Call me ignorant, but when departing for my great South African adventure, I actually contemplated whether or not cows existed over here. I didn’t know what to expect in the way of milk or steak, and I was prepping myself for five desperate months without a taco. The thought gave me nightmares at first, but I was learning to cope.
So you guys back in California can understand how I felt upon hearing about a Mexican restaurant just a three-minute walk from Liesbeek Gardens, the res hall I call temporary home. And you can further feel my excitement upon hearing that this place has a happy hour from noon to 6, every day.
Six hour happy hour? Does it even matter if the food is good?
To me, yes. To a Mexican-obsessed, carnivorous, can’t-go-a-week-without-asada girl like me, a thousand times yes. So it was off to the Fat Cactus to test their tortilla-wielding skills, with a slightly diminished set of expectations than the ones I bring to California’s burrito joints.
Seated in our booth at this overwhelmingly decorated space, I could have convinced myself this was the States, easily. There was so much spurious Tex-Mex paraphernalia lining the walls that I half expected our waiter to come out and say “Welcome to Chili’s!” I appreciated the effort, but seriously—how the heck is the food?
The menu was definitely not limited to Mexican, that’s for sure—burgers and rib-eye steaks were easy to avoid, though, since they cost a lot more than the Mexican fare. I should mention that this section of the menu was called “South of the Border.” Funny, I’ve always wondered what type of food they eat in Antarctica.
Anyways, we started off with sweet potato puffers, which were basically sweet potato chips served with salsa, guacamole, and bean dip. The chips were baked so I felt better about gorging on them, but there was no excuse when the chips ran out and I went at the bean dip with my spoon.
Their quesadillas are named after musicians, and while the Elvis was tempting with its bacon and banana blend, I went for the Zappa—steak, jack cheese, and avocado. The steak was straight out of a taco truck, cooked in chunks and marinated in a fashion I thought only immigrants and Rick Bayless had mastered. They stayed true to their Chili’s roots by topping it with endless amounts of guacamole and sour cream, but it was easy to push to the side.
The feta and mushroom Clapton quesadilla was also satisfying, though not necessarily what you’d call traditional Mexican. Their nacho platters were big enough to be whole meals, and served that purpose for many at my table. The enchiladas were served deep-dish style in a mini casserole dish and I didn’t get to try them, but they looked appropriately melty and indulgent.
All in all, this meal was pretty pricey by Cape Town standards. Even happy hour marg pitchers set you back at least four dollars. It isn’t the cheap and greasy joint I’d hoped for with dollar tacos, but I can’t complain. At least I know now that there are some cows nearby to satiate those asada urges.
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