Oso Felipe

As long as we’ve lived in the area, I don’t believe this place has been a place. It’s just been that odd, triangle-shaped joint in the corner of the Walnut Street NJT parking lot next to the soccer dome that longer-term residents claim used to be a steakhouse of some sort. Most likely run by a large, sweaty man who also sat in a folding chair outside a pork store in Newark. Not to stereotype or anything, but I’m not from NJ and this is just where my head goes when I hear “steakhouse that was also not a steakhouse that has subsequently been nothing.” Like a no-show job for a restaurant that apparently sat with a dormant liquor license for years in a town where those licenses are worth about 1.5 million times their weight in cold, hard cash.

So, it was with eagerness and excitement that we booked a reservation for the new Mexican version of what I came to understand was called “Richie Cecere’s Restaurant and Bar,” a “supper club” that definitely had nothing to do with the Copacabana in Goodfellas. Brought to you by the chef/owner of Pineapple Express and a Montclair developer who grew up in Mission Viejo, CA and hopefully knows and understands good Mexican food. I was less than generous to the Pineapple Express experience, so I kept my expectations low — but in reality I have a hard time dialing down my anticipation. Turns out, my initial instincts were well founded. The place was just meh. The oddball space — clearly re-used from its previous incarnation — was a bit awkward and not well laid out. There’s just a lot of wasted space and confusing walls and angles. Which I’d hoped would be interesting, but turned out to just be weird. The exterior looks good. And the decor is actually cool. It’s just the actual physical inside space itself that feels chopped up and even a bit disorienting.

Now, the food. The menu is pretty small and relatively basic. I thought for some reason this was going to be a higher-end dining experience, but was actually happy when I saw that the Mexican was both familiar, basic and not overly “gourmet.” And, look, I know this place is in its infancy, so I will cut it some slack, but as far as an immediate issue, the waitstaff was not at all familiar with the menu. The relatively straight-forward menu. There are three enchilada options: beef picadillo, chicken morita and two cheese. I asked the server what the chicken morita was and she said.. “It’s chicken?” I know but like what’s in it? “It’s like kind of shredded, I guess?” That’s not helpful. It felt like a new restaurant still finding its legs. That wobbly toddler phase where the menu made sense, but had little-to-no personality or inspiration. And a staff that just hadn’t been seasoned yet.

We did get some margaritas, though, which were decent. So, good on them for at least hiring a good bartender. They have around eight or so beers on draft as well; a mix of your big Mexican lager brands and some local, smaller breweries. Check. And then — and I swear I’m getting to it — we ordered food. Chips and guacamole to start. Side rant: Stop saying “guac.” Please. It’s insulting to us Southern Californians. Oh, and I’m sure Mexicans as well. It’s like that Velveeta abomination, queso, that the Texans like. That’s not Mexican, bro. And neither is the word “guac.” Just stop. Alright, I’m back.

I took a leap and ended up getting those chicken morita enchiladas, hoping that “morita” wasn’t just Spanish for “pile of raw cilantro.” It was not. I got it with Christmas sauce, which our server also only kind of knew how to describe, but I was feeling reckless and went for it. Turns out it’s basically just their red sauce and their green sauce on one plate. The results were… not particularly impressive. Not bad, just not remarkable in any discernible way. Generic is the best way I can describe it. I’ve only been to Chili’s once a million years ago, and I imagine and hope it’s better than that, but nowhere close to anything you might get at a hole-in-the-wall Mexican place in LA. Or, frankly, NYC. Innocuous is another word. I guess the overall results would be “fine.” Both the guacamole and the enchilada. Ms. Hipster got the two-cheese enchiladas and had pretty much the same reaction. This could have been any mid Mexican eatery anywhere in NJ. One of our tablemates got the fish tacos, which were actually kind of offensive (in my opinion) as far as baja tacos go. Deep fried like you might make a plate of Irish fish and chips, they looked like tacos with large chicken fingers on them. That’s not how you make fish tacos, bro. I mean, it’s how Oso Felipe makes fish tacos, but it’s just not right. Our friend didn’t want to say, but he was not a fan. Understandably. Our fourth got chicken tacos, I think. She didn’t finish them, claiming she ate too many chips. She didn’t eat too many chips.

So what do we get from this? Perhaps this place opened before it was really ready-ready. Servers, food, dining room, it all still feels a bit underdone. What they did seem to have down is the drinks. The people sitting at the bar looked to be having a good time. They appeared happy and satisfied. Adults out for a night of imbibing and carousing. I was sorta jealous, truth be told. I know this all sounds like a bit of a trainwreck, but like the Pineapple Express, I will give it another try in a while when they get their legs under them. I’m just hoping they do a better job of pulling out of that dive than their barbecue brother.

2 Erie St. – Montclair
973/744-8296
osofelipenj.com