Listen, I know I have a problem. This whole Tex-Mex thing is getting really out of hand, and it's all rooted in my deep-seated affection for what is really a rather trashy menu item: the sour cream enchilada. I'm obsessed with these bundles of joy and am determined to find the city's best version before we start that whole Best of Dallas thing later this year.
Trust me: I've eaten a lot of sour cream enchiladas. And while I have an idea whose is best, I'm sitting on that till later. Plus I still have 700 or so to go.
Anyway, because I'm obsessed, and because I feel the need to discuss all my neurotic tendencies with everyone, I'm constantly asking other people where their favorite sour cream enchiladas can be found. This is how I found myself at Chuy's.
Try the Chicka-Chicka Boom-Boom, I was told, but I can never remember who told me. The name of the menu item should have been my first warning, but I forged ahead anyway, desperately afraid that if I skipped over Chuy's I'd miss out on something spectacular.
I wouldn't have missed out on much, though. First of all, "Boom-Boom" sauce is not at all a sour cream sauce, as the menu clearly states. "It looks like Hollandaise," my table-mate told me, as I plunged in with my fork. It wasn't a French emulsion either. Nope, this was a simple processed cheese sauce gussied up with green chilies, onions and lime.
That's when I realized I must have told whomever recommended Chuy's about my dream sour cream enchilada. I do a lot of dreaming. Of perfect chicken sandwiches and brisket tacos, and even whole restaurants that don't exist. I also have a dream sour cream enchilada that amps up that traditional tangy sauce green chilies and onions. Chuy's was so close.
I dug on the fact that the tortillas for the enchiladas were rolled out by hand -- but please do not confuse these with hand-crafted tortillas like the ones I gushed about at Meso Maya. Chuy's uses masa harina, the pre-packaged masa mix you add water to before rolling. They're delicate and nice, but they lack that rich, roasted corn flavor Meso Maya's Nico Sanchez gets from boiling dried corn.
The roast chicken inside the tortillas was bland but fine. Roasted and hand-pulled, the menu says, and I believe it. But other than that I thought the Chicka-Chicka Boom-Boom was a chicka-chicka bummer. My search for Dallas' best sour cream enchilada will have to continue. Not that I'm upset about that.