Prickly Pear: Ann Arbor's Answer to Southwestern Cuisine

Ann Arbor's downtown is a hotspot of restaurants, colorful storefronts, and lively entertainment. On a picture-perfect summer evening, two companions and I opted to dine downtown at the Prickly Pear Southwestern Cafe Ann Arbor's answer to Southwestern cuisine. We parked in a side street structure and ambled past Italian, Chinese, and seafood restaurants en route to the popular destination. The usually wide Main Street sidewalks had become narrow passageways that night, with roped-off outdoor eating areas and bustling waiters scooting among the tables.

I had been to Prickly Pear on a few other occasions and enjoyed my experiences. Besides, since I'd be heading back to the desert Southwest shortly, why not have an appropriately themed send-off?

The restaurant's interior is long and narrow. Typical Southwestern colors - burnt orange, turquoise, brown, purple - lend warmth to the atmosphere. High-backed, wooden booths line the walls, with a row of tables cutting down the center aisle; I think that I would have felt very exposed had I been seated at a center table on a busy night. Thankfully, the hostess seated us at a cozy booth in the back of the restaurant, right next to the kitchen door. "I think I've seen too much," one of my dining companions, seated facing the kitchen entryway, observed. Hustling servers and busboys, clanking dishes, and a messy floor didn't make for the best view.

Always come to Prickly Pear with an empty stomach, as the restaurant is one of the better deals in Ann Arbor - a lot of food for a reasonable price. Shortly after being seated, our waiter placed a massive container of tortilla chips and two undersized containers of salsa on the table. The salsa consisted of big pieces of peppers and tomatoes resting in a thin tomato-based liquid. I would have liked a little more uniformity of texture in the salsa; while the vegetable pieces were easy to scoop, a watery pool of tomato always remained in the dish. Also, a little lingering burn in my mouth would have been nice.

We all ordered frozen margaritas. I am, by no means, a frozen margarita connoisseur. As long as the drink arrives slushy and "tastes like lime," I'm happy. Prickly Pear's version fit the bill, although I wouldn't have minded a slightly more "frozen" consistency.

Though I had left the house vowing to order something unique, I went with the ol' standby enchiladas: one chicken, one buffalo. One other dining companion did the same. Many of the other menu items are indeed intriguing - crabcakes, various other seafood combinations, pumpkin sauces, vegetarian dishes - but somehow the enchiladas just sounded good. My other companion, equally unadventurous, ordered the chicken and beef enchiladas.

The entrees arrived quickly. Two enchiladas: warm corn tortillas, one loaded with chicken and the other with buffalo, smothered in red sauce and a light cheese, accompanied by rice and beans. One of the immediate pluses about Prickly Pear's version of the enchilada is that it is not drowning in a river of cheese and sour cream; the flavors of the corn tortillas, sauce, chicken and buffalo are distinct. The chicken was fairly standard - baked and not heavily seasoned. By contrast, the buffalo meat had an acidic aftertaste, as if it had been marinated in a vinegar-based sauce. As is characteristic of buffalo, the meat was very lean; but my dining companion and I weren't excited about the marinade flavor; It didn't quite mesh with the other spices on the plate.

"I wish I had some lettuce, for some crunch," my other companion commented. Some iceberg would have added a nice textural contrast, or simply a little color to the overwhelmingly beige presentation.

Service was efficient; our waiter was not particularly chatty, but on a busy Saturday night, that was understandable. Entrées run about $11-19; portions are generous and served up fresh. And the music? No, nothing in sync with the Southwestern décor, but rather the greatest hits of the '60's. My Baby Boomer dinner mates didn't seem to mind. And so, to the theme of Abba's "Dancing Queen," we signed the bill and left.