Last week I had an outstanding evening out with my friend and cousin-in-law, Angela. It was the perfect early fall evening--light sweater weather, the stars above, and a jaunty/oddly enticing server who cracked us up to no end. After we'd polished off the calamari and the short rib quesadilla, the plantain empanadas and a few delectable glasses of white sangria (all of which, by the way, were out of this world), we took a look at the dessert menu. I was full and unusually disinterested in a post-dinner treat, but I'm really glad Angela suggested we split the chocolate fondue. It was tremendously good and surprisingly light!
As important as the fondue itself is what you're given to dip into the fondue. This is where Mojave really made an impression. Our platter was laden with all manner of delicious fruit-stuffs: sliced bananas, strawberries, green apples, bosc pears (those are the reddish green ones), and chunks of fresh pineapple. The fruit was lovely and much of what made this dish feel light, but the pièces de résistance were the four mini churros resting unassumingly alongside.
I don't know what your personal experiences with churros have been, chocophiles, but I know for myself that I've mostly had churros of the roadside stand variety (or perhaps I should say subway-side variety? Has anyone tried the churros sold underground at the Lexington Avenue-59th Street station?), which, though delicious, are certainly not made to order. These clearly were. They were warm with some light traces of oil, fluffy, and practically melted in your mouth. When a churro comes to room temperature, the cinnamon sugar exterior tends to become its own entity, but when they're warm, it all works together in perfect unison. Ah-mazing.
What were all of these goodies for? To dip into chocolate of course! And what a dip it was! This was no canned wimpy concoction; this was the real deal. I'd venture a guess that they broke off a sizable hunk of semi-sweet baking chocolate, melted the whole thing down and dumped it into the bowl. In my opinion, when it comes to chocolate, which is so heavenly on its own, the simplest approach is normally the best. I commend Mojave for letting this chocolate simply be chocolate, for not trying to embellish it too much and for not cutting it with butter or cream (at least I think they didn't, but ability to fully detect other ingredients may have been skewed by sangria).
All in all: a lovely meal, a lovely establishment, and a lovely chocolate finish. I'd recommend going for the fondue alone, but I have a sneaking suspicion you'll be lured by the siren's call of basically everything else on the menu. Thanks for reading! Strawberry kisses :*:*:*
As important as the fondue itself is what you're given to dip into the fondue. This is where Mojave really made an impression. Our platter was laden with all manner of delicious fruit-stuffs: sliced bananas, strawberries, green apples, bosc pears (those are the reddish green ones), and chunks of fresh pineapple. The fruit was lovely and much of what made this dish feel light, but the pièces de résistance were the four mini churros resting unassumingly alongside.
I don't know what your personal experiences with churros have been, chocophiles, but I know for myself that I've mostly had churros of the roadside stand variety (or perhaps I should say subway-side variety? Has anyone tried the churros sold underground at the Lexington Avenue-59th Street station?), which, though delicious, are certainly not made to order. These clearly were. They were warm with some light traces of oil, fluffy, and practically melted in your mouth. When a churro comes to room temperature, the cinnamon sugar exterior tends to become its own entity, but when they're warm, it all works together in perfect unison. Ah-mazing.
What were all of these goodies for? To dip into chocolate of course! And what a dip it was! This was no canned wimpy concoction; this was the real deal. I'd venture a guess that they broke off a sizable hunk of semi-sweet baking chocolate, melted the whole thing down and dumped it into the bowl. In my opinion, when it comes to chocolate, which is so heavenly on its own, the simplest approach is normally the best. I commend Mojave for letting this chocolate simply be chocolate, for not trying to embellish it too much and for not cutting it with butter or cream (at least I think they didn't, but ability to fully detect other ingredients may have been skewed by sangria).
All in all: a lovely meal, a lovely establishment, and a lovely chocolate finish. I'd recommend going for the fondue alone, but I have a sneaking suspicion you'll be lured by the siren's call of basically everything else on the menu. Thanks for reading! Strawberry kisses :*:*:*