Sam Houston’s, Clifford Street, York

11:20am Saturday 19th July 2008

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SOME of my best nights out have been at Fiesta Mehicana, York’s original Mexican restaurant in Clifford Street.

In a brightly-coloured interior, diners are crammed in over two floors and the volume control is set to the max.

The menu is basic (half a dozen ways with a tortilla), and the drink is plentiful (pitchers of Margherita and bottles of Sol beer corked with wedges of lime being de rigueur).

It’s the sort of place you half expect someone (perhaps even yourself, given enough liquid refreshment), to jump on the table and do the lambada while hollering: “arriba, arriba”.

If it all sounds a bit too lively for your taste, you might be better off at Sam Houston’s, the new Tex-Mex restaurant on George Hudson Street.

GHS is rapidly becoming a bit of an eating-out mecca in York. With the arrival of Sam Houston’s, there are now six restaurants within metres of each other.

We rolled up on Monday night. It was eerily quiet, just another couple dining inside. We picked a table in the corner by the window. It was covered with a café-style red and white checked oilskin cloth; behind us was a pillar, draped in a multi-coloured rug. The aim, I guess, was to combine a sense of Texas and Mexico in the middle of York. Pity, then, about the stream of First York buses droning past the floor-to-ceiling windows.

The menu features the usual ‘Tex-Mex’ suspects: pork ribs, nachos, fajitas, enchiladas and chilli. But there was one surprise, catfish. My husband Nick and I both considered ordering the catch of the day, but couldn’t resist the lure of something more traditional. We both wanted the enchilada, but I pulled my gun on him (or was it my handbag?) and he sensibly stepped back and settled for the chicken fajitas.

To start, we ordered two Mexican beers (£3.25 each) and a plate of Sam’s Sticky Fingers (£4.50) to share. Sam, we can safely assume, is the fella with his name above the door. The menu told us more about him. Born in 1793, he was a leading Texan politician, and had a spell as president and senator for the southern US state. The city of Houston is named after him.

So what did his fingers taste like? Uncannily like barbecue pork ribs. There were four in total, suitably sticky, but not warm enough. Some ‘fingers’ were meatier than others, and two each was more than enough.

By the time our main courses arrived, three more tables had filled up around us, which would have made the restaurant feel a bit more lively and welcoming had it not been for the music. Imagine yourself in a small town café in a dusty mid-west US town, where the juke box hasn’t been serviced since 1982, and the selection is stuck on the ‘Best of Soft Rock, Vol III’. Yes, it was that grim.

Only the food could rescue things now. Unfortunately, that proved to be as uninspiring as the music.

There was nothing actually wrong with our meals. In the main, they were tasty enough, served at the right temperature, and there was plenty to eat. But they did so little to fire up the impression of Texas or Mexico, that you were left wondering: “why bother?”.

Nick and I agreed the enchilada (£9.95) was the better dish. The two flour tortillas were filled with beef chilli, topped with salsa and cheese and finished with a dollop of sour cream. This is the Mexican equivalent of lasagne, except with a bit of a kick in it from the chilli and a few beans thrown in for extra measure. The sauce was good, nice and tomatoey, but chilli lovers might find it a bit tame.

So far, not bad, so it was a shame that the side salad was such a let down. Iceberg lettuce, grated carrot, quarters of tomato and rings of red onion. If I closed my eyes, I could have sworn I was in a Little Chef circa 1976. All that was missing was the sachet of salad cream.

Nick’s chicken fajitas (£10.95) were a mixed affair. First came a plate, half filled with the retro salad, and half with four small, round tortilla pancakes and three, teeny thimbles of salsa, guacamole and runny sour cream. The chicken arrived sizzling hot, alongside an array of chopped peppers and onions. There’s a bit of theatre to fajitas, as you have to dollop all the components on to the floury wrap and then roll it into a pancake to eat. Nick managed two, then offered a ‘swap’.

I thought the chicken and peppers were pretty good, but the guacamole, salsa and sour cream were bland. Some strong-tasting cheese would have been a welcome addition, and perhaps a more rustic guacamole, with chunks of avocado still evident.

We looked at the pudding menu; ice-creams, cheesecake, chocolate fudge cake and fruit pie, but had lost the will to carry on our Tex-Mex adventure.

We settled our bill (£36.40, which included another beer), leaving a tip for our waitress, who had been efficient and charming all night.

Several times we were asked if our food was OK. And, yes, it was. It’s just that we were hoping for better than OK.

Sam Houston’s Restaurant and Bar, 14 George Hudson Street, York.

Tel 01904 620000.

Maxine visited Sam Houston’s on Monday, July 14, 2008.