By Michael Rodes
Like most things precious, authentic Mexican cuisine is typically not found on a highway adjacent to a Best Buy. Countless individuals may rave about bastardized interpretations yielded from pseudo-chain restaurants or "burrito shops" but this is hardly semantic injustice. These establishments may appease one looking for familiar flavors reasonably priced but the true essence of the experience is lost in convenience. Mexican food cannot simply be copied and pasted onto a menu. The craft of great ethnic food stems from generations of fine tuning and mastery comprehension; it is impossible to spontaneously mimic without understanding the personality of the ingredients, variations in geographic regions, and the culture that spawned it. I've endured an analogous relationship with "pizza" in South Carolina and London. Expectations were low however, when traveling, embracing all local cuisine is a great way to experience the culture. Unfortunately both places made really bad pizza, who would have known?
For those in the know, a true gem is cradled in New Brunswick. Costa Chica restaurant is located at 314 handy St. Less than one mile away from the cacophonous spectacle that is Rutgers University exists a thriving Mexican community. The population isestimated at over 20,000 and growing in concert with the evolving city (Smith). As one of the largest Mexican populations in the area, New Brunswick is a growing hub for immigrants who seek a well established community. Last year during the end of May I had the ultimate luxury of visiting Costa
Chica while on the clock . My partner and I were in the closing hours of our shift. The weather was extraordinary and all I could think of was appreciating said climate with a late jog following work. After clearing our detail we returned to our vehicle and discovered the engine would not turn over. In a futile attempt to get out at a reasonable hour, I called my lieutenant and pleaded for a tow as soon as possible. In a half apologetic tone, she informed us to "get comfortable." By that I knew nobody was going to even think of us until night shift was on. With a few hours to kill, I grew impatient just standing around. Sunset was in full effect and I could no longer allow a perfect day to be wasted. Wandering around for about ten minutes led us into the heart of the Mexican neighborhood. Workers at produce stands were stacking empty crates, store owners were locking doors, traffic was stand-still on French Street; it was the end of a work day in the city. I certainly had an appetite at this point and when my partner suggested we grab a bite, I essentially commanded that we go to Costa Chica. Many years ago (actually about nine or ten) I lived in New Brunswick when the restaurant opened. At the time, the place was an unmarked building with an occasional line out the door. In time the establishment became a favorite of mine. Fast, authentic and perfect for college student on a budget.
Walking in, it was obvious that the place has done well for itself, at least in terms of commercial success. The once austere conditions have been replaced by murals of the Blessed Mother, beer and cacti. Decorations and musical instruments are fixed to the walls and track lighting elicited a vibe considerably warmer than the old fluorescent fixtures which remain in place. The most comforting update had to be the actual booths installed. Prior to this, seating and tables were an ad-hoc assortment of what I presumed to be lawn furniture and thrift store trash. Before sitting down I caught a glimpse of the kitchen. The only barrier from patrons is a short counter which extends about 10 feet. It appeared to be everything I remember from years ago but why ruin a good thing?
Costa Chica brings traditional Mexican concepts right into central Jersey with dead on execution, making it a worthy outing when looking for a little more than the Americanised excuse that we know to be "Mexican food."
Sitting down now my partner asks "How did you hear of this place?" There is a slight sense of concern in his voice, as if we are strangers in a strange land. I begin telling him how this used to be my reliable escape from the doldrums of academia as our server approaches us, tenders menus and scurries away. She returns with the hostess who inquires what we would like to drink in very poor English. Most of the staff here are exclusively Hispanophones. They have successfully assimilated into American life however the neighborhood is so densely Mexican that English is not the primary language of daily function. We are encouraged via pantomime to point to what we would like on the menu. My partners digits land on the Burrito De Carne Asada, and I choose the Mole Enchilada con Pollo. As we wait for our food, our heads turn to the front entrance for an explanation to the sound of guitar tuning. What we observe is a truly incredible testament to the fact the we are indeed in a real Mexican restaurant. A mariachi band donned in black suits with gold sequin trim parade into the establishment. The dozen or so eating here pay no mind, this is an everyday thing but to us, it's a special treat. They assemble in front of tables and play songs to customers for tips. After ten minutes they pack up and are on their way to the next hot spot.
The food arrives and we make our initial assessment. My partners Burrito is undressed from the tin foil and as he begins to work on it, I can tell by his grimace that it's made a big impression. In the past I have had the burritos and I can attest that his enthusiasm was valid. The size is a little smaller than you would expect but maintains perfect portion size. A flour tortilla encapsulates refried beans, strips of moist skirt steak, and rice. Atop this humble structure lies shredded cabbage, a mild cream and fresh bits of Requeson cheese garnished with cilantro and salsa.
My Enchilada was left nothing to critique. Four rolled corn based tortillas filled with cheese and shredded chicken, bathing in dark viscous mole, sprinkled with with onions. On the side, a portion of black beans and rice. The sauce alone has a curious flavor which haunts
my food dreams till this day. Sweet hints of cooked onion, tomato, chocolate and mango compete with habanero pepper and garlic to make a complex yet pleasant flavor. The mole revealed an even deeper personality with a distinct honey taste that is one of the last to leave your pallet.
By the end of our meals both plates were were empty. The place does not need large portions to gain a reputation. Good quality food made with heart and local ingredients makes the cut. For this little adventure on a perfect day, our total bill was under 15 dollars. Since we had time to kill I figured I would order a coffee, which was way to sweet for my liking. Heavy on the cream and loads of sugar is generally understood to the the norm in Mexican dessert. Often the beverage is enhanced with Cinnamon and vanilla but today I just had really sweet coffee. Except for my work vehicle, nothing truly failed that day in new brunswick. Costa Chica offered comfortable, festive atmosphere. The heavy language barrier may be difficult for those wishing inquire further about dishes but our server brought a graceful enthusiasm to the table and was willing to work with us. Another bit of fair warning; the place is cash only so make it to an ATM before sitting down. Costa Chica is a great experience which you may likely visit and revisit.
On a typical weekend night several bands like this one stroll up and down the neighborhood. They may stage in busy intersections or visit the local bars and restaurants which openly welcome the entertainment.
The Enchiladas were spot on. There are virtually infinite variations with Mole recipes. Each interpretation is a complex assortment of flavor. Costa Chica fixed a sauce that possessed outstanding personality. Definitely worth checking out if you get the chance.
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