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cheese restaurant

Maverick

Iceman's going for the hard-deck. Let's nail him, Goose! Atten­tion: Every­one should turn, burn and check out Mav­er­ick, the lit­tle restau­rant near the cor­ner of 17th and Mis­sion. Sure, it seems like it might be below your per­son­al hard-deck; it looks a lit­tle too Blondie's, maybe a lit­tle too Limon. But believe me, any place that serves fresh pep­pers with a gar­nish of ancho chiles is a dan­ger zone well worth tak­ing a high­way to, even if that high­way isn't real­ly a high­way. Seri­ous­ly: Call the ball. Order the steak. And the ribs. The stone fruit sal­ad will be a bogey on your tail for days after­ward. Where's MiG one? He's at Mav­er­ick. Affir­ma­tive, Ghost Rid­er, the pat­tern is full. Because the pat­tern just ate at Mav­er­ick.

One reply on “Maverick”

Would Mav­er­ick by any oth­er name taste as sweet? Prob­a­bly. It might even taste bet­ter. I resist­ed Mav­er­ick for a long time, put off by the name and the fact that it opened around the same time as Range, mak­ing it seem as if an Old West theme was sweep­ing the Mis­sion restau­rant scene. Except nei­ther restau­rant has much to do with the Old West; they're both solid­ly New Cal­i­for­nia. The name is just about the only note Mav­er­ick hits wrong. Words like bacon vinai­grette and home-baked cook­ies (allow 10 min­utes) ring so true they make up for the dis­so­nance of the name.

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