By Albert Vuoso | Arts & Entertainment Editor –
It was a bike ride away, literally. A roommate and I took advantage of our well-toned muscles and the small span of Newport as an excuse to arrive in style to Perro Salado. Just in time for our eight o’clock reservations, a crowd buzzing with conversation gathered outside of the colonial home turned into a Mexican restaurant, with grip-sized glasses and lit cigarettes in hand. At first, I questioned biking to the restaurant. I wondered if it was a “cool” thing to do, even in Newport. However, the margarita-in-hand crowd reassured me that this was not a scene where cool mattered. Because just by being here, cool was understood.
It’s small, it’s narrow, and it’s undeniably Newport. Perro Salado, salty dog in Spanish, is oddly located on a side street just short of Upper Thames. Like the streets in Newport, this restaurant was not made for two-way traffic. The small rooms and the teeming crowd made it a place of, “behind you” comments as a waitress whizzes by. Yet, for all of its oddity, it works nicely.
A feel of intimacy is birthed out of this tight spacing; it is after all an old colonial home. After letting the hostess, who was sporting a mod pair of glasses, know my name, she escorted me and my guest to our table reserved for two.
The lighting was dim as I walk to my table, almost disorientingly so. Unrestrained conversations resound through the restaurant, lending to its blithe atmosphere, something I quickly slipped into. It wasn’t hard to do thanks to the sangria-colored walls, quirky paintings, and Christmas tree lights adorning the door entrances.
Our table was in a room to the side of the main entrance, to the right of a bar that stood central in the restaurant. A bottle of water and a lit candle awaited our arrival. I had the pleasure of getting the cushioned bench seat complemented with plush pillows to rest my back against. As you may already guess, these tables were, like everything else, on top of each other. My grandfather used to have a fork that extended an entire foot, which he would use as a gag at family dinners to steal food off plates a few seats away. I wish I had that fork with me. My neighbor’s plate was just a few extensions away from being mine.
The menu was brief and to the point. As Amy Whinehouse’s “Back To Black” competed with the lusty conversation of guests, I skimmed the well-priced and utterly Mexican cuisine for me to choose from.
It was nice to not be overwhelmed. Menus tend to have a lavish amount of options that stress me in deciding what to order. Here, it was simple: two salads to pick, a few sides, options for tacos and such, and then a brief option for more pricy, “plato principles”.
I went with a Tostada filled with Oxaca Cheese, beans and shredded chicken in a tangy red sauce. My roommate, a vegetarian, had a vegetable quesadilla, considerately supplemented by the kitchen. To complement, I ordered a side of Jicama Slaw and my roommate had a Kale salad.
After we contributed for a bit to the carefree chatter that hummed in the restaurant, our food was on our table. The simple nature of a quesadilla or a kale salad becomes a gourmet selection with the craftsmanship of the kitchen at Perro Salado. Orange flower pedals, cilantro stems and drizzled sauces decorate our cheese, bean and bread based dishes into works of thought and dedication.
“MMM” is muttered from my roommate’s mouth as she takes her first bite and displays a grin. Although I didn’t say it, “mmm” is what I was thinking. The Tostada dish was authentic. It did what it was supposed to do and that is giving me my dosage of warm, crunchy, Mexican food. The kicker, though, where true enterprise is shown on Perro Salado’s end, is the Jicama Slaw. Wow. It’s comprised of cabbage and the root vegetable Jicama. What a blend. Unlike typical, creamy Cole slaw, this dish is citrus and fresh, like a shower for the mouth. The Jicama is crisp like an apple and blends nicely with the crunch of the cabbage. I tried something new with that side, and I’m glad I did.
There was no pepper or salt on the table. I realized it after we ate because while I was eating I didn’t think once to reach for it.
We finished and wondered, “Now what?” We didn’t want our time to end, we were to engrossed in the charisma infusing the restaurant. The blend of fresh faces, eclectic dress, and fine music was enticing us to stay.
Dessert! When in Rome, right? Jenn, my roommate, ordered a pumpkin spice flan and I got the Mexican Chocolate covered Sopapilla.
It was great. It was quite literally the icing on top of the cake. The bubbly, elderly girlfriends next to us stopped their conversation to find out what exactly I was eating. We laughed, because at Perro Salado, that’s what you do, and I told her it was like a Mexican version of a cannoli. “Would you like to try it?”, I asked; something I would never do at any restaurant; but at Perro Salado, we were all together enjoying the fun.
I buttoned up my jacket, left a friendly tip on the table and left the private party that was well contained through the doors of Perro Salado. The wonderful chill in the air, and a bike ride through the streets of Newport blended to create a wonderful experience. Somehow through my college days of house parties and exams, I had forgotten how fun it was to just go out and eat.
