COLUMN: Pupuseria El Salvador commits a to-go no no
Before I proceed in giving this review, I’d like to bid farewell to all who’ve enjoyed reading my column. I’ve made it my goal this year to stay away from all of the obvious places we could go to eat in Cache Valley, such as Texas Roadhouse, Cafe Rio and Olive Garden. My aim was not to tell you what you probably already know about Cafe Sabor, Elements and Angie’s; rather, I wanted to find those lesser known eateries that barely stand out from the glitz of flashing lights and enormous roadside signs on Main Street.
I’ve searched out hole-in-the-wall places run literally by mom-and-pop immigrants working hard, day and night, to be sure their children can grow up in a middle-class American metropolitan area, get a good education and maybe not have to run a restaurant for a living. The authentic domestic and international flavors that I’ve absolutely loved, and even the handful of places I’ve gone that haven’t done anything but nag at my patience as well as my tastebuds, have all given me plenty to write about this year.
I hope to return next year with a whole new list of places to rant and rave about. With an empty belly and a full fork, pen in hand, I plan to give readers another round of Cache Valley eats, on me. As for this year, I have just one more restaurant to review, and I wish I could say I’m going out on a good note – especially since it took about four months for me to finally show up at the Pupuseria El Salvador on a day and time that the place was actually open.
Trust me folks, I dug deep within my compassion reserves to find every possible nice thing I could say about the place, and I’m going to do my best to give it a fair shot. If anything else, the kind, elderly woman who stood behind the counter after she cooked my food and said, “I’m sorry,” deserves most of the credit for keeping this review from being a total blast.
I suppose the ultimate problem was that I showed up 30 minutes before closing time and ordered my food at the counter, since nobody was at the door to greet me. Keep this in mind, because, in a bit, I’ll explain what the problem was.
The woman standing behind the counter was smiling ear to ear and happily gave me a tour of the menu. Eventually I ordered a couple of combination papusas – corn-dough pockets filled with rice, beans and cheese and grilled on a flat-top cooking surface – and two beef tacos on housemade corn-dough tortillas. She told me it would take about 15 minutes. OK, no problem, I don’t mind waiting for good food.
As I sat in the dining room, I absorbed my surroundings and decided I appreciated the fact that no particular extravagance was exercised in decorating the place. There were about a dozen tables, a couple of random knick-knacks – probably from El Salvador – hanging on the mirrored walls and near the door hung a 3-D map of the tiny Central American country that borders Honduras and Guatemala.
I absolutely love authentic food from all over the world and enjoy any and every opportunity to share other cultures through gastronomic exploration. Unfortunately, this difference in culture also sometimes leads to a breakdown in communication. After about 20 minutes or so, other patrons in the restaurant got my attention and told me the woman behind the counter was yelling for me to let me know my order was ready. I figured this was odd – why didn’t she just bring my food to the table?
When I got to the counter, I realized all my food was in a takeout bag. It became clear that I was being pushed out of the restaurant. Upon mentioning that I thought I could eat my food in the dining room, she told me I said I wanted my food to go. This was news to me. She said she asked me, and I told her I wanted my food to go. But I didn’t. This is when the kind, old woman behind the counter who had clearly cooked my food smiled and apologized. The other woman at the counter said it would be fine if I wanted to eat in the restaurant – of course she had already locked the door 15 minutes before that to keep other customers from coming in.
I felt like the situation spiralled out of control. First she told me she was sorry I misunderstood her, then she said if I needed somebody to blame, I could blame her. All I really wanted was to sit down in the restaurant and eat my food, but at that point everyone in the dining room was staring at us – awkward. I could tell the only reason this individual was being semi-nice to me was because I was the customer and she was the employee, possibly co-owner.
I decided to head home and after another 15 minutes – that’s how long it takes me to drive home to Providence from 1400 North in Logan where the Pupuseria is located – I pulled the food, which cost a little more than $5, out of the single tiny box it was placed in and ate the lukewarm tacos and pupusas. I’m pretty sure the beef tacos were made with beef tongue, and they were pretty good. The pupusas were OK, but I’m sure they would have been a lot better if I could have eaten them right away in the restaurant.
I give Pupuseria El Salvador a C-minus for assuming too much, making a scene with a customer in the middle of the dining room and pushing me out the door at closing time. My advice: the food is good and the restaurant has a nice, humble feel to it, but if a customer doesn’t feel welcome eating there, it’s hard to want to come back.
– D. Whitney Smith, originally from Pennsylvania, moved to Utah five years ago. After 11 years’ experience waiting tables at a total of 23 restaurants, he decided to hang up his server apron and enroll at USU. Have suggestions for a restaurant to review? Email him at dan.whitney.smith@aggiemail.usu.edu.