Restaurant Embudo Station
Cuisine Type: American , Local Ingredients , New Mexican
505-852-4707
| Monday | 11 a.m. to 8 p.m. |
|---|---|
| Tuesday | Closed |
| Wednesday | Closed |
| Thursday | 11 a.m. to 8 p.m. |
| Friday | 11 a.m. to 8 p.m. |
| Saturday | 11 a.m. to 8 p.m. |
| Sunday | 11 a.m. to 8 p.m. |
1101 Hwy. 68
Embudo,
87531
Restaurant Information
| Takeout | Yes |
|---|---|
| Vegetarian Dishes | Yes |
| Vegan Dishes | Yes |
| Outdoor Seating | Yes |
| Alcohol |
Beer Wine |
| Meals |
Lunch Dinner |
| Payment Types |
Major Credit Cards Cash |
About Embudo Station
Ever since its May 9 reopening under new management, the family-friendly roadhouse has gone foodshed-tastic, with all of its primary ingredients sourced from New Mexico, including the entirety of its beer and wine list. I don’t think chef Rob Dejka harvests salt from Torrance County’s Laguna Salina just yet, but give him time.
Dejka’s expertise doesn’t lie in subtleties, but nor does the “comfort food” banner on the sign suggest such a thing. The flavors are bold and well-partnered, like the characters in a cop show from the ’70s. Potato skins ($5) arrived as perfectly baked tubers on a bed of fresh greens and topped with bacon, aged cheddar, green onions, a dollop of homemade sour cream and a sprig of dill. Eating the greens was like mainlining chlorophyll. The sun was shining on my intestines for the rest of the day. The bacon was hardy and thick-cut, closer to speck than typical American bacon, and limned with char and iron. If Monica Bellucci and I were the last two people on earth, I would punch her in the neck to get to those potato skins first.
Instead of a soup of the day, Embudo Station offers a soup of the moment; when the day’s ingredients are what you can get your hands on, things can change considerably over the course of a few hours. Mine was a ginger carrot concoction ($5), not so strained as to be ready for polite society, but with discernible chunks of ginger. A strong note for some, no doubt, but I don’t mind being manhandled by a flavorful soup.
After a digestive stroll along the river with a Santa Fe Brewing Company seasonal pilsner, I laid into Tierra Amarilla lamb tacos with a side salad ($12), billed as coming with a spring pico de gallo and a habanero peach jam. I’m not sure there was a jam, technically, but there was no mistaking the whole peach chunks—interracially mixed with tender lamb cubes—or the simple profundity of the combination. The pico de gallo was coyly pornographic, less spicy than I like, but its timidity was balanced by a steamed (and then cold-dunked) whole jalapeño, allowing me to self-modulate the fine, sadomasochistic line between pleasure and pain—to hell with those blue hairs who looked at me like a crack addict as I sucked that pepper to death, eyes shifting and sweat beads rolling into my salad. (Zane Fischer)
