As you are ushered inside (and be prepared to wait for that magic moment as there is usually a line) you'll pass by a hollowed out stone where salsa is made by alchemist abuelas using the old fashioned method. A pair of Abuela's elbows. Tortillas are made and comaled to order.
This is a rat's warren of rooms including a stand alone house and mini-bakery across an alley way. Some of the dining areas are wrapped in woven branches giving you the feeling that you're eating in a bird's nest. (Although the food is better here than having your mother vomit in your mouth.)
The other rooms may have a Burlap bag ceiling or painter's tarp walls. The hodge podge lodge of rough hewn beams adds to the rustic ranchero feel. So, it is like eating on an unfinished construction site. Unfinished construction site in Mexico? Really? Never happen. But hey, it's Mexico. Well sorta. It's Baja, or let's make that San Diego, South.
The decor is Mexi-tschotke kitsch and the menu is as expansive as your waistline is gonna be after a weekend of Baja power grazing. There is a full bar, fully operational when breakfast is served at 8:00 AM if last night's party is still going. That's cocktail time in El Calafate, Patagonia, no?
The ubiquitous canasta of chips instantly appears still glistening from being fished out of a cauldron of boiling oil. A dash of salt and some house crushed Molcajete Salsa will get you started on mindless impulse eating just because you can reach the next chip.
Bottomless cups of excellent coffee come right on the heels of the totopos and I toyed with the idea of making that my entire breakfast.
If they still had Vaqueros in the hood, they'd all be here. Now, it's ex-pats in cowboy hats, and Yelpings helping themselves to second helpings.
The Staff: Efficient and they get it in two languages. In LA, you're often lucky the waiter gets it in any language. I have had to do the village squat and make a picture in the dirt with a stick for some. But that's another review.
They had me at Venison Machaca with Quail Eggs al gusto. (Apparently the owner, Alfredo, kills is own family ranched pets for his own larder and and we reap the extras and the benefits. Good for him. Good for us. Now, doesn't that sound dandy? Well, yes of course, it does. This dish comes with toasted white bread which takes up valuable real estate in the belly. Tomar un pase. Let's not forget the dry Mexi-Rice, and the tired re-fried beans, even though both were forgettable. And the spuds was kinda duds but better than the R and B side men.
The Venison probably left a note on the night stand and was ready to end it all anyway. The meat was shredded to molecules so as to make it indistinguishable from any other shredded meat. The perfectly diced green bell peppers and onions were a testament to someone's knife skills or that there was a machine available in the kitchen to handle the task.The 4 or 5 Quail Eggs were quaint and cute and, oh so Japanese, but why not use the unpasteurized farm fresh chicken eggs that are so abundant in the area? No se. The house made salsa slathered on the house made corn and flour tortillas made an argument to elevate this dish beyond it's hype. Alas, in the end it was just MEH-chaca.
If I went again, I'd opt for the annex house with the little bakery that shares the kitchen with the main Steakhouse restaurant. I'd go for the Chilaquilies and a piece of house made Carrot Cake with Tequila Sauce, but then that's just me. I'm a fan of La Flor de Michoacan and Tacos El Yaqui can rock me.
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