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September 7th, 2008
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No way, José

Fosil Bar's home-style service makes you want to stay home
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February 13th, 2008 issue

Fosil Bar

Bělehradská 66
Prague 2–Vinohrady
Tel. 737 502 824
Open daily 4 p.m.–11 p.m.


Food *
Service 0
Atmosphere *
Overall *

COURTESY PHOTO
The Vinohrady diner is simple and good, if you avoid Tex-Mex flourishes.
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FROM THE MENU

Chips and salsa 80 Kč
Queso con chorizo 115 Kč
Quesadillas 85 Kč
Beef tacos 120 Kč
Enchiladas de mole 145 Kč
Carne asada 145 Kč

Sitting at Fosil Bar one evening, the peculiarities of chaos theory popped into mind.
Guys like Henri Poincare, Edward Lorenz and Benoit Mandelbrot found reason behind random behavior. Even seemingly aimless movements obey rules that can be plotted out and, eventually, predicted.
Then there’s true chaos — events occurring in defiance of logic, which is an apt description of Fosil Bar. It’s a tiny place: four or five tables, a foot or two of wall space between the dining room and kitchen. Not much to navigate; in other words, kind of an American Southwest short-order diner.
At 7:36 this particular evening, I asked for a plate of chips and salsa, along with queso con chorizo. I’ll allow for a few minutes to melt cheese, but it takes much less effort to pile tortilla wedges into a bowl and spoon out the accompaniments. It wasn’t until 7:55, however, that a plate with ramekins of salsa, salsa verde, chopped jalapenos and other condiments arrayed around six, maybe seven chips arrived.
That’s almost 20 minutes to dig out one handful of broken, Albert-quality chips from the bag, with only 12 people in the room, several in just for drinks — definitely beyond the point of reason.
The salsa is onion-heavy, but promotes itself through sharp, sweet and bitter flavors, capped by an herbal finish. Tomatillos in the verde salsa present a mild character and almost slimy mouth feel, drawing little support — other than a vague bite — from spicier ingredients. Both outrank the simplistic red dip, presumably salted barbecue sauce substituting for chipotle.  
With sour cream and other elements, the tray appears woefully imbalanced: many options hovering around a few meager chips. Not much logic in that.
Fortunately, the waiter brought out a cereal-bowl-size portion of chips moments later. Halfway through these extras, however, it became apparent they were meant to accompany the queso entree. That appeared 15 minutes later, in an advanced state of coagulation. Orange blobs of grease pooled on the surface. Stabbing through the stiffening caulk revealed nothing of the prized Mexican sausage, just more of the pale, flavorless adhesive.
They brought the wrong order.
Granted, some of the tacky nature is easy to figure. The queso probably sat in the kitchen for some time, turning from rich, melted cheese to firm, almost unyielding putty. It then occupied a spot at the bar, keeping a lone gentleman trying to enjoy his beer close company for a couple minutes before a quick staff conference determined that eight people in the restaurant had ordered food, and six of them received main courses around the 8 o’clock mark. Therefore, by process of elimination, only two possibilities remained — and they were seated together.
So I guess Lorenz, et al. are right about the underlying order of things. Neighborhood-style operations are sometimes unpredictable, even amateurish. And that’s all the logic you need. Even silverware can be difficult to come by here. When it eventually shows up, maybe it’s a setting for one at a table of two. Or perhaps one must stare at an entree for several minutes without utensils.
The beef tacos pair with grilled onions, nicely rounded in flavor, though with tough, dry, gray meat, not overcooked but an inferior cut begging for a long turn under low, moist heat. Nothing else stands out from this home-style presentation but the tortillas themselves, soft and gritty with an overriding buckwheat taste and hints of malt. Enchiladas mole feature the same tortillas, the flatbread’s earthy sweetness interacting nicely with bitter chocolate.
In general, Fosil Bar presents simple dishes: undressed, shredded white meat in the enchiladas, a basic combination of beef, onion and mellow white cheese filling tacos, grilled beef, onions and sauce making up carne asada. Quesadilla options include either cheese or cheese and ham.
The restaurant is adept at authentic, home-style Mexican cooking, but falters when it comes to hybrid Tex-Mex creations.
Those nostalgic for cheap diners lining dusty Southwestern roadsides will appreciate the laminated menus that double as placemats. The outright chaos has its charms too, I guess.
But nothing else about Fosil Bar is worth pondering.


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