Out & About #361 | El Mariachi + Playdium things

It's already been well over a year since I've gone. The luminous colours, hazy excitement, and constant pounding of Whack-A-Mole and DDR machines - I've missed them all. When the opportunity to re-experience this exhiliration arose, I jumped at the chance.

But awkwardly stomping to the beat of K-Pop can't be done without food first. Twin Fish in Meadowvale, as well as a Mexican diner near Milton train tracks, have been on my radar as of late. Neither was arguably close to Central Mississauga, but we headed over anyway and began the search for parking.

After five to ten minutes of driving around the block, we met success in a decently close corner spot. We then sauntered through the doors of El Mariachi, a relatively new addition to Streetsville that has branded itself for tacos and churros, and were immediately acknowledged.

​There were three seating areas to choose from: a "lounge" consisting of a bar area surrounding the front entrance on Queen Street, a backyard patio that was practically glowing in teal, and a dining hall that provided more privacy by being situated in the enclosed section of the restaurant behind the bar. The server, who also doubled as a host and bartender, cheerfully guided us through the entire restaurant and allowed us to arrived at a seating conclusion with patience.

Once seated, laminated menus and a brief introduction to the restaurant was provided. Iced water was served up shortly afterwards in stout glasses adorned with a wedge of lime.

​Among their eight taco choices, we opted for the Baja Fish Tacos. The item had proved to be the most popular among Yelpers and seemed the single mildest pick based off description. A trio of three soft-shelled tacos made their way over after fifteen minutes or so, slightly overlapping one another with a centrepiece of three lime wedges.

​It was impossible to maintain dignity as these were devoured: despite the strong resistance of the tortillas, leaking sauce and shredded cabbage fallout was inevitable. Reviewing the item, sixty percent of its composition was shredded cabbage, twenty percent fried cod, ten percent tortilla, and ten percent Chipotle mayo. Chubby strips of battered white fish were nestled comfortably underneath unseasoned, unvaried slaw (read: slaw, not coleslaw). Despite the skillful frying of the cod, the remaining elements were strictly disappointing by means of gustatory profile. I also could not find prominent disparities between the Chipotle mayo and regular Hellman's.

​Considering that guacamole is a fundamental item on the menus of most Mexican eateries, I requested additional information from our server about their house's unique characteristics. He claimed that it was the best that he had ever tried, though his declaration fell short of any concrete evidence. Admittedly, faith had been lost at the very moment he failed to justify his reasons, regardless of how I pressed for details on texture or seasoning specifics. Ultimately, we looked towards another dish to share.

​Between the two choices for quesadillas, Gringa sought my attention over the Lechera (steak and chese) for its distinct combination of cheesy meat and acidic pineapple. I had no idea as to the shape or form "al pastor" meat would be presented in, though hadn't doubted that it would possess both spice and texture. The outcome was regrettable pry pricey for two pieces of thick, starchy white tortillas and bits of meat as stiff as threads of twine. A painfully thin layer of cheese - seemingly Tex Mex mix - had appeared to once be melted, but then rapidly settled to a sad, solid state, thus crushing cheese strings dreams. The tortillas were precisely the same as the base for the Baja Tacos, no more substance and no less toasting; talk about diversifying one's ingredient selection!

​We concluded the meal with a half order of Churros, instead of the standard four. Served alongside "Mexican caramel" (aka Dulce de leche for the informed folk) and a slightly bitter chocolate sauce were two long, ribbed pieces of deep fried batter. Each was coated thoroughly in heaps of cinnamon sugar before placement in a plastic tray lined with checkered parchment paper. Once again, the disposable plastic containers made their despicable appearance.
Plastic plates, paper napkins, and minimal cutlery ensured that the environment would be family- and kid-friendly. However, it did not coincide with the decorative vibes of the establishment, nor abide by the ways of Mexican culture.

​The calorie-laden bites of lard were heavy on the stomach, but nonetheless enjoyable after rubbing off a substantial portion of the cinnamon sugar. The coating had been excessive to the point where further dipping would have resulted in extreme satiation; its base was starchy and dense with minimal flavour, though saved by the duo of sauces. Dulce de leche was a bit more aqueous than imagined, though still sweet and silky to the touch. The bittersweet chocolate sauce was a much more intriguing selection than standard milk chocolate served with heated heavy cream; it complimented the churros nicely on their own or when dipped in succession to the caramelized sweetened condensed milk topping.

A two-person lounge spot with ample natural lighting had been chosen for the very late lunch session, but the decision proved fatal later onwards during the visit. The table nearest the window acted as a fume hood for cigarette smoke and hemp-like odours to infiltrate. Every single time one of the middle-aged men opted to step aside to cure their lung cancer-causing addiction, we were left with no other choice than involuntarily inhale the second-hand gusts of wretchedness. I winced more times than I could count, but the pungency refused to dissipate until long after we concluded our meal.
It should be noted that our server took no actions on this, not even the smallest gesture for them to shift further from the entrance such that the nine-metre radius was satisfied.

​Washroom stalls also fell short of expectations when compared to the shop's decor. Wooden benches, unlacquered stumps, and colourful wall accents could be found throughout the dining area, though the tacky, plastic interior of the bathroom told an entirely different story. Facilities were ancient and paper towel dispensers were not automatic. Even the waste basket was damaged at the edges.
The stalls were already cramped to begin with; adding dust to the equation only contributed to overall displeasure. Hooks were available on the backs of the stall doors, though it was questionable whether its design had taken the hanging of belongings into consideration at all.

Parking in Streetsville forever remains a headache for me, even if spots are free and traffic flow is decent. Rejoinining oncoming streams is also an endless challenge due to the narrow one-way roads.

​All factors taken into consideration, El Mariachi was deemed unworthy of a second visit. A trip to the strip of independent retailers and restaurants is a hassle in itself, and the Mexican joint only succeeded in persuading me against returning with lacklustre food items, hefty price points, and a mediocre environment. A password-secured guest Wi-Fi network was a nice touch, but insufficient in compensating for the various other lacking aspects. Service was friendly, at the very least, but I expected nothing less given that we had entered the premises at off-peak hours.

​At long last, we voyaged over to the spot I had so desperately been wanting to visit: Playdium.

​Several game machines have been swapped for more updated alternatives, while the prize collection booth shifted diagonally across the floor. Changes were frequent at the indoor arcade, but one aspect remained unchanged: the fun associated with knocking down clowns and hopping to K-Pop DDR.

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