Rosie's Tamale House

As a resident of central Austin, I have a high regard for the culinary arts, from the low end dives to the somewhat higher end dives. I'm used to flavor that doesn't cost an arm and a leg. Unfortunately, I work in Dripping Springs. We tried Rosie's today at lunch, and before doing so, I had never actually been overtly offended by a food's claim to be of Mexican origin while tasting so much like it actually originated in a can. The salsa, which evidently is worth charging for, amounted to a can of tomatoes, which were, in their defense, sufficiently pureed. The queso wasn't much better, clearly of a line of products that contains the phrase, "cheese-flavored substance." I had the quesadilla. It reminded me of the one I left in the microwave of my dorm as an undergrad after a foam party at the ol' frat house. Good times. My colleagues were similarly dissatisfied, as the three of us were left searching for flavor like an oasis in a desert of blandness. Which brings me to the shining moment in Rosie's history. The best thing about the experience would have to be the 32oz waters you can take back to the office. They tend to make coworkers jealous, as they sip from their inverted party hats at the water jug. As for service...wait, there was no service. Of course, the rest of the folks seemed to be enjoying themselves, their slow, methodic masticating reminiscent of the grazing of cattle one might find around any corner here in DS. Oh, yeah, and not only did they make us pay for this little party, but the prices were unreasonable and predicated on culinary ignorance. I would comment on their tamales, which are their namesake, yet they didn't even have any available. One little piece of advice sums it up for Rosie and her crew, 'Vaya con dios!'