Rosa Mexicano

Dad called me the week before Christmas and his request was one for the memory books.

"I'm coming into the city. I want you to choose anything you want to see in the city, be it a concert, a play, a musical or an opera, or anything else you could possibly buy tickets to. You choose it and we will go."

I think my initial reaction was laughter, followed by a gaping "WHAT!?" It's not every day an offer like this comes around. I didn't want to let any show go unseen or any concert go unheard. I grabbed my trusty New York Magazine and started looking up everything that was going on in the city that week. I've seen musicals, and I've seen shows, but I'd never been to the opera. I went to dress rehearsals as a high school student, but that doesn't really count. I took a "humanities" class and once or twice a week we'd bus it to the Met. We took this class more for the field trips and extra time flirting with crushes than for the music. I discovered Rigoletto was playing at the Met and when my Dad called the next afternoon, that's all I said to him.

My dad spends a lot of time in the city for work, and during his recent stay, he ate at Rosa Mexicano. He loved it so much he just had to take me. I can think of worse things to do on a school night.

I sauntered in late as usual. Dad called me a couple times, wondering if I was going to show up, and both times I was "only a couple blocks away." No matter how many blocks I walk in this city, I still can't gauge how long it will take me to get from point A to point B.

I was surprised to find Rosa Mexicano much more low-key than I anticipated. I expected something bright and glam, with loud music and shiny tiles, glowing in a South Beach vibe. Instead it was warm and cozy. My Dad told me this one was very different from the other two locations. Maybe they are the flashier ones I envisioned in my head.

I found my Dad at a table in the front dining room, smiling, snacking on some tortilla chips and reading the paper. When I sat down our delightful server took our drink order. I encouraged my Dad to try a Negro Modelo and I ordered a margarita. I wasn't planning on drinking that evening, but the lime green concoction sitting across the aisle from us caught my eye. Dad's a picky beer drinker and I was relieved he liked his beer, as I loved my margarita.

I looked over the large menu and found several dishes that sounded tempting. The menu had much more to offer than run-of-the-mill Mexican fare. There were twists on some of the classics and one dinner at Rosa's will not feed my taste buds' curiosities. Tortilla pies, avocado leaf-crusted tuna, and beef short ribs marinated in beer were just some of the things I want to go back for.

I love avocados. I love them day or night. I don't even need anything else with them. I eat them plain. Sometimes I eat them with salt. I eat avocados, therefore I love guacamole. My dad turns green at the mere mention of "avo-". He can smell me cutting up avocados in our kitchen from his bedroom upstairs. "Get that thing away from me!" he yells, as if I'm dissecting a dead frog. That night at Rosa's, I sat at the table, in tortuous punishment, facing the cart of guacamole ingredients, trying to accept I would not be enjoying freshly made guacamole that evening.

"You should get some guacamole! They're known for it here."

I almost spit out my margarita in astonishment, but didn't want to waste any of the tequila. I was floored. My dad can't stand being within ten feet of the green goo, let alone sitting directly on top of it. I almost asked if he was sure about this, but then decided I didn't want to give him the chance to change his mind.

"One order of guac, please!" Happier words were never spoken.

The tall young man in charge of the guac cart came right over in his apron and prepped his equipment, like he was going into surgery. I studied his every move in awe, hoping someday I could mimic his quick hands. He sliced and scooped out two avocados faster than I could say "Ole!" I smiled knowing I would be eating the entire black tub of guacamole all by myself, and appreciated my Dad putting aside his hatred of the fruit so I could indulge in one of the things that makes Rosa's so great. They serve the guacamole with four warm soft tortillas, and while I did wrap some guac in them, I ate most of the soft, but chunky mush with a fork. Typing this without drooling on my keyboard has been a real challenge.

For dinner I ordered the crab enchiladas, or corn tortillas filled with jumbo lump crab meat, topped with a creamy tomaillo sauce and pumpkin seeds. My dad ordered the special red snapper. A side of beans and rice came with both of our dishes. Two servers delivered our plates at the same time, and both were piping hot. Our waiter was directly in tow to make sure everything was perfect. My Dad smiled and said, "He's a great waiter." I nodded my head in agreement but couldn't speak because I had already snuck my first taste. The crab meat tasted like it was right off the boat. The enchiladas were surrounded by a creamy sauce, but it wasn't too overpowering. It was the perfect consistency and complimented the crab meat, rather than drowning it. I only stole a small taste of my Dad's red snapper and it was hot and tender with a tang of sweetness. I was full after my two enchiladas, but couldn't let the sauce on my plate go to waste. I dumped some of the rice on it to soak it up and even the rice was delicious.

My Dad started looking at his watch with nervousness and urgency. He didn't want to be late for the opera. He asked for the check and our waiter promptly brought it to us with a smile. I tend to base an evening off the food it starts with. I enjoyed my first night at the Met, and the three acts of Rigoletto were both beautiful and sad. But in my head, the first act of the evening was dinner. Rosa Mexicano gets a loud "Bravissimo!" from me, and while I hope we started a new family tradition, I also hope to return to Rosa Mexicano's for an encore very soon.

1063 1st Avenue, at 58th Street
212-753-7407