Juan in a Million
2300 East Cesar Chavez, 472-3872 or 472-4382
Open daily, 7am-3pm
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feeling will keep me going back. There’s nothing fancy about this modest east
Austin eatery, but still the tidy place fills up at both breakfast and lunch
with a cross-section of town, from the dressed-down to the suited-up. Juan
obviously recognizes his success in drawing a crowd, and he shows his
appreciation by circulating among the tables and booths often — shaking hands,
slapping shoulders, and exchanging greetings with his clientele.
Juan in a Million’s “famous breakfast tacos” have earned the restaurant a
reputation for serving lots of food at a very reasonable cost. The plump tacos,
all in the $1.25-2 price range, offer more filling than a single tortilla can
handle. Juan regulars advise ordering a single taco and a side of tortillas,
and divying up the filling to make several breakfast rolls. At $1.50, the Don
Juan taco is a full-meal deal. You get your morning quota of eggs, bacon, and
cheese, and the typical slab of dry toast is replaced by a soft tortilla that
cradles the mix. Breakfast taco fillings include the standard egg, cheese,
chorizo, and beans in addition to the more exotic nopalitos and
machaca.
Lunchtime at Juan in a Million can produce a standing-room only crowd willing
to wait for the changing daily plate-lunch specials ($4.95) — enchiladas,
flautas, fajitas, etc. with a basket of chips and salsa, and a drink included.
The restaurant’s enchiladas are nothing stellar, just good solid Tex-Mex. Corn
tortillas are filled with seasoned ground beef or cheese and topped with melted
cheese and ranchero sauce. Lunch plates come with charro beans, Spanish rice,
and a mound of iceberg lettuce and tomatoes. The fajita plate produced a pile
of well-marinated beef accompanied by large wedges of lime and a foil-wrapped
packet of warm tortillas, corn and flour both. A la carte possibilities
include a wide selection of specialty tacos, among them carne guisada and
guacomole varieties. On cold days, Juan in a Million’s caldo de res
($2.95/small) is the perfect meal opener, a hearty melange of tender beef,
zucchini, cabbage, carrots, and celery swimming in a tasty, peppery broth.
— Rebecca Chastenet de G�ry
Julio’s
4230 Duval Street, 452-1040Mon-Sat, 8:30am-9pm; Sun, 9am-3pm.
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restaurants that becomes habit-forming once you’ve discovered it. There’s not
much to the place — a few wooden picnic tables on a tiny outdoor patio that
benefits from fabric softener-scented breezes exiting the neighboring
laundromat, and a cheery, sponge-painted dining room with a handful of booths
and tables for four. Ordering is handled at the counter, and food, served on
putty-colored plastic diner plates, is delivered to your table. Long a favorite
Hyde Park haunt, Julio’s draws a diverse lunch crowd, from business folk to
student types, all lined up for full plates of fresh Tex-Mex fare. Dinner tends
toward a crowd of neighborhood regulars.
One thing worth remarking about Julio’s food is its low grease quotient. The
tiny restaurant turns out Tex-Mex standards — tacos, fajitas, chalupas,
enchiladas — that look and taste like they were made to order, with no
telltale pools of fat. Combination plates, like the fajita and chicken
enchilada plate ($6.25), win favor for their size. Julio’s beef fajita
showcases little bits of moist, well-marinated beef in place of the standard
strips, in addition to translucent onions, stewed tomatoes, and soft red bell
peppers. The chicken enchilada’s green sauce offers just the right tang, and
the plate comes with a puddle of refried beans and mound of brown rice.
Julio’s � la carte choices are ideal for penny-pinchers. The
chicken chalupa ($3.30) features a puffy, fried tortilla base festooned with
shreds of roasted chicken, refried beans, grated cheese, fresh tomatoes, and
lettuce. Hot sauce comes on the side. And though it isn’t your typical Tex-Mex,
Julio’s roasted chicken half, with its moist flesh and crisp exterior, deserves
special mention. Dessert at Julio’s is limited to a moist, jiggling flan, but
drink options are plenty, including Mexican beer and a wide array of exotic
fruit nectars.
— Rebecca Chastenet de G�ry
El Borrego de Oro
2414 S. First, 441-4878 Mon-Fri, 7am-9pm; Sat & Sun, 7am-11pm
 El Borrego de Oro |
bean tacos from a street vendor in Nuevo Laredo to catalyze the conversion to
the corn tortilla, but there’s no going back now. Any taco this side of the
border will pale in comparison, but since defecting probably isn’t worth it, I
find solace at taquerias. The taco selection at El Borrego de Oro might lead
you to believe that you really are in Mexico — they serve beef tongue, tripe,
and brains daily — and if you’re wary, you can opt for a safer favorite like
fajita steak, chicken, piccadillo, or al pastor. An � la carte menu lets you eat like a king but pay like a pauper: any taco for $1.50,
tostada for $1.95, or burrito for $2.75. But while my fresh corn tortilla
buckled under the weight of the juicy, delicately spiced ground beef, carrot,
and potatoes of the piccadillo taco, Borrega’s burritos are small-scale
compared with those of their competitors. (This only means that a burrito feeds
one good eater instead of two and a half .)
Like most taquerias, El Borrego de Oro has a diverse menu but little space.
Out of the seven or so tables, one is home to a TV that blares COPS during lunch hour. In other words, the atmosphere, though clean, lacks the
depth and richness of the food. But for a full meal for under $6, you couldn’t
ask for anything more. The al pastor (a platter for $5.75), parcooked on
a spit but finished on the stovetop in a salty orange chili sauce, flaked off
of the fork like tender stew beef. A requisite portion of lettuce and tomato
helped temper the richness of the meat, and while the accompanying rice was
non-descript, the refried beans smacked divinely of bacon — not lard.
Unfortunately, the house specialty, Birria Estilo Jalisco, left me
cold. Described on the menu as a barbecued lamb stew, in truth came off as
little other than stringy bits of mutton in an unappealing, musky broth.
Cilantro, chopped onions, and a wedge of lime garnished the stew but without
the aid of some aromatic oregano, served in a shaker on each table, I was
unable to enjoy it. On the other hand, the ranchero sauce drowning a cheese
enchilada was so savory that it made me wonder if this ostensibly vegetarian
dish might actually have meat in it. Even the salsa has depth. Full of green
onion, chili seeds, and cilantro, it imparts subtle heat, and the rich, salty
splendor that, in my mind, sets Mexican food apart from (and above) Tex-Mex.
— Meredith Phillips
This article appears in March 21 • 1997 and March 21 • 1997 (Cover).