Cheap Eats - Holy Cow

My Cow’s Cantina in Oakhurst

After two weeks in Tokyo and nearly complete immersion in the cuisines of the Far East (OK, I caved and ate McDonald’s once), I’ve never in my life been so ready for a couple of tacos and a margarita. Don’t get me wrong — Japanese food was a revelation to me: complex, creative and engaging. But sometimes a girl just wants some good old Tex-Mex. Bleary-eyed from jetlag, my husband and I dragged our haggard selves to My Cow’s Cantina in Oakhurst. My Cow’s takes the place of Billy Goat’s Cantina, and though the restaurant is under new ownership and a new moniker, not much else appears to have changed.

I Dreamed of Mexico: The décor, which I’ve always found charming, is the same. Of course, the pictures of former owner Michelle Niesen’s border collie (the restaurant’s namesake) are gone, but colorful clay pots, vibrant fabrics and rough-hewn furniture remain. I always get a little spellbound when I eat here — I’m not sure if it’s the soulful Mexican ballads playing on the stereo or the high-octane margaritas. Either way, I like it. Sadly, at 8 p.m. on a recent Saturday night, the restaurant was just about empty. The doors were flung open to let in the evening breeze, and the waitstaff were chatting amongst themselves, so the place didn’t have that creepy feeling empty restaurants sometimes have, but it was still hard to ignore.

Border Patrol: The menu has been streamlined, with several of the more ambitious Mexican dishes no longer present. What’s left is a straightforward Tex-Mex menu that mostly works. A starter of chips and queso was blandly forgettable, but a pair of kicky salsas — a tomatillo and a garlicky chipotle, both pureed to a smooth consistency — made up for the wimpy queso. Tacos on soft flour tortillas came stuffed with grilled steak, chicken or fish. I especially liked the steak, topped with onion and cilantro. Steak tacos are usually a graceless affair — you take a bite, and the taco’s entire filling comes out between your teeth. Not so in this case. The tender, juicy steak lacked the chewiness that’s a hallmark of a cheap cut of meat. Cilantro puree lent the accompanying rice a bright-green hue and a pleasantly tangy flavor.

Tex-Mex Mess: I wanted to like the chilaquile, a sort of Mexican lasagna, but I couldn’t muster much enthusiasm for it. The corn tortillas (stand-ins for lasagna noodles) more or less dissolved under their blanket of red and green salsas, turning the whole thing into an amorphous mess. I preferred the enchiladas, a similar concept — shredded chicken salsa, corn tortillas, melted cheese — that had a more graceful execution and sharper flavors.

Tipsy Reminiscence: Frankly, after one of My Cow’s jet-fuel margaritas, you probably won’t remember what you ate anyway. If you’re driving, the slightly-less-potent sangria may be a wiser bet. Redolent of cinnamon, it isn’t as sweet as most you’ll try around town (that’s a good thing) although I did miss slurping up boozy chunks of fruit from the bottom of my glass. Regardless, I think My Cow’s has heaps of appeal as a neighborhood hangout. And it’s not just the tequila talking.