Josephine Street Café

What’s a good mixed drink that has whiskey in it?

Seriously, it’s still kind of bugging me that the best I could come up with was the frat-boy staple “Jack and Coke”. The white neon signs in the front windows of this old building invite you for “Steaks” and “Whiskey”, and I felt the need to sample both.

Whiskey sour would have been a better choice, but in a convincingly authentic place like the Josephine Street Café I should have been a man and ordered it straight up.

This place is all about atmosphere. Despite being only a stone’s throw from San Antonio’s urban core, it’s amazing how easy it is to forget your proximity to the freeway (the restaurant’s parking lot is underneath 281). After entering through the side door and admiring the plethora of old dirty trucker hats mounted over the bar, my Miata outside transformed into a trusty old F-150. I felt conspicuously bootless.

Now that’s not to say that I was alone in my bootless-ness. There was quite an eclectic mix ranging from bikers to yuppies and everything in between. It’s especially gratifying during this polarizing Obama vs Palin political race to see a bearded hippy sitting adjacent to a conservative sexagenarian couple. Isn’t gentrification great?

Did I mention there’s a tree in the middle of the restaurant? Yup, a tree. And I’m not talking about one of those “let’s plant a tree on arbor day” kind of trees. It’s one of those “Paul Bunyan better clear his calendar” kind of trees.

After a one-drink wait at the bar for the staff to get a table for seven together, we were seated near the window and the 500-year-old sapling. A couple of differently sized card tables were assembled to create our altar of fine dining.

Chips and Queso were expectedly tasty but nothing special. My chicken fried steak with a side of mashed ‘taters was also good but forgettable. It was probably one of the better ones that I’ve had, and it was very reasonable on my wallet. At $8 for my chicken fried artery clogger I feel as though I got a bargain, although my future heart surgeon may disagree.

But really you're here for the ambiance. Prices are good, food isn’t bad, and the floor is appropriately slanted. Don’t go here expecting to be coddled while being spoon-fed veal.

The waitress got the job done efficiently on a busy Friday night and didn’t even complain when we creatively divided the check. I didn’t get any warm fuzzy feelings from her, but this isn’t the sort of place where you expect anyone to kiss your ass. All business, just like my Miata...umm I mean…my F-150.

Food: 3 Cuy
Service: 3 Cuy
Ambiance: 4 Cuy
Value: 4 Cuy

Overall:

Are you looking for a small-town hill country bar and grill, but you can't afford to gas up the Ford? Look no further.

New Poll Added

Check out the poll on the upper right side of the page. Here's some links for each of the choices to allow a more informed decision:

Oloroso
Valentino's
Le Frite
Aldino's

Feel free to make recommendations and I'll add them to the poll.

Coco

Do women taste food differently than men? 

The chef at Coco must think so, as the food I was served at this aspiring yuppie-girl hangout was sub-par by any traditional standards.  Coco is targeting quite a discriminating and demanding audience to expect to get away with that sort of thing.

Dinner wasn’t all bad.  Their interior decorator perhaps had a vampire fetish (red velvet and dark paint), but at least it wasn’t too loud inside.  I made a reservation for a party of seven and we ended up with a group of eight.  Despite giving advance notice, the waiter didn’t seem to realize that this would be a problem until the eighth member of our party arrived, at which point it was embarrassingly late to do something.  The manager seemed much more on top of things, and was able to relocate a married couple (quite awkward for them, I imagine) and steal their table to add to ours.

The waiter’s hesitant nature prevented him from highlighting the menu in any flattering fashion, but he was able to give a brief description of items when asked.

His missteps continued when he brought out Phillip’s fig pizza as an appetizer.  So while everyone else was munching on mediocre entrees, Phillip was eyeing our food with that hungry, unsatisfied gaze that I’m more accustomed to seeing from the opposite sex.  Despite excessive delays between courses and a general lack of confidence, I must say that he was very respectful (he didn’t call me “bro”) and meant well.

The quail appetizer was the lone culinary success of the evening, as the tender meat paired well with the chocolate balsamic reduction and fig puree.  Quite tasty.

For the main course, I had the Shrimp Rouille which surrounded a machego potato puree.  The presentation was nice, with five shrimp decorating a central mound o’ taters, but these diminutive crustaceans were too small for a main course.  These were overdressed appetizer shrimp that surely were destined for a marinara cocktail dip before being diverted to my plate.  The sauce was uninspired and lackluster.

“It’s ok” I told myself.  This place is known for its desserts.  It’s called Coco after all and I don’t think they’re referring to the Columbian nose candy.

Mey went with their signature dessert known as “The Kiss”, and found it to be decent but hardly up to the waiter’s hype.  My “Menage a Trois of Chocolate Mousse” was an insult to three-ways everywhere.  They were average, but a more appropriate name might be “Missionary Position of Chocolate Mousse”.  Good, solid, average mousse.  I mean, I wouldn’t turn it down if offered, but…

Perhaps I’m being a bit harsh.  Nothing I tried was actually bad.  It just wasn’t good enough to warrant a return trip.

Ambiance:  3 Cuy
Service:  3 Cuy
Food:  2 Cuy
Value:  2 Cuy

Overall:

If you’re dating a sorority girl who doesn’t know any better; then this place will get you some action.  And good for you for dating a sorority girl at your age.

Coco's Website

Tre Trattoria

Family style Italian. That’s what they call it.

I call it communism with ravioli.

Very tasty ravioli, which is why I didn’t like sharing.

But let’s start at the beginning. The bar/lounge area was very swanky with creative blue lighting and contemporary furniture. It was almost enough to keep me from feeling bad for being twenty minutes late for a dinner I organized.

Being a large party, we were seated at a large elevated table to accommodate our party of seven. The place was rockin’ on a Friday night with an abundance of loud men in tassled topsiders. Just in case hurricane Gustav made it to San Antonio, these guys were ready.

After the drinks started flowing I found my own volume control quickly set to “self-involved yuppie” anyway. This is a great place for drinking and laughing with a loud party.

I tried the “Tre Martini” which was quite tasty, but hardly worth the twelve dollar asking price.
A tip for the single ladies: order one on your date’s dime. You’re worth it.

Are you wearing that “special” black dress? Order two.

The waiter got me started with an octopus salad, which was the chef’s special of the day. It was a fair salad. Then he kept referring to the men at the table as “bro”. I’m only really comfortable with four groups of people calling me bro:

• my sister (Shannon)
• friends (while inebriated)
• tropical islanders (I don’t know why)
• people instructing me not to “tase” them (ie – "Don't tase me, bro!")

This is too nice of a restaurant not to know the difference.

I went with the mascarpone ravioli for my main course, opting not to partake in the socialist “family style” meatball dish that my friends Rich, Phil, and Joe split among them. My curiosity got the better of me and I did scarf a quarter of a tasty meatball (was that citrus that I tasted?) by the end of dinner. Then I got worse.

I finished off Art’s pappardelle with bolognese and some of Mey’s fettuccini. The bolognese had a well executed lack of complexity; it tasted like Phillip’s Italian grandmother was working off her indentured servitude in the kitchen. Fettucini was almost at room temperature, but showed promise if they hadn’t dropped the ball in preparation. The staunch capitalist inside me was begging for mercy. I even shared some of my succulent ravioli.

I finished the meal with a delightfully carefree Oregon huckleberry milkshake which took me back to an innocent time when….uhmm…well….when my milkshakes didn’t come from Oregon. I must say that it was probably the best milkshake I’ve ever had.

Tip was included at 20% (very un-capitalist) for our party of seven, and Ben Franklin was sacrificed to the dining gods.

Ambiance: 4 cuy
Food: 4 cuy
Service: 2 cuy
Value: 3 cuy

Looking for a place to take a cougar with an annoying laugh? You’ve found it!

Overall:
Tre Trattoria Dinner Menu
Tre Trattoria Website