Indecisive in Atlanta: Pizza and Pupusas

This is Part 2 of The Great Roadtrip Series. Read Part 1 here.

Thursday night, we are starving after (just) eating Chick-fil-a at dusk. We pull into my friend James’ house around 9, but still need to eat dinner, buy beer and meet up with the rest of our former law school posse.  After too much debate, a decision is made to eat in-- or maybe pick up-- from a tacqueria along Buford Highway, but pulling into the parking lot, indecisiveness again overtakes us (due to earlier activities) and we freeze, panicked. Worry washes over me, should we wait to pick up? Don’t I want to see my friends ASAP? Will this place be any good? What if it takes forever? The waiters seemingly pleaded desperately to us from inside, mouthing “please... taste our tacos…" We are the only car in the parking lot, and the employees stare at us dejectedly as we drive off into the night.

Our indecisiveness continued until we reached a Kroger’s, where we spotted a pizza place called Jagger’s touting “Atlanta Style” pizza in the same strip mall. Having lived in the area for 3 years, I had never heard of ATL Stlye, so I was intrigued, but not optimistic since it seemed like a "World Famous (in Atlanta)" type claim (i.e. bullshit).

Jagger's was clearly a takeout place save for two small plastic tables against the front windows. Seeing the empty interior, I became even more suspicious, but was really hungry, so how bad could it really be? After a minute, a guy who looked like Harry Potter’s less magical older brother entered from the back of the store to take our order. The menu was confusing, 8 “pieces” were 10 dollars. Ok, that seemed like enough for 3 of us. While James and I ordered, my brother asked for the bathroom. Harry motioned and stuttered “back there.” Two minutes later, my brother came out with a sickened, pale look on his face, whispering to us that “someone just blew up that toilet.” Harry Potter was the only one in there, so I guess he made our pizza too. Stuck with our poor decision, we went to pick up beer at Krogers while our pizza was cooking.

On our return, we picked up the pizza box and immediately noticed that it was extremely light for 8 pieces. Opening the box revealed a MASSIVE PIZZA FAIL. Never has the term "Satisfaction" been used so ironically.

My friend Jen later informed me that Jagger's was jokingly referred to as Jaeger's, except I wish I could have blacked out after eating this pizza. This was garlic bread with pizza toppings, and the 8 pieces were no more than tiny squares of congealed cheese and bland sauce. The taste of garlic was overwhelming. I was starving, but could barely finish two pieces. Once again I learned my lesson. (I also should have realized how close we were to Emory and Everybody's Pizza).

Rincon Latino Restaurante y Pupuseria is a Salvadorean restaurant located along a stretch of Buford Highway teeming with Latin American and Asian restaurants. Yet it took time to discover Rincon Latino after disappointments elsewhere. Within 100 yards of the restaurant is a great tacqueria, a Vietnamese restaurant serving delicious banh mi and pho, as well as multiple Asian groceries, plus a Sichuan restaurant. Obviously, the wealth of food options made it difficult to visit more than one place twice. However, once I discovered Rincon Latino it became almost a ritual stop on my frequent drives into Atlanta, or as part of a long drive to and from Cincinnati.

Wanting to get an early start on the 9 hours to Florida, my brother and I along with James, and Jon, my former law school roommate met up at Rincon Latino for an early lunch. Pulling into the strip mall, I briefly panicked when the sign for Rincon Latino was missing, but my fears dissipated as I saw that they were redoing the frontage for the whole strip mall. Fancy.

Inside, the set-up evokes (read: is) a cafeteria, with a large projection screen and smaller tv’s playing a constant occasionally intelligible stream of Mexican soap operas and variety shows whose comedy is absolutely foreign to me (however, hitting people on the head with mallets is funny across all cultural divides). Blue benches mark off tables arranged in three long rows.

For those unfamiliar with pupusas, they are a masa flatbread that is typically filled with queso and other ingredients, then griddled on both sides until brown and slightly crispy on the outside. They are served with a cabbage and carrot slaw that has a strong caraway kick. Various salsas and hot sauce are added on top. My two favorites (both which have that stringy, melted queso) are the chicharron, which is basically fried pork meat ground into a paste (different than just pork skin, the other equally delicious chicharron), and the loroco, which is a flower bud that tastes like a combination of asparagus and broccoli.

The pupusas were good, but not as good as I remembered. Maybe it was early-- and they were still getting the griddle to the right heat-- but the pupusas needed a little more browning. Memory often has expectations that the actual experience is unable to fulfill.


Regardless, everything else was delicious, and I longed for a Salvadorean restaurant such as Rincon Latino within a quick subway ride in NYC.

My brother and I also split the Honduran Breakfast, which was outstanding. Refried beans sprinkled with queso, plantains, over easy eggs, rich sour cream and a stick of firm queso. I could eat this for breakfast every day (then take a nap immediately after).

Jon and James order the shrimp cocktail and fried chicken platter respectively. The “small” shrimp cocktail is a fucking monster, with many more shrimp tucked into the tomato sauce and avocado mixture. You could pour some vodka in there for a Salvadorean Bloody Mary (why haven’t I thought of that before?)

We finished our meal and said a quick goodbye to Jon and James. My abdication of all driving responsibilities the day before meant it was my turn to make the full 9-hour drive to Melbourne, Florida.

Next: Nu-Way and Florida