First of all, RIP Amy Winehouse. It was a shock to read the tragic news.
We visited an old friend on a hot and sticky Friday evening. Los Andes is a Peruvian/Bolivian restaurant somewhere in Providence. What I like about this place (from previous visits) is that it is not pretentious. To me anyway, it serves food how I imagine big mamacita would serve Latin food.
From outside, Los Andes restaurant looks quite dingy - more Lost Somewhere than Los Andes. The lobby/bar looks more like a beach shack than a bar to a restaurant with more dead space than in Mario Backheel-otelli's head. Round the corner is where the dining room and all the action is. I always remark to myself how dark it is. It is like walking "Back To Black" except for a couple of luminous fish swimming around in a tank and a mannequin sporting a very colourful Bolivian costume of some sort.
We got some anticuchos for starters. Never fails. Anticuchos are slices of beef heart marinated hard with vinegar and other spices, and grilled like a kebab. The combination of the hearty meat and marinade results in it being incredibly tender with more multifaceted accents than Rory Bremner. For my entree, I got an old favourtie - Pique A Lo Macho. "You Know I'm No Good" at Latino but I think translated it means Gerard Pique is as hard as Joey Barton. After a short while our waitress somehow managed to bring the gargantuan dishes. The waitress was a tiny little thing but carrying those huge dishes about she must surely be "Stronger Than Me". To be honest, I was a tad disappointed with the culinary landscape on my plate. The chunks of steak looked rather dark and overcooked as if they had got singed standing too close to a Higgs Boson experiment on the Swiss-French border. The chorizo was standard sausage and just about contributed to the party. G-Force liked it. What normally puts the macho in the pique is the sauce. Previous incarnations have had me in "Rehab" about the tomato based sauce. Unfortunately this latest version had a rather rich oily consistency, and hence left a taste of betrayal similar to that of BP's billion pound profits. In the previous version the chips (or fries to the Yanks) soaked up the textured sauce like a sun junkie with a prosthetic ear leaving me glowing like "Just Friends". This version, however, was a battle and I am probably closer to ordering a Big John toilet seat.
The Ho Down says: Los(t) it. Sorry, foodies. I was disappointed. I'm not saying this place is bad. Los Andes will be frequently frequented as it always serves hearty nosh.
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