but rather the rule that I made to abstain from reviewing chain restaurants. Don’t expect a deluge of Olive Garden retrospectives, but rules are made to be broken - except for the actual chain rule, which I wouldn’t dare disparage. I’m such a bad boy.
What’s that you say? Bad boys don’t have brunch at Neiman Marcus?
You’ve got me. Maybe I need leather pants. On with the review.
Ever wish that you could eat Quiche and buy a $3,400 Marc Jacobs dress in the same building?
Want a salmon burger and a $3,500 Valentino Tote?
Got a craving for Chicken Tetrazzini and a $115 unremarkable Armani T-shirt?
Me neither.
But the food at Mariposa is pretty good, and the ambiance is great if you like open modern stuff (which I do). The San Antonio Current named Mariposa among their list of the “Best Places to Feel Like You’re Not in SA”, which I find to be an unusual honor for Neiman Marcus to place so prominently on their website. Perhaps I’m reading too much into it, but I take this as boasting the “Best Place to Escape the Proletariat”. This is certainly an odd distinction coming from a popular countercultural left-wing periodical like the Current.
The virtue in this assertion is that the service is a great value with the waiters including the small touches typically found at more expensive restaurants. It shows that they have experience catering to the whimsy of upscale clientele. In fact the next time I go I’ll probably wear something nicer than my Journey Concert Tee and torn Levi’s. Live and learn.*
Fortunately my attire didn’t stop them from placing a tasty shrimp bisque in the middle of the tasteful mid-century modern place setting.
It had all the characteristics that I look for in a good soup:
- Proper temperature - check
- Good consistency - check
- Good flavor - check
Ok, not really.
The quiche looked every bit of it, but the flavor didn’t match the presentation. It wasn’t bad, as the crust and eggs were light and fluffy and the shrimp was a delicate complement rather than an overpowering theme. But if you were to detach yourself from the appetizing appearance, you would discover the quiche had as much passion as the Land Rover driving soccer moms that peppered the restaurant. And they appeared to be essentially ironing boards with tennis bracelets.Would I go back solely for the food?
Probably not. But the ambiance is so serene and affluent that it’s easy to momentarily forget that you can’t afford the positively obscene diamond-encrusted crystal goblet thirty steps from your table in the “housewares for the rich and famous” department.
So go ahead and have that second espresso and appreciate Mariposa for what it is: a place to escape the “working class” for a little while - even if you happen to be one of them like me.
But you should probably head there anyway for a comforting Prosciutto sandwich to help you mourn your loss. Chicago Bar is conveniently next door in case you feel up to finding a replacement spouse after filing the police report.
After walking in the front door you are immediately struck by the schizophrenic nature of this store. On one hand the dispassionately sterile, characterless edifice leads you to expect Wal-Mart shelving with neatly displayed 
I would liken the muffuletta to a slender bra-less Greek woman with the self-confidence of an investment banker and a nose large enough to detect her own mildly intrusive body odor. Overwhelming yet delicious, olive dominates this sandwich and sears the salami flavor in your mind making a concoction seemingly too grandiose for a deli counter. If it hadn’t been served on mediocre bread next to a pickle spear it could easily be mistaken for more elevated cuisine.
My Serrano ham sandwich was good, but was more similar to a Volkswagen Golf than a bra-less Greek woman. Certainly not without flavor or utility, it was comprised more of well-executed familiarity and less of intriguing individuality.
I started with the “Grilled Marinated Quail with spicy Herb Salad, grilled Piquillo Peppers and Sherry Onion Relish” as an appetizer and it was good stuff. A quail egg was served on top and proved to be the most flavorful egg I’ve ever had despite its diminutive size. The quail was quite good and the gamey taste went well with the onion relish.
Next up was the “Seared Diver Scallops on top of Parsley Root Puree, roasted Kohlrabi and Wild Mushrooms finished with a Sherry Reduction and Prosciutto”. Quite a mouthful.
The Chocolate Pots du Crème (Chocolate Mousse as far as I can tell) was an excellent finish to the meal, with a rich flavor complemented by fruits and nuts. The portions were proper and had me rubbing my belly with gluttonous glee as the meal came to an end.
As a side note, Mey giggles a bit every time she orders a Champagne and OJ cocktail. It seems that “Mimosa” is a common brand of feminine sanitary napkin in Peru.
On to the review…
Mr. Costa is a most gracious host. Reservations were no problem and he greeted us at the door to take us to a private table for eight. The wait staff was professional throughout the evening, with the owner even being kind enough to catch Rich in the parking lot and reunite him with his long-lost leftover sunfish. This attention to detail continued from the perpetually topped-off water glasses to the waitress’s delightfully nervous laugh at all of Joseph’s “jokes”.
Sadly it’s hit and miss. The potato soup and the desserts were good, and the escargot wasn’t bad. The main courses all had grand presentation, but my high hopes weren’t met. It made me feel a bit like a boy at Christmas who asks Santa for 
With a mix of caterers, hotel restaurants, and stand-alone establishments, the clear advantage is to the caterers. They were much better prepared for serving large quantities of patrons from behind a folding table. I should hope that would be the case, as this is their (excuse the pun) bread and butter. Most of their names were forgettable, especially since I’m not currently seeking a chef for a bar mitzvah.
