Rosalinda Sala is the owner and head chef at her namesake restaurant.
The modest dining room at Fonda Rosalinda’s is tucked in an unassuming strip mall off North Pleasantburg Drive.
Location:
1124 N. Pleasantburg
Hours:
Mon-Thurs 9a.m-9p.m., Fri. 9a.m.-10p.m., Sat. 11a.m.-3p.m. and
5-9p.m.
Price of Dinner Entrées: $10-$21
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 If venturing out to an unassuming strip mall on North Pleasantburg Drive surrounded by check-cashing shops and mattress stores seems like a giant leap—rather than just a step—out of your culinary comfort zone, then a visit to Fonda Rosalinda with its generous spirit of home cooking should
quell any trepidation.
Those who consider themselves in-the-know find this little locale a jewel in the rough, thankfully devoid of “Speedy Gonzales specials” or canned salsa that many Mexican-American venues dish out. Mexican cuisine has great variety, and Fonda Rosalinda clearly tries to offer dishes from various regions, served up home style, with inflections from the owner’s years spent
in Europe.
On the recommendation of a friend, we made our way over for a late lunch, pulling up to the colorful painted-glass storefront. There are two doors—one belonging to an event venue run by the restaurant and one to the café, where a scant eight tables or so will seat twenty-five. My eyes had to adjust to the dim light, with only small brass chandeliers and a few table lamps illuminating the painted wood-paneled walls decorated with ephemera. We sat down at one of the glass-topped tables dressed in a soft, striped cloth.
The menu went on for pages, promising one elaborate dish after the next at reasonable prices. As we perused the offerings, an efficient server brought out house-made tortilla chips, still hot, with a side of spicy salsa, tangy with a gradual heat that called out for Rosalinda’s homemade margaritas. I opted for the refreshing sweet-lime house cocktail—which was fresh-squeezed versus a bottle mix.
Next came a cup of soup, unannounced (but apparently served with every entrée), described today as “pasta soup,” although it had savory hints of chicken, herbs, vegetables, and more lip-tingling heat. Upon hearing from our server that the sea bass was particularly sought-after here at Rosalinda’s, I chose a seafood medley of the bass, mussels, small scallops, and shrimp in cactus sauce. Sounding more exotic than it looked—much like a stew in brown sauce, covering even the rice and black bean side dishes in its liquid—the meal was hearty, with the deep flavor of cumin. The cactus itself was little more than small cubes of silken texture, without any pronounced taste.
My lunch date enjoyed the colorful chicken stew with ginger sauce. A breast, yellow with spices, piled with stewed tomatoes, cilantro, and onions, burst with big, bright flavor.
A Spanish-speaking family at a table next to us with three small children had ordered fresh juices and plates of soft tacos, making me want to try something simpler, too. Yet when I returned another time for dinner, the lure of well-thought-out entrées outweighed the lighter choices. Chicken in mango sauce, riblets cooked every which way, seared salmon, lobster, chilis rellenos, rib-eye steak with adobo marinades called out, as opposed to the small listing on a back page for more “typical” fare like enchiladas and fajitas.
A fresh-made guacamole would have been the hit of the night with its coarsely-mashed chunks and chopped cilantro, but for the fact that the avocado was unripe. The “pork chop” with pico de gallo turned out to be a thinly pounded, browned pork cutlet, sprinkled with jewel-toned chopped tomatoes, onions, and cilantro, coupled with black beans and rice—nothing earth-shatteringly spectacular, but plenty fresh, like being served a meal created from the morning market in your favorite aunt’s kitchen.
For all of the feel-good vibes this café engenders, it can still leave a diner wanting—more consistency, for one. All fresh-squeezed juices—ranging from watermelon to mango—had been eighty-sixed for the evening meal. I loved my citrus margarita with sweet squeezed oranges and lemon, but on the same evening my water glass had a red lipstick mark on it, which wasn’t mine.
One could see the possibilities if Rosalinda’s had a patio, say, or perhaps a little more daylight peeking in, to better reflect those colorful pico de gallos and mango combinations. In a landscape of cookie-cutter chains, bland imitations, or expensive grand dining, Fonda Rosalinda should be seeking its place in the sun.
—Constance E. Richards |
