This story started when a friend tweeted her excitement about going to Mexico City— not the place, but the restaurant on Hillhurst in Los Feliz. I’d never been, but assumed it was a typical, mediocre Mexican food joint. You know the type. So I tweeted an inquiry, and she replied, “It’s seriously my favorite restaurant in LA.”
That was that. I had to check it out.
A note: I went to Yelp just to see how the Yelpers felt about Mexico City. I have to say– Yelp can be really confusing. The reviews were all over the map. So I was just like– whatever! My friend likes it! And I have been hearing more and more often about shady Yelp-review-pulling and stuff… so. I don’t know how to feel about Yelp anymore.
And now a word about mole. I tend to spell it “mo-lay” when I’m talking to friends about it, because I don’t want them to think that I love to eat moles, as in the weird burrowing animal. I always thought that mole was spelled with an accent, but after I finally learned how to insert an accent (Option E, vowel– molé! olé!), I found out that it’s just mole. Weird.
So I’m talking about the food. Not the animal. (Or the skin thing.)
It just looks like a nose!
I didn’t even know that I liked mole until I tried Huarache Azteca at Taste of the Eastside. At Mexico City I was hoping that lightning would strike twice, so I ordered chicken with the mild Mole Poblano sauce (the one with chocolate). And guess what? It was awesome! (The second time I went, there were no random onion slices on top.)
I liked that it came with a side of tortillas. (I like my carbs.)
Also– when you sit down you get chips with two types of salsa. They’re both mild/medium-ish. This picture looks weird– I swear it’s more appetizing in person.
The chips are good, but I’m weirdly loyal to the chips at Chipotle. (And the guac– I heard the guacamole at Mexico City is really good, but I haven’t tried it yet.) It might be the salt.
I guess the best testament to Mexico City is that I’ve been there twice and somehow the only pictures I’ve managed to take are these crappy ones– because once the food comes, I forget about anything else. (Oh– and that I’ve craved it. I don’t often crave specific restaurant dishes– and on second tasting, it stood up to my memory.)
Now you know– if I email you and ask if you’ll accompany me to Mexico City to eat some mole, I’m not talking about the city in Mexico nor the animal.
Probably not, at least.