer and entrée, I downed the whole thing in a hurry.

I'd have difficulty remembering how many times I've paid more (sometimes by 2-3x) for worse ceviches in Dallas--mushy fish, fishy fish, inedible garnishes, cornball flavor combos, jarring imbalance, saccharine sweet sauces, soupy overdressing, et al. Ceviche is like salsa in that its success hinges more on the ingredients' balance than their quality. La Palapa Veracruzana may not have heirloom tomatoes, organic micro-cilantro, dayboat line-caught mahi mahi, and onions picked daily from the chef's uptown condo hydroponic garden, but they do have tradition and taste going for them.

Though I'm not a fan of cóctels, generally, the waitstaff at La Palapa Veracruzana seemed to be pretty proud of theirs. I tried a small cóctel de pulpo. Another winner. Abundant pieces of slightly toothy octopus were dressed with cilantro, onion, avocado, and a thin, acidic salsa that was less sweet (read "ketchupy") than most. An early menu mentioned that the salsas for the cocktails are made in Alvarado, Veracruz. Though that means they're probably bottled cocktail sauces, at least they represent the right region. Definitely worth trying, for those who like cóctels. (Other options include oysters, ceviche, shrimp, and a "kitchen sink" seafood mix.)

The shrimp enchiladas at La Palapa Veracruzana were uncommonly good. Tortillas were handmade. (They're not consistent in using handmade tortillas. When integrated into the dish, they're often handmade. When served as an accompaniment, they're more likely to be average factory tortillas. If you're particular, it's best to ask when ordering.) The filling consisted of tiny shrimp, chopped cilantro, tomato, onion, and jalapeno--almost salad-like in the balance of ingredients. The three enchiladas were covered in a surprisingly mellow, light green salsa, drizzled with crema, sprinkled with shredded queso fresco, and a few slices of avocado. Long, full grains of white rice soaked up the excess salsa (though I would've liked a little more salsa for that purpose, it was so good). Repeatable.

Empanadas were another strong suit. Unlike the bready, baked, sweet empanadas commonly found in local panaderias, these were lighter in texture, fried, and savory. The shrimp filling I selected had tiny shrimp and pieces of shrimp along with diced, cooked onion and tomato. The masa shell was fluffier than a typical tortilla, having a quality more batter-like than I would've expected. The empanadas came with cups of dipping sauces--one a mild red salsa, the other a black bean puree topped with shredded queso fresco.

One of the few Veracruzan specialties that occasionally appears on Dallas menus is huachinango a la Veracruzana. However, unlike many of those restaurants, La Palapa Veracruzana actually used the namesake red snapper. The whole fish was sautéed until the skin was crisp and bubbled. The flesh beneath was moist, mild, and clean-tasting. Piled over the top of the fish was the sweet, tangy, slightly spicy mélange of onion, garlic, tomato, monster capers, pickled jalapenos and spicy carrots, whole bay leaves, sliced green olives, and bell pepper. Fairly rustic in presentation, but delicious. The side salad was forgettable. The white rice was excellent. (They've done a consistently great job with rice, whether white or green.) Easily the best version of the dish I've had in Dallas.

Though seafood drives the menu, there are some very competent meat dishes, such as the beef milanesa. The beef, pounded thin, had good flavor, but remained slightly tough. Breading was soft in places, but tasty. Sides included the usual salad, black beans, arroz verde, and some crinkle cut fries. (I'd trade the salad and fries for more of the beans and rice any day.)

I haven't seen mojarra empapelada elsewhere in Dallas. The whole tilapia was stuffed with sliced scallops, octopus, mussels, and shrimp, topped with some onion, garlic, epazote, and tomato, then wrapped in foil (rather than paper), and baked--or rather steamed--until falling apart tender. Enjoyable, but in a lower key. The fish was served with the sesame seed toast, white rice, and the superfluous salad. A good dish, but not my favorite whole fish preparation at La Palapa Veracruzana.

Skin-on salmon was pan seared and finished in the oven. Cooked through, the flesh was opaque and flaking, but not dry. (If I could take a mulligan, I'd request that they leave it more rare.) A mildly spicy tomatillo butter salsa bathed the fish. A delicious sauce. Fortunately there was enough of it for both the fish and white rice. (If they put that sauce in a squeeze bottle, dribbled out some dots or an ampersand under the salmon, and gave customers a cloth napkin, they could double their price. [Edited to note that, in my most recent meals, they've provided cloth napkins and tablecloths during dinner service.]) The steamed veggies weren't overcooked this time, which was nice. (Still, how excited can one get about steamed, lightly salted carrots and cauliflower?) Though the fish was good, the sauce made the dish.

Sopa de mariscos, another specialty of Veracruz, had a thin, mildly spicy fish stock-based broth with epazote and, of course, mariscos--large, unpeeled gulf shrimp, baby octopi, squid, fish, scallops, mussels (in and out of the shell), and oysters. They don't skimp with the seafood. Delicious and substantial (though I'd give the arroz a la tumbada the edge in both of those categories).

La Palapa Veracruzana is the real deal. The menu is geographically specific. The preparations are authentic. The chef has shown no signs of appeasement to Dallas tastes, whether of gringos or paisanos. This is precisely the kind of restaurant that serious foodies and chowhounds around here always complain about not having.

The fact that authentic regional Mexican restaurants are such a rarity in Dallas may mean that market conditions frown upon them. Gringos want their itches scratched. (I can hear it already: "Why does this come with the white rice instead of the green rice? Why don't I get black beans with this entrée? Where are the chips and salsa?") Local Mexican-Americans have their own tastes, based on their experiences in Mexico (seldom southern or coastal) and here (where Mexican food culture rivals American in its meat-centrism).

Lifting a restaurant from Alvarado, Veracruz, and dropping it on Jefferson Boulevard may be as futile as transplanting coffee plants to Kiest Park or trying to establish a breeding population of Ornate Hawk-eagle in the Great Trinity Forest. But I hope not.