I hopped on the Rail Runner, an express train service between the various metros. After a beautiful ride past mesa and sky I arrived in Albuquerque.
I was enjoying my walk down to Barela’s when I looked around and realized I was on an isolated stretch, carrying my laptop and probably for all the world some plump mug-fodder. I detoured my sketchy path to a busier street.
Barela’s gets sound and ubiquitous praise from all quarters. It’s a big neighborhood joint, informal, damn friendly and packed with people.
I was pretty excited to try their famous chicharrones.
Weird, huh? They didn’t look like chicharrones, which I’ve always thought of as cracklings. Sometimes cracklings have a little meat but are mostly crispy skin. These were huge hunks of flesh with almost no skin whatsoever. I asked my server. She reassured me that these were the chicharrones and when my bill came, it too said chicharrones.
They were terrible. Not crunchy in the least, but fried hard, fried chewy, dried out flavorless wads. I don’t know what happened, if this is normal, if other people like these things or if there is yet some other unimaginable explanation. In any case, just bad.
I also ordered menudo with posole and red chile.
Pretty yummy stuff. I gave it a good shake of oregano and scooped up the perfectly tender tripe with scraps of their fat and tasty flour tortillas.
