Café Olé

2752 N State St
Jackson, MS 39216
(769) 524-3627

That's right, it says Jackson, Mississippi. I've had the joy task of working in Jackson for the past few months and it's getting harder and harder to find new lunch spots - especially good ones.

Last week's adventure took me just over 2 miles north of the central capitol complex to an "up-and-coming" neighborhood known as the Fondren District. It's sort of like the Northern Liberties of Jackson, but with nearby residential housing that's more like the Main Line. Think rich, middle-aged women with boutiques driving Lexus SUVs. No doubt their husbands are all doctors working at one of seven nearby hospitals...

And then there's Café Olé. Run by a Venezuelan transplant, it's housed in what looks like an old gas station on the main strip. Come to think of it, a lot of the Fondren establishments seem to be in old gas stations...

The food is authentic and was a welcome change from the standard "southern fried" options that permeate the market down here. I tried the al pastor torta first. Each entree comes with a side of fresh tortilla chips and choice of salsa. I decided to go with the pineapple version, it seemed like the proper match for the chopped, marinated pork.

The sandwiches are all served on Cuban bread, so I guess they're not 'technically' tortas. That said, it was delicious. Hot off the press, it was warm and still fresh with crisp iceberg laced throughout the tender cubes of seasoned pork.

Second lunch included a beef empanada and a barbecue pork tamale.

Definitely the highlight of the meal was the authentic Venezuelan tamale. Filled with a mixture of masa harina (corn meal, think polenta) and tender shreds of a Latin American-style barbecue pork, this was delicious. It was tender, juicy and full of spicy-sweet chipotle flavor.

The empanada's shell was more like an arepa than the (thinner) crisp, flaky wrapper that I'm used to. It was good, but a little too thick and spongy for my liking. Maybe that's just how they do it for real in South America.

The beef was spot on, and the cheese added a mild tang.

Needless to say, while I'm stranded in Jackson for the indefinite work-week future, it's nice to have some authentic Latin American cuisine in the mix.

Tamale Lady

I love street tamales. From the Baja, to San Fransico, Southern California, Salt Lake, even Chicago, I am a veteran of these warm, steamy bundles of happiness. In the Italian Market, I have long passed by the little old tamale lady, and thought about how, "next time, I will try them out." It has all the makings of magic: the little (seemingly) experienced Hispanic woman, a little corner with a cooler and cart full of paper plates etc. However, this was a tamale like nothing I have ever seen.



I ordered one pork, and one chicken. The pork was the first player up to bat. The first thing I noticed about the tamale was...it was huge. It was the size of a giant burrito. I was really quite surprised. The second thing I noticed was...a strange drizzle of hot sauce down the middle. This was okay by me as I love hot sauce. The third thing I noticed was...a large bone in the first fork full. The pork was a strange pink color, and certainly not from being smoked. There was a ton of masa and a small amount of meat. Which wasn't a problem, because it was pretty gross. And when I say pretty gross, I mean I took one bite, out of shear journalistic integrity (as though I have any), in order give a real review of the tamale. It was not good. To put it lightly. And the weird large bone was staring back the whole time. I have never had a tamale this weird/gross. Hopefully the chicken one would be better, right?






How wrong was I? The chicken tamale was almost a joke. A pull of the wet husk wrapper, revealed a wet tamale. Ok, no big deal. Having learned my lesson on the last one, an exploratory poke for bones revealed...

A chicken drumstick. Unseasoned, merely boiled and covered in masa. So gross. It was wet and gray. I don't even know who would eat it. I have never even seen such a thing, even in Mexico. I have yet to find a good tamale in Philly, and the hunt continues. So next time you hear the little old lady calling out "tamale" in the Italian market, avoid this siren like you would some weird piece of meat, because that's all you'd have to look forward to.