Ford Fry may have found success in Atlanta, but his heart clearly lies in the great state of Texas. After all, the five-time James Beard Award nominee was born in Houston, and Superica — his paean to Tex-Mex dining inspired by the “low-key cantinas” of Austin and West Texas — is his most successful brand. But the sole Florida outpost of Superica is anything but low-key.
There are cattle horns, blingy light fixtures and glam Italian red-leather stools at the bar. There’s taxidermy — a fox and a falcon and an enormous deer noggin. You may even see, as I did, a concert by blues legend Albert Collins being projected on the restaurant’s back wall of dentil-molded white brick. When I asked a server what Superica means, “super rich” was the response, and looking around the room, it made sense. The, uhh, wealth of elements may seem divergent, but the soaring two-story space pops with the colors and vibrant textures of the Southwest. And like the Texas blues man’s guitar licks, the fare at Superica is just as tasty.
Do as Ford Fry would and start with a queso fundido. The rajas y hongos ($11) bubbles a hot goop of broiled chihuahua and Monterey jack cheese with roasted poblanos and mushrooms. The idea is to take one of the house-made flour tortillas — or at least half of one — put it into the queso, roll it up, dip it into the racy salsa cremosa, then stuff it into your mouth.
Needless to say, it’s best for sharing with a group, as are the fajitas al carbon served in half-pound and one-pound portions. We customized ours to get four ounces of brined and smoked chicken along with four ounces of mesquite-grilled skirt steak ($35). We also added some jalapeño-cheddar sausage ($7) ‘cuz, you know, Texas.
Making those quality grilled meats all the greater were the fat slivers of charred onions beneath, not to mention the sides, among them charro beans and Mexican butter, a frothy emulsion made with white wine and garlic. Now, dipping meat into butter is one of life’s great pleasures, but jiggling a thicc, fatty, 36-hour-smoked hunk of bone-in short rib ($45) coated in a charred chipotle-molasses crust for all the zombies on Instagram is the acme of food play.
Eating the Texas-sized behemoth takes a team effort, but, trust me, there’ll be plenty left over to pack up and take home. Even as lunchtime tacos the next day, this shortie was bomb AF. Don’t forget to ask for some flour tortillas to take home.
But if you’re dining by yourself, like I’ve done on three separate occasions at Superica’s bar, best to munch on tortilla chip after gloriously salted tortilla chip as a prelude to comparatively lighter fare. Tip: Squeeze a little of their “cowboy gringo” hot sauce into the fire-roasted tomato salsa to make the near-perfect chip dip.
I went through two bowls of the freshly fried crisps before digging into a three-taco dinner ($18) with rice and twice-fried frijoles. The two hard tacos filled with spiced ground beef, plus a soft rolled chicken tinga taco, was everything I craved during this particular lunch. Even better were the double-tortilla street-style tacos — barbacoa with smoky pasilla Oaxaca chilies ($5), shrimp with scampi butter ($5.33) and catfish with Mexican crema ($4.67). And then there are the large, rolled tacos al carbon, of which the crispy pork belly with guava glaze ($5) is arguably the finest, and most luscious, taco Superica serves.
I wasn’t as effusive about the smoked chicken ($5) — too dry — and the J.R. Ewing price of the wood-grilled steak ($8.33) put it in the “once-in-a-while-treat-yourself” category, even with their enchilada-like size.
Speaking of, a pair of chicken verde enchiladas ($19), preceded by bowl of tortilla soup with the ruddiest chicken/veg broth, was Tex-Mex nirvana. That day, I ran into a well-respected taqueria owner and couldn’t help myself. “What do you think? Decent Tex-Mex, right?” While signing the credit card receipt, the owner looked up and nodded. “Better than decent, I’d say.”
It’s true. Superica is way better than decent. Hell, I’d come here for the plate of perfectly crisp, and not overly caramelized, fried plantains ($7) alone. We even improvised by rolling them into tortillas and, oooh, be still my occluded heart.
But credit goes to Ford Fry. He’s effectively spread the true gospel of Tex-Mex throughout the Southeast with 11 Superica locations in Georgia, North Carolina and, now, Florida. Who knows where it will pop up next, but if it means bringing more people to the cantina’s high-caliber cuisine of the Southwest, well, Superica, you’re free to move about the country.
Superica
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This article appears in Dec 20-26, 2023.
