Exploring the McNeil Crossing Strip Mall
Exceptional forays into Indian and Vietnamese cuisine, plus a short trip to Subway
Reviewed by Taylor Holland, Fri., April 12, 2024
Welcome to The Strip Club, highlighting Austin’s destination strip malls. Where else can you play virtual golf while singing karaoke? Be served thali by a robot? Find an apartment NOW!?
McNeil Crossing, situated at the intersection of Parmer and McNeil, could also be called Parmer Crossing, McNeil Crossing Parmer, or Parmer Crossing McNeil. Or it could have no nom de strip whatsoever, because when people refer to strip malls, they usually say something like, “you know, the one at the corner of _____ and _____ across from _____.”
Pulling in, I notice Apartments NOW! encouraging walk-ins for FREE APARTMENT LOCATION. Then it dawns on me: If I did have an apartment here, I'd be home by NOW! instead of a half-hour from Downtown – and I'm suddenly considering it, because Pin Seeker’s Golf Lounge provides the missing links: four golf simulators, a putting green, pingpong table, bar, bar food, and a karaoke machine. Owner Ed Amadis is the amiable former Marine and schoolteacher who dreamed this paradise into existence, and as we chat about how the simulators also proffer pretend soccer, football, footgolf, and baseball, I head straight to the 19th hole for some mozzarella sticks and a frozen marg. But as much as I'd love to stick around and work on my short game, I'm driven by thali.
It’s lunchtime at Sangam Chettinad Indian Cuisine, and its large dining room is bustling with North Austin’s flourishing Indian community, and emitting the warmth of a popular neighborhood gathering spot.
Being shown to my booth, I nearly trip over a bi-level robotic stool delivering food from the kitchen. Like most visions of the future, it’s hilarious, and reminds of something from the heavenly restaurants in Albert Brooks’ Defending Your Life.
When it comes to thali, you can choose north or south, veg or non-veg. I choose south non-veg, and it’s a delectable constellation. There are nine small bowls and two large – one with chicken curry and the other with white rice. Piled on top is paratha and a papadum. Though I’m naan-plussed there is no lamb, the dhal, saag, gobi, raita, and pickled carrots more than make up for it.
The best deal in town might be the Sangam Special Grand Meal – two chappathis, chicken curry, mutton curry, fish curry, shrimp, dry chicken, boiled egg, three vegetable dishes, sambar, rasam, dhal, yogurt, appalam, pickle, rice, and dessert. Everyone rightfully moans about pricey dining, but this $22 feast is enough for two, and well worth the journey.
Nalluraj Devaraj, the loquacious owner who comes over and lets me know his name translates as “Good King With God’s Blessing,” frets about barely covering his cost on takeout thali because of all the packaging (which is why it’s only served at lunch). He says the robots were introduced during COVID to limit human interaction, and then squints at one as if to say, “You’re not going to be replacing anyone around here anytime soon.”
After proudly listing all the top colleges his son got into, Nalluraj says he’s thinking about taking over the lease at the adjacent 10 Pretty Nails salon, knocking out the wall, and expanding. Same goes for the Goodwill on the other side – because that’s what you do when you have a son. If you’re a lawyer, your son should have a law firm. If you’re a doctor, he should run a hospital. If you’ve got a successful Indian restaurant, you should make it the size of a strip mall. I ask if he happens to know the name of this one, and he has no idea. (Upon my return a few weeks later, the nail salon has indeed been annexed, though the wall remains intact.)
Sangam Chettinad’s extensive menu features deep cuts like Anchovy Curry, Curd Rice, Beetroot Halwa, Rose Milk, and a family meal called Goat Pack, but I’m stumped by the recurrence of the number 65: Chicken 65, Fish 65, Mushroom 65, Paneer 65, and Eral (Shrimp) 65.
ChatGPT provides several possible explanations, but nothing definitive – it originated in 1965, it uses 65 ingredients, or marinates for 65 days – none matching what Nalluraj imparts: The whole thing started because people slaughter chickens at their “retirement age” of 65 days, and then Chicken 65 sauce made its way onto everything else.
We may never know the truth.
As he walks away, a robot saunters up with my leftovers inside a neon-green reusable bag, and I imagine it computing the limited upside potential of its dead-end job. But my human waiter reveals the robot has it good: It doesn’t work weekends, because it’s so crowded in here someone might trip on it.
Walking out, there are dozens of people waiting in line to get in, and I know why: Their food is as genuine an expression of Indian cuisine as you’ll find in Austin, plus it’s copious and affordable. Highly recommended.
I decide to check out the not-long-for-this-world-if-Nalluraj-has-anything-to-say-about-it Goodwill next door, and it has to be Texas’ smallest. But there’s space in here for enough tables to accommodate the overflow lunch crowd, so I get it. Resisting the urge to buy a trucker cap with a heavily armed cat riding a unicorn over a rainbow, I instead pay $30 for an unworn pair of Adidas high-tops that retail for $145. Swish.
Around the corner, Deb’s Liquor Store is an independent bottle shop with an outstanding selection of bourbon, but while I'm perusing small batches, I can't help wondering if Nalluraj has his crosshairs on Deb now that they share a demolishable wall.
I haven’t eaten at Sunflower Vietnamese Cuisine since it was in the 8557 Town North strip mall next to the new-defunct Hong Kong Supermarket, but I remember their canh chua – a light, tart soup with catfish fillets, bean sprouts, pineapple, tomato, elephant ear stalk, and herbs – being exceptional, and I’m back for it. Drizzled with garlic oil and served with a fish-sauce-and-chiles dipping sauce for the fish, it’s delightful, healthy, and again, worth the drive.
Also of note here are their bánh xèo – crispy, crunchy, savory crepes made from rice flour and turmeric powder stuffed with soft mung bean, onions, and bean sprouts, served as DIY lettuce wraps with fresh herbs and house dipping sauce with chiles and pickled carrots – and bún riêu, a noodle soup in a pork-based broth with tender spare rib, crab cake, and tomato that hits the mark with its shrimp paste taste, peppery crab loaf, and cold cuts.
Ambling back to the car, I note Subway peddling footlong cookies. Curious, I buy one, measure it with an app on my phone, and find it’s precisely 12 inches long. Five minutes later, it’s zero.
McNeil Crossing
6001 W. Parmer Ln.
