When I eat Tex-Mex, I generally subsist on two standard orders depending on my mood. Sometimes I want enchiladas, and sometimes I want fajitas. The rest falls into special occasion Tex-Mex, such as when I'm hunting for perfect puffy taco, or searching for good queso, or am otherwise distracted by other substances I'd rather not discuss here.
On the fajita front, I'm growing increasingly disappointed in Dallas. I've had some seriously bad plates at places like Cafe Maya and Mia's and unmemorable ones at Raffa's and Desperado's. I'll have no problem recollecting a plate I was recently served at Matt's Rancho Martinez, though. They were the worst fajitas I've been served in my entire life.
I'm so desensitized to bad fajitas I could almost overlook the dry scraps of chicken and beef that came on this plate. With enough of the passable guacamole and other condiments, you can almost hide the flaccid proteins. The plate they were served on, however, made for a very sad fajita experience.
Without sizzling cast iron, fajitas lose all their mystique. It's the trail of smoke and caramelizing onions wafting through the dining room of the first order that that sells the next. Sizzling fajita plates sing as they arrive at your table. Sometimes they command the attention of half the dining room.
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Unless you've ordered them at Matt's, of course. Here, they arrive without song or fanfare and instead drop onto your table like a grumpy old man that says, "are you gonna eat me or what?" Given the choice I'd say no, but hunger can be a very persuasive sensation. The next time I'm craving fajitas, though, I'll certainly head elsewhere.