Frida Restaurant
999 Eglinton Avenue West
416-787-2221
Brunch for two with all taxes, tip and coffee: $50

We know our readers love the brunch reviews, but after a while it can all get a little tedious. Hollandaise sauce now runs in my veins. So we were delighted to head up to Eglinton Avenue and check out the brunch offerings at Frida.

This upscale Mexican restaurant is run by chef Jose Hadad, and besides a really interesting dinner menu, offers a diverse brunch card full of Mexican favourites.

We start with some of Hadad's famous guacamole and chips ($10) - both made in house and available for sale to take home. Beautifully presented and drizzled with chili oil, it's easy to see why Hadad's Mad Mexican line does so well. Our server also brings us each a small dish full of chunks of melon and pineapple, a fruit amuse bouche, which is a lovely touch.

But starters were a bit of a mistake on our part. Like the old adage about not filling up on bread, filling up on chips is a bad idea when the entrées are so generously portioned.

The main brunch selections are eggy, with huevos rancheros ($12), huevos ahogados ($13) – scrambled eggs with salsa verde - and plenty of omlettes on offer. After a bad experience with chilaquiles a few years back, I'm anxious to try them again. Frida's chilaquiles ($10) are more of chef's homemade tortilla chips, basted in salsa verde, topped with chopped onions, sour cream, cilantro and two sunnyside up eggs. I order these with chicken (add $3) but when the dish comes out the chicken is nowhere to be seen. A few minutes later, a heaping bowl of warm shredded chicken meat appears, along with the refried beans that also accompany the dish. Oh yeah, this is definitely too much food.

I feel bad not being able to finish it because it's a wonderful flavour combination with the brightness of the tomatillos in the salsa. The eggs are slightly overcooked though, and by the time I'm halfway through it, the tortillas are getting soggy. This is a fail on my part for being a greedy guts and insisting on the chips and guacamole to start.

Across the table, the hungry husband has thought to order something smaller from the menu of savoury items and makes short work of the enchiladas de barbacoa ($13), braised lamb enchiladas with cheese coriander and onion, slathered in a spicy borracha sauce. I'm not much for the lamb so I tried only a bit of these but they were nicely executed with generous chunks of lamb balanced by the multi-layered flavours of the sauce.

Funny too, how even though you can't finish the main, there is somehow room for dessert. Frida's churros ($7) are considered the best in town. Filled with dulce de leche caramel sauce, they're pretty darn awesome, but a bit small for the price compared to some other authentic Mexican places around town. But big points for presentation.

Service throughout the meal is friendly and attentive, with coffee (laced with cinnamon) and water refilled regularly. Inexplicably there are only two other tables of guests the whole time we are there, which is a little disappointing – why are the people in Forest Hill not beating a path to Fridas' door every Sunday morning? This is really good Mexican food, and unique in terms of brunch offerings across the city.

I am befuddled by people who don’t like food. It’s partially why I hate the term “foodie” so much – who doesn’t like food? Who among us isn’t a “foodie”? But I guess it’s fair to note that some of us care a bit more than others. Not just fuel to keep us alive, food is beauty and art and love, all rolled into one. A perfect meal can be as emotional as a first kiss or a last goodbye.

Which is why I found myself sitting in Frida restaurant last week, barely able to hold back the well of tears.

Having just eaten what might possibly be one of the best meals of my life, I found myself clinging to Chef Pilar Cabrera Arroyo’s hand, unable to let go, uttering “thank you” over and over again. Yes, I’d had a fair amount to drink, including a gourd of mescal, but the sheer brilliance of Cabrera’s 30-ingredient authentic Oaxacan mole will likely remain one of the highlights of my food writing career.

Cabrera is in town for the month of September to cook dinners at a variety of Toronto restaurants including the dinner I attended at Frida and this evening at FRANK, as well as Veritas, Torito, The Chef’s House, and a demo at Nella Cucina.

A native of Oaxaca, Cabrera is the owner and chef of the award-winning restaurant La Olla (The Pot). She also runs a cooking school called Casa de los Sabores (House of Flavours) where she teaches others the many dishes of the Oaxacan region that have been passed down through her family. A noted student is US chef Rick Bayless, known for his restaurants featuring authentic Mexican cuisine.

Her trip to Toronto was organized by Alvin Starkman, an ex-pat Torontonian who now runs a bed and breakfast in the Oaxacan region. Food writer Mary Luz Mejia curated the events, arranging for Chef Cabrera to team up with some of Toronto’s best known chefs for a series of dinners that showcase the famous dishes of the southern Mexican state.

While Cabrera brought some ingredients with her, such as epazote and the black mole paste required for the famous mole negro, she has been impressed with the availability of authentic Mexican ingredients in Toronto. Her hosts took her to Kensington Market where she visited the South American markets on Augusta Avenue and was duly impressed with shops like Perola’s.

During the dinner last week at Frida, Cabrera tag-teamed with Frida’s chef Jose Hadad, taking turns on the dishes in this magnificent 6-course meal. The two chefs presented a corn soup, salad with cactus paddles, grilled shrimp with mango and chili salsa, steamed tamal with lamb, and Cabrera’s mole atop turkey medallions stuffed with plaintain. A Mexican goat's milk cheesecake and truly fantastic churros made for a memorable dessert (the churros were from Chef Hadad at Frida, and are probably the best in the city - we'll definitely be going back for more of these!).

For those unfamiliar with the term, mole can be any kind of sauce, and the Oaxaca region is famously known as the Land of Seven Moles. Because the region is in the south and has remained relatively secluded, the food has maintained its authenticity – there are no nachos or hard taco shells to be found here, although the influence of the Spanish can be seen in the variety of spices.

The mole negro is the most famous of the Oaxacan moles and typically contains 20 to 30 ingredients, including chocolate, chili, onions, garlic, nuts, and spices. It is normally made in the morning and left to simmer all day so the flavours blend and meld into a thick, rich, almost black sauce so intense and flavourful it can bring tears of happiness to the eyes of anyone who eats it.

Lest I give the impression that Hadad and Cabrera fed us rustic food, it should be noted that this is an extremely elegant cuisine, with a very natural but sophisticated presentation and intriguing flavour profiles. The heat of the chilies in many dishes never overwhelms but builds from almost nothing to a comfortable warmth. Balances of sweet, salty and acidic are quite precise, making it all seem simple, although anyone who has tried to make a dish like mole will know – it’s about more than throwing the right ingredients into a pot.

Cooking a perfect mole is part art, part skill, part devoted attention to detail, and much love. Eating that same perfect mole is an ethereal experience that every person should have at least once in their lifetime. Like rainbows, rare birds and family milestones, opportunities like this don’t come along very often.

Chef Cabrera’s dinners are selling out fast. As of publication time, only Veritas and the cooking class at Nella Cucina still have spots available. Go if you can manage it - meals like this don't happen every day.

Tuesday, September 22nd:  Nella Cucina Cooking School - Cooking class

Wednesday, September 23rd: Veritas - Dinner with Chef Brad Long

Monday, September 28th: Torito Tapas Bar - Chef Cabrera prepares a menu of “botanas”, Mexico’s version of tapas [SOLD OUT]

Tuesday, September 29th: The Chef’s House - a multi-course meal prepared with the assistance of George Brown students [SOLD OUT]

Photo of Chef Cabrera by Mary Luz Mejia.

Mexican chef Jose Hadad has taken it upon himself to educate Torontonians about the flavours he grew up with. He created Mad Mexican, a line of artisanal dips, salsas and tortilla chips that, as closely as possible, evoke an authentic essence of Mexico. He is endearing and passionate about what he does and simply wants to share his delight for Mexican cooking with as many people as possible. Along with Mad Mexican, Hadad is also co-owner and Executive chef of Frida, a Mexican restaurant on Eglinton Avenue.

He decided to make the move to Canada to get a formal culinary education, and has since had experience in many Toronto kitchens where he's worked with some prominent local chefs, including Michael Stadtländer and Mark McEwan. Along the way he says he discovered that despite the myriad of cuisines he was learning about, Mexican food remained his favourite. That passion, combined with the fact there was a limited selection of Mexican food in Toronto, sparked his desire to go into business. “I wanted to get into a market where people were still pretty virgin.”

Working with prominent members of the culinary community, while enriching, was also exhausting for Hadad. He compares the experience to going for a run and sprinting the entire time, rather than going for a relaxing jog. “You feel like you’re running as hard as you can all the time, but going nowhere.” Being in that situation was something that inspired him to branch out on his own. He could take what he learned from chefs like McEwan and Stadtländer, but do things his own way.

The name Mad Mexican came about because Hadad wanted something fun. He describes the name as representing craziness and insanity mixed with genius, and goes on to add, “People ask me if I consider myself to be insane, and I say yes, absolutely.” He explains that there has to be at least a little bit of insanity involved in putting all his ducks in a row by creating a product that is so time consuming and dependent on being made by hand, in small batches.

Hadad started off selling his products at the St. Lawrence Market. For the first two years he did everything by himself. Before he had any help, he was a one-man production house and recalls making guacamole at 4am in order to get it to the market on time. When he started out, he had no money, which in itself some people might deem crazy. But money isn’t the only thing worth investing, according to Hadad. “I had plenty of time and that’s what I invested rather than money. My time was my investment.”

It took him two years to start making money but he never contemplated giving up. Hadad now has six employees, which was an adjustment after being the only one in control of everything. He is currently in the middle of moving to a small facility that will be for Mad Mexican products only, but for now, the goods are being produced in the basement of his restaurant.

Some of his most popular products are the guacamole, homemade chips, black bean dip and salsas. Mad Mexican has also introduced ready-made frozen burritos. Next Hadad plans to create a line of chilli oils made from dried peppers so people can enhance the flavour of whatever they are cooking.

Hadad doesn’t see his business as a corporate model. “I see our salsa business as if it were a bakery – when you come get some it has to be fresh like I just made it for you,” he explains. "There’s nothing quite like leaving a bakery with a loaf of bread under your arm that’s still warm from the oven." Hadad wants his customers to feel the same way about his salsa. It should be cool and crisp and taste as if he’s just prepared it.

The freshness of his products is what resonates with consumers. If you don’t have time to prepare your own guacamole or black bean dip, the next best thing is to buy something that tastes as close to homemade as possible. The fact the products are handmade is something else that Hadad believes people respond to. “People feel it when something is cooked with love,” he says. “I think that’s why I make sure it’s a handmade product.”

His passion for fresh ingredients and bold flavours is immediately evident with the first bite of roasted tomatillo avacado salsa. The combination of sharp salsa verde and ripe avocados offers a pleasing texture and there is subtle smokiness from the roasted tomatillos. A healthy dose of lemon cuts the richness of avocados in the chunky guacamole, while salsa verde and onions give it depth. Other products include salsa verde, salsa roja, nachos, mole poblano sauce, two-way jalapeno bean dip and both chicken and veggie burritos.

The chef also wants to showcase the wide variety of food and flavours in Mexico, which is a huge country, with many different flavours highlighted in the different regional cuisines. Hadad’s goal is to, “show people what Mexican food is for me and what I grew up tasting.”

There are a lot of misconceptions about Mexican food, more than Hadad would care to comment on. But for the sake of providing a concrete example, he cites the crispy taco shell and laments its usage. “No one knows about crispy tacos in Mexico,” he says, to show how inauthentic they are.

Another thorn in his side is deep frying, which is something else not done in Mexico, but used regularly as a cooking method in many of Toronto’s Mexican eateries. He explains that, in Mexico, many things are braised in fat, but never at a temperature that will deep fry them. “The other day I went to a Mexican restaurant and had my latest disappointment,” he says. “I asked for carnitas and they give me a tortilla with overcooked, deep fried pork.” Yes, they use a lot of different fats and oils in their cooking, he says, but never with the purpose of crisping into oblivion.

How he finds the time for both Frida and Mad Mexican is a mystery, but Hadad thinks nothing of simply making time for it all. He gave himself a year to get the two businesses to a point where they don’t need him on a full time basis, and has three months left on his deadline. It’s not uncommon for him to work seven days a week, but for now he doesn’t seem to mind.

Hadad's handmade dips, salsas and sauces are available at St. Lawrence Market, Multiple Organics and the Big Carrot. For more information about Mad Mexican products, please visit the website.

Food with intention.

Those three words form the core philosophy behind Alba Lisa Gourmet Foods, an artisanal Mexican tortilla, soup and catering company owned by Alba Lisa Quinn and her husband, Ted.

Their recipe for success is simple and endearing. Take one Canadian teaching abroad, add the lovely and talented Quinn from Mexico, pepper with globe-trotting international teaching adventures, exposure to unique cuisines and cultures, and mix in a desire to return to Toronto to share your homemade tortillas with the world. That, in a nutshell, is the Alba Lisa story.

Teaching globally and always travelling with her tortilla press in tow, Quinn amassed a repertoire of cross-cultural uses for her toothsome homemade rounds. While away, they were the one thing connecting her to her Mexican heritage and helping to keep her grounded; an essential tool when one is so far from home. Along with her husband, she also taught at a school they owned in Chihuahua, developing "a curriculum for children about food," that saw them educating kids from the age of 3 all the way up to 12 on how to cook. Five years later the desire to settle down beckoned, and an opportunity to sell their small school allowed them to come to Toronto and find their home.

The business began humbly enough, producing both corn and flour tortillas for gatherings of family and friends. Back then production runs of 300 tortillas were common, and after encountering numerous happy faces and satisfied stomachs, it became clear that they had found their niche, and the desire to take the tortillas to market emerged and strengthened.

In conjunction with the Toronto Food Business Incubator, Alba Lisa Gourmet Food has been producing contemporary Mexican fare for a little over a year and a half. Speaking with Quinn, her passion is infectious, and mere moments after we've met, we are giggling like schoolgirls who've known each other forever. Such is the charm of Quinn; her bubbly personality and outgoing nature make you immediately comfortable in her presence. These qualities translate to her enthusiasm for the business; discussing how they got to where they are today, her demeanour becomes increasingly animated.

"We started with our little press, everything handmade, making about 3000 tortillas a month by hand," and it took "a year to go from, let's say, making 300 tortillas for family and friends, to making over 10,000 that we're making right now," she informs me as we discuss how mechanization is allowing them to grow. A newer and larger machine is on order, and once delivered, they will be able to make 1000 tortillas an hour. The growth of their business has been organic but throughout, the recipe has stayed "simple, but very authentic". Canada's trans fats regulations do not allow Quinn to prepare the tortillas in the style that her Mexican grandmother might have, but she feels her adaptive recipe encapsulates the same traditional flavour.

The educator in Quinn is not idle either, and even with a successful tortilla enterprise, she still finds time to work with Dish Cooking Studio (390 Dupont Street), helping them "set up a cooking school for children". Having worked as an instructor for Dish (decisions regarding format are still pending as Dish changes ownership) she explains why she loves to work with children, "you teach them to be self sufficient, you teach them to be independent in the kitchen and hopefully inspire them to be in the kitchen and be confident".

Working for a cooking school provides another avenue for product exposure, as the deliciously homespun tortillas are paired with multicultural preparations such as curries, Peking duck, mini pizzas and quiche cups. The possibilities are endless, and as we discuss how I personally first used them (corn for grilled pork tacos and flour for cajeta [Mexican caramel] roll-ups) she informs me with a wink and a smile that cajeta tortilla is a traditional Mexican snack food, a delicious treat children grab between playtime and dinner.

Not content to rest on her laurels, she also has several new product lines in the works. In addition to the classic corn and flour tortillas already on offer, September promises to bring an organic line to market, including new organic spelt tortillas, plus organic versions of the aforementioned wheat and corn. Alba Lisa Gourmet Foods has not forgotten price conscious shoppers either, producing a best value tortilla (sold under the Monterrey brand, named after the area in Mexico where she hails from) on behalf of Price Chopper (locations throughout the GTA and Ontario).

As if that wasn't enough, the company also prepares fresh, seasonal, vegetable-based soups using almond milk, currently "only in a few stores" including Rowe Farms (105 Roncesvalles Avenue, and others), Fiesta Farms (200 Christie Street), Nancy's Cheese (260 Dupont Avenue), and Harbord Bakery (115 Harbord Street) but in August they will also be available at Pusateri's (57 Yorkville Avenue). The line of 8 soups is unique because "there's more protein in it, there's less fat, they're a little bit healthier but they're also very yummy".

The soups are available in the following flavours: crimini and white mushroom, roasted tomato, roasted garlic sweet potato, asparagus (Spring), sweet red pepper (Summer), corn (Autumn), roasted beet and potato chive. An official launch in September will see the soup line expanded to additional stores across the GTA.

As for the outlook beyond that, it seems the sky's the limit for Alba Lisa Gourmet Foods. Quinn seems happiest when discussing their evolution, so who knows what new and delectable culinary inspiration she and her husband will dream up next?

Until then, she leaves me with a new use for her flour tortillas perfect for the sweet tooth in all of us;

"Shallow fry this one in a pan until it becomes puffy. Remove and drain on paper towels, then sprinkle it with cinnamon and sugar, or a drizzle of maple syrup and ice cream. Delicious!"

Yes, Alba Lisa, it is.

Porsha Perreault is a freelance writer, voracious eater, amateur charcutier, and chocolate enthusiast living in Little Italy.  She can often be found sourcing the newest developments in heirloom and heritage fruits and veg and other local delicacies at farmer's markets around Toronto or blogging about her obsession with food at Foodie and the Everyman.

Small images by Ed Rek for Alba Lisa Gourmet Foods. Used with permission.

La Tortilleria
1040 St. Clair Avenue West
647-344-2429
Brunch for two with all taxes, tip and hot chocolate: $30

Rubbernecking as the St. Clair West bus rumbled eastward on a Saturday morning, the hungry husband and I both see the sign at the same time “Now serving weekend breakfast”. So we pass up the roti at the Green Barns Farmers Market and walk back to Dufferin to La Tortilleria. Because we loves us some Mexican food.

However, when we arrive we realize that our knowledge of Mexican food really only involved the more typical dinner entrees – what the heck do they eat for breakfast in Mexico anyway?

We almost bail – the place is hot and a constant loud creaking noise comes from the huge tortilla press at the back of the bright space. While this location of the local tortilla chain has plenty of seating, the fluorescent lights and sunny yellow walls can be a bit overwhelming. Most people seem to grab their grub to go.

We skim the breakfast menu posted on the front door; there’s plenty of eggs – sunny side up in the huevos divorciados ($7.69) or scrambled and served with a morita chili sauce ($8.96), and most dishes seem to come with sides of rice and refried beans. Chorizo also makes an appearance in several dishes including molletes campiranos ($8.94) which is a selection of Mexican chorizo, cheese, and pico de gallo – sort of a Mexican Ploughman’s Lunch.

We head to the counter to place our order but are told to have a seat. Apparently, for breakfast, there’s table service in this otherwise counter-service restaurant.

We place our order and ask for horchata ($1.50) to drink; this traditional Mexican aqua fresca is made from rice water and cinnamon and is wonderfully refreshing. Instead our server appears at the table with two cups of hot chocolate ($1.99). Horchata and hot chocolate sound the same under the noise of a creaky tortilla machine, I guess. At first we consider sending it back; we’ve walked about 12 blocks and the restaurant is hot and we really want something refreshing. But one sip and we realize this is the best hot chocolate we’ve ever had. Smooth, sweet (possibly too sweet for some) and spiced with cinnamon and a touch of chili. We ask if it’s from a mix and our server explains that it’s real Mexican chocolate, comes in a disc, and is blended with milk. It’s brilliant. Until our food comes.

My choice from the breakfast menu is the chilaquilas tradicionales ($9.79). This is a pile of La Tortilleria’s fabulous corn tortillas, cooked in a green salsa with chicken, sour cream and cheese. Except what I get is made with red salsa. And it’s hot. Way too hot for my super-taster gringo mouth. And it gets worse, not better, after a sip of hot chocolate. It’s good, great even, and I would love to finish it, but it just about kills me.

I pass the chilaquilas off to Greg (who can handle the chili even less than me) and dig into the quesadillas de la Sierra ($9.39). Now this I can get into; cheese, squash, potatoes and spinach inside those fabulous tortillas. There’s no sign of the salad, though, although the tasty refried beans are present and we finish them off.

When we go to pay, we figure out the mix-up: the chilaquilas can be served with red or green salsa, even though the menu just says green. Next time I’ll know to ask because it was a really awesome dish, just… burny.

I cool off my burning tongue with a horchata to go, and we can’t pass up a bag of la Tortilleria’s corn chips and a couple of conchas - Mexican sweet buns - hot off the tray from Pancho’s Bakery.

Despite the order mix-ups, we’re still pleased with our meal and will come back. I’d have likely never bothered with the hot chocolate otherwise, and now it’s a must have. La Tortilleria isn’t perfect, but the great food, and friendly, happy service make up for the flaws.

Photo by Stu Spivack.

For all of our multi-cultural pride, Toronto has a really small Mexican community, and finding authentic Mexican ingredients, despite improvements over the past couple of years, can still be tough. And while fresh tortillas, or quesa fresca can now be found relatively easily, that Mexican delicacy huitlacoche is still hard to track down.

Huitlacoche (kweet-lah-KOH-chay), the Aztec term for "raven's excrement" is also known as corn smut or Mexican truffle, and is a black fungus that infects individual kernels of corn. The result is a blackish grey, mushroom-like fungus that is cooked up with the fresh kernels and served as a filling for tortillas, tamales and crepes and as an ingredient in soups.

In Canada and the US, corn smut is considered a disease, and as our culture tends to find foods that have gone bad or become infected to be inedible, farmers work diligently to ensure that their crops do not become infected with this fungus because it makes their product unusable for its intended purpose.

In Mexico, the story is much different and crops there are often intentionally infected specifically to create corn smut for human consumption.

Tracking down the stuff as an ingredient was less of a wild goose chase than I figured it would be, but that's in part because the options are pretty limited. As both Canada and the US work diligently to keep out products that are tainted and could potentially pass on infection to existing crops, fresh huitlacoche is almost unheard of at any time of the year. Despite many chefs singing its praises as a gourmet ingredient,  to obtain it fresh would normally require smuggling it in illegally - although last summer's rainy weather caused it to occur on corn crops here in Ontario and a few local chefs managed to get some to work with.

Canned versions can be found at a few Latin American groceries in Toronto, however, and Perola's Supermarket (247 Augusta Avenue) would be my recommended first stop. If they're out, check the Latin America Emporium (243 Augusta Avenue) a couple of doors down.

When it comes to restaurants serving huitlacoche, the only place I could confirm was El Trompo (277 Augusta Avenue) where they offer it as a filling for their corn quezadilla, although it's possible it shows up occasionally at places like Rebezos (126 Rogers Road).

It's not, to be fair, something that is in great demand, and while hardcore fans of Mexican food seem to love it, the account of the canned product on the popular blog Steve, Don't Eat It! doesn't make it seem especially appealing. Mind you, I've eaten tripe, headcheese and bull's testicles, so to each their own.

Tortilla Flats
458 Queen Street West
416-203-0088
Dinner for two with all taxes, tip and margaritas: $80

This was supposed to be a review of Tattoo Rock Parlor. But when we arrived to an empty restaurant, then waited for a server who never appeared while bad rock music blared on the sound system, we bailed. “Let’s go to Tortilla Flats!” sez the husband as we found ourselves on the Queen West sidewalk. “I haven’t been there since about 1989!”

While sharing his sense of nostalgia and spontaneity, I was worried. Tortilla Flats doesn’t have the best reputation for its food, and the things we like when we’re twenty often don’t translate well when we’ve advanced to middle-age. But Tortilla Flats has a small spot in the nostalgic "remember when we were 20" place in my heart, so in we went, hoping to be wrong.

The work done a few years back when Still Lounge owners converted the crusty old Connaught Tavern was pretty much for nought. The sandblasted brick outside is now a harsh yellow and the inside is garish, cluttered, and after only a few years, looking rather run down. We’re directed to a booth, but the seats are so high my feet, even in chunky shoes that put me at around 5-foot-8, don’t touch the floor. A relocation further back in the room offers us a view of a collection of dirty glassware piled on the bar, and garbage bins, one marked with a warning of what can go in there and the cost per bag for city pick-up. Classy.

Our server, bless his eager little heart, does try, but misses the mark more often than not. When I ask if the margaritas ($6.20) are fresh or from a mix he looks confused. “What do you mean?” “Uh… juice or powder?” “Oh, powder!” he exclaims, almost proudly, and heads to the giant slushy machine behind the bar to pour me an example of the frozen version.

We order an assortment of items and in record time the Flats sampler ($14.25) arrives at the table, laden down with many types of greasy grub. The chicken wings are passable if bland, the calamari rubbery and obviously pre-frozen and the nachos are coated in so much greasy pre-shredded cheese from a bag that they go soggy before we can eat most of them. Something called Texas Twizzlers appears on the menu but we have no idea what that's supposed to be and can't find it on the platter anyway. Garlic cheese bread (you know, from the Italian part of Texas) is bland and unmemorable. An array of battered and deep-fried hot peppers round out the assortment, and are the only real interesting things on the plate. It’s all I can do not to reply to the server’s query of “how’s that platter treating ya?” with a suggestion to call me in the morning when I have a better idea.

The mains arrive well before we’re done the appetizer, and things actually go further downhill. The veggie burrito ($9.99) is topped with more of that assorted grated cheese and comes with some bland yellow rice and an ice cream scoop of refried beans. The burrito’s filling appears to be mostly iceberg lettuce with some sauce and beans, which to their credit are a better flavour and consistency than the quickly hardening lump of refried elsewhere on the plate. I thought I was being smart by ordering a side of guacamole ($2.25), because a dollop of citrusy, garlicy avocado can save just about any pseudo-Mex dish, but this version was low on lime and garlic and appeared at the table an odd greyish colour that looked as if it had been made from avocados that had been cut and left to oxidize. Flavourless and ugly.

Across the table the chicken flautas ($9.99) are covered with sauce and cheese and are paired with the same scary yellow rice and crusty refried beans. The filling in these rolled, deep fried tortillas is supposed to be creamy chicken, but the sauce part has an odd doughy consistency reminiscent of soggy bread. We both leave more than half the food on our plates.

But wait, there’s more. While never hitting that junk food sweet spot of “so bad it’s good” we’ve moved into some version of “so bad it’s hilarious” and feel we have to see it through to the end. Coffee and dessert it is.

We’re worried when the husband looks up at the pass and exclaims “what the hell is that thing?” in reference to something that appears to be a pastry version of a snake about to strike, and become even more so when it heads for our table. Close up, the freehand churros ($3.95) look more like a duck than a snake, but as they’re made to order, the long donut sticks sprinkled with cinnamon sugar are actually the best thing we’ve eaten all night, despite the garnish of edible oil product and crushed oreo cookies (note for the confused – not authentic!). We eat and enjoy most of the duck-snake, but the deep fried ice cream ($3.50) is less pleasing, having obviously been fried in advance and returned to the freezer – the cornflake-based coating is hard, but bland, and the ice cream inside is rock-solid. This dish would have been so much better with a freshly fried, slightly greasy coating and soft melty ice cream as a reward for breaking through the outer layer. I also remember this dish being made back in the day with cinnamon ice cream, but now it’s a not especially great quality vanilla. Too bad.

Despite the mediocre food, the place sees a steady string of patrons during our visit, most heading for the patio for reasonably cheap beer and margaritas. It’s a young clientele, with few customers appearing to be past their mid-twenties.

I remember being impressed with Tortilla Flats back in the day; it was the perfect way to start an evening that included dancing to the wee hours at the Silver Crown and the Twilight Zone. Now a more worldly palate and an aging digestive system offer only protests at the thought of so much grease and tequila. It’s likely a fine place to dine if half-price powdered margaritas seem sophisticated, but is probably best avoided by those looking for anything verging on authentic or, you know… good.

La Tortillaria
68 Wales Avenue
416-546-5516
Dinner for two with all taxes tip and soda: $20

La Tortillaria, is a recently opened take-out place on the edge of Kensington Market that has received a lot of buzz. What's so special about it? Freshly made corn tortillas.

The closest I've ever gotten to fresh corn tortillas was years ago, watching David Rosengarten's show Taste on the Food Network during which his subject, the mysterious sounding masa (corn dough) and masa harina (the dried version), intrigued me. Watching him knead that dough and take perfect steaming circles out of a hefty silver tortilla press, I marvelled that corn could be flat bread.

I was once told by a friend of mine, a Texan, that enchiladas are supposed to be made from corn tortillas. I figured he knew what he was talking about, as from my recollection, Mexican food was so much better in the States. In our small office cubicle in downtown Taipei, he would go on about it so much so, that even though I'd never tried an enchilada before, in my mind it became one of my favourite foods. The buzz that had surrounded La Tortillaria seemed to be a sort of similar reverie. Were people excited not because they wanted a taco really badly, but because it reminded them of partying in Tijuana, or a honeymoon in Cancun, or touring Mexico City?

Approaching the sunny yellow facade of La Tortillaria, reminded me of travelling. Maybe it was the satisfaction of finally stumbling upon a hard to find spot in a seldom encountered area of Bathurst and Dundas. Maybe it was the soft spoken, dark-haired girl behind the counter, who lifted each lid of the warming trays to show us all their selections.

To a non-Spanish ear, the choice of fillings sounded exotic - alambre, tinga, calabacitas - and as tacos were cheap ($2.50 for one, 3 for $6.50, and 4 for $8.50), we got them all except for the chicharron (aka pork in green sauce) which they were out of. We were offered rice with each one. as the server said that's how they usually made them, but I regret we had forgotten the beans. At the last minute I noticed a couple few trays of cheese, sour cream, and a dark sauce that looked like what came out of the bottled chipotle sauce I had at home, so I hurriedly scooped some into the carry-out boxes. My partner-in-eating also ordered a cup of pretty sounding Jamaica flower juice.

These tacos tasted very homey; like blander home cooking versus flashier resto fair. Maybe we were too used to Tex Mex, with its mounds of salsa, sour cream, cheese, guacamole, and pickled jalapenos. Perhaps sitting on a buffet tray for an entire day had something to do with it as well. The stewed chicken (tinga), was stringy and any chicken, tomato, or onion flavour was imperceptible. Then again, I'm not impressed by the stewed chicken in the empanada (which tastes about the same to me) from Jumbo Empanadas, even though it's got die-hard fans. The chorizo and potato taco seemed to have had all the fat and spice boiled out of the sausage, yet none of hte flavour had transferred to the spuds.

The beef in the steak and peppers (alambre) was dry and tough, but did well with a dash of Thai hot sauce (which was in our friend's fridge). My sister, who'd gotten the veggie one (calabacitas) shrugged and said it was just corn and zucchini, but the rice was nice and fluffy. I had saved the sampling of the chicken mole for last. I'd been excited to have my first taste of mole sauce - that complicated, romantic-sounding concoction made with chocolate, - and it was just okay. This chicken mole reminded me of Chinese beef jerky; stringy, chewy, sweetish, with a bit of caramel, a bit of cumin - just a hint of heat. I added hot sauce.

But I could easily overlook the failings of the fillings for the tortillas.

One bite and I simply understood what corn tortillas are supposed to taste like and just why people might get so excited about them. Pliant, with a touch of corn fragrance, and a pleasant grittiness to its texture, they make packaged store-bought ones taste like cardboard. These fresh ones were so tender and very good just on their own. Made on site at La Tortillaria, they are available in 1/2 pound ($1.75) and one pound ($3.00) bags. Just as I'd now go to the bakery for fresh baguette, when I want corn tortillas, this is where I'll go.

Johny Banana
181 Bathurst Street
416-304-0101
Dinner for two with all taxes, tip and beer/juice: $35

So I was at one of the many restaurant opening media thingies we get invited to. And while the booze was flowing, the food was sparse, and small when it actually appeared. On an empty stomach, a couple of glasses of merlot can hit a gal (even a strapping lass like myself) pretty hard, and it wasn’t long before I was past the point of tipsy. Not quite at plastered, but in that window where Mexican food is the ONLY thing that will fit the bill.

My husband Greg had been bugging me about checking out the reworked menu at Johny Banana. We had tried to go there once when it was a lounge, but it was loud and kind of obnoxious and we’d never actually eaten there. With Suresh and Nina from Spotlight Toronto in tow, we stumbled to the corner of Queen and Bathurst in search of great Mexican food. We’d have taken passable or even mediocre Mexican food at that point, but fortunately there was no need to compromise. Johny Banana rocks in the manner of a hurricane.

The Bathurst Street space that had always seemed quite dark and small in its previous lives (Azul, Canteena, Johny Banana version 1) is now bright and spacious, with modern seating along one wall that is graced with Latino movie posters. Mexican wrestling toys and figurines are also a fun touch.

Owner John Martin told us that he had not been happy with the space as a bar/lounge and decided to just concentrate on making great Mexican food instead. The menu is scaled back and the focus is on quick service and take-out orders.

We start with the house specialty, the Pork & Roll tacos ($6.95 for 3), a stir-fried pork with pineapple, onion, chipotle chili and melted cheese. Think Don Ho goes to Mexico. Since we know that the mellow flavour of pork pairs exceptionally well with sweet and acidic pineapple, it only makes sense that the addition of onion and chipotle would make for the rockinest taco in town.

Not knowing just how large a large burrito really is at Johny Banana, I figured I was hungry enough to finish one off. Not even close, and I enjoyed the second half of my chicken mole burrito ($6.95) for lunch the next day. I’m assuming that the spicy chocolate mole sauce was homemade, but it tasted a lot like the Dona Luz brand I buy for cooking with at home. Which isn’t a complaint. If it didn’t need to be thinned out with water, I’d eat that Donna Luz stuff straight from the jar. In any case, what I got was a soft warm whole wheat burrito, loaded with beans, rice, and moist tender chicken permeated with spicy chocolate.

The husband opted for the La Pamplonada quesadilla ($7.15), loaded with a mild chorizo sausage, mushrooms, green onions and cheddar and Monterey jack cheese. This was a fairly mild offering, spice-wise – fortunately Johny Banana offers six varieties of salsa from the non-spicy avocado-line to the “extremely hot” chipotle.

An order of chips and guacamole ($4) rounded out the meal with a crisp saltiness. The bright and chunky guacamole had just the right amount of lime to make it zing but not overwhelm.

The drink menu is similarly scaled-back, with beer as the only alcoholic beverage. There is also soda and the Mexican canned fruit nectars Jumex ($1.50), but none of the sweet Mexican soda, Jarritos. The featured drink is most definitely the spicy, hot and rich Chocolate Azteca ($3.50).

The only dessert on offer is neither made in-house or officially Mexican, but the Chilean alfajores ($2.75), a light short-bread style cookie layered with Argentinean Dulce de Leche and rolled in coconut, were a sweet way to finish the evening.

By the end of the meal, I was happily sober. The chips and burrito had done their job, but had also managed to impress. This is fantastic food, prepared to order, so while the premise is fast (customers can call or fax in their order in advance, even specifying a pick-up time), it still manages to be healthy, authentic and really, really rockin’.

Don’t wait for one of those Mexican food-craving benders to check out Johny Banana. It’s even better sober, when it can be truly appreciated.

Perola's
247 Augusta Avenue
416-593-9728

In Perola’s market, where I get my tomatillos, chilies, and Oaxaca, in the very back, with the racks of bottled mole, sickly-sweet Mexican sodas, and horchata, is the pupusa lady. On Friday, Saturday, and Sundays Irma (or "Signora", as she answers to) can be found in the back of the Spanish market forming balls of masa de maiz dough with her thick, old hands, stuffing them with cheese, beans, and meat, and flipping them on the flat-top grill, also with her hands.

I stay away from Kensington on the weekends so it was only at a friend’s behest that I made it there at pre-yokel 9:30am Sunday. After a few minutes of watching Irma slapping dough to palm with no trace of interest in me, I piped up and asked for a pupusa. Disinterestedly she told me that it would be ready in a minute and kept on flipping and chatting with a friend. The pupusa ($2.50) was a great way to start Sunday morning. Crispy exterior, soft, doughy, cheesy interior. To say any more is a disservice to how simple this treat was. I followed it up with a fried oval of plantain stuffed with sweetened condensed milk ($1). I kind of wish I spoke Spanish so I didn’t sound like such a goon saying “gracias”.

I felt a tinge of sadness for anyone who was going to spend that morning stuffed into an overcrowded patio waiting 45 minutes for some cold eggs benedict. If people are complaining about food in Toronto they aren’t digging deep enough. Word on the street is that Irma is only going to be at Perola’s for a few more weeks. So go get a pupusa before she’s gone. ‘Nuff said.

El Sol Restaurant and Galleria
1448 Danforth Avenue
416-405-8074
Dinner for two with all taxes, tip and beer: $40

Authentic Mexican? The place is filled with the aroma of cumin and chile. Mariachi music blares from the stereo. After a lengthy explanation of my desires, Ernesto closes his note pad and replies “No habla Inglese” before storming away. Ernesto is my latest psychoanalyst.

Caveat emptor I guess. And the session wasn’t a total loss. I find the phrase “No habla Inglese” is useful in dealing with telephone solicitors and my wife. It also provoked a craving for Mexican food which I satisfied at nearby El Sol Restaurant and Galleria.

The most conspicuous feature of El Sol – The Sun – is its suns: scores of suns crafted from coconut shells, hanging from the wall, brightly painted and smiling. I ask the waitress about the significance of these carvings. She says she’s not sure but she knows that her ancestors venerated the sun. Indeed they did. Aztecs used to offer the beating hearts of their prisoners to it. (Not that there’s anything wrong with that.)

El Sol, run by the brother and sister team of Golanzo and Yolanda Paez doubles as a galleria. A great deal of Mexican folk art is displayed for sale, especially masks, which have been used in Mexican dances and ceremonies for thousands of years. An intricate Tree of Life dominates one wall. Trees of Life are ceramic sculptures depicting significant biblical or personal events. I consider making one myself as way of overcoming the language barrier with my psychiatrist. El Sol offers a lot to fill the eye before the food finally arrives.

I had heard El Sol has a reputation for slow service. That’s never bothered me. I assume, perhaps naively, that if the food takes a while to come, it hasn’t originated from a can, a freezer or a microwave. As a matter of fact, the chile relleno, which is red pepper filled with ground beef, green olives, potatoes, carrots and raisins ($14.95), requires 24-hour notice. I consider buying a blanket from the restaurant store, ordering a few pitchers of sangria with the chile, and staying the night.

My sincronizodas al comal arrives in good time, however. Sincronizodas ($11.95) are a sort of tortilla sandwich made in a comal - the traditional Mexican cast iron frying pan. Mine is filled with machaca (shredded beef), potatoes, mushrooms and cheese. Chicken, chorizo or vegetarian are options, as they are for the empanadas, a stuffed pastry which is often eaten at breakfast in Mexico.

While El Sol does make tacos and antijitos (appetizers) that most Torontonians identify with Mexican food, I recommend exploring more exotic fare like pollo en mole – chicken breast sautéed in chocolate and dozens of spices.

I regret I didn’t try the pozole, a traditional soup or stew made from corn grain with meat, chile and a host of other seasonings. This ancient meal pre-dates the arrival of the Conquistadors in Mexico; it’s authentic Aztec grub. Oh, and how about a cactus salad? Don’t worry there aren’t any thorns.

The food at El Sol would not be described as ethereal: all that cheese, potatoes, beans and fat. But no one leaves here hungry. I requested a take-out container so I could share my leftovers with my analyst. I’ve even learned a little Spanish from the menu which should facilitate our future encounters. Authentic Mexican? Es muy bueno.

Having been to both Hernando's locations I can now compare the two, from the taste buds of someone relieved to eat Mexican food that didn’t originate from a drive-thru. My trip to the first Hernando’s was actually a fluke. A communication misunderstanding between friends brought us to the location on Yonge, and it became something I'll never be allowed to live down.

I couldn’t find the place when it first came time to capture the restaurant on camera. Not till I crossed the street did I realize that Hernando’s Hideaway lives up to its namesake. The restaurant sinks into the ground off of the street. A flight of stairs led me deeper into the rabbit hole. The atmosphere was a bit stifling; by that I mean the overall environment of the restaurant. The décor was rustic, and the furniture painted in gaudy colours. The giant lizards on the wall were a nice touch. I wondered what it’d feel like to sit right under one of those, and whether he would flick off bits of my meal as I ate it.

We were quickly seated, but after drink orders, service seemed to lag. It could have been because our server doubled as the bartender, or because there was only one person at the bar. Knowing full well we had gotten our server’s attention seemed to win us more time for him to ignore us. Our dinner orders ended up being taken by a different server entirely.

Initially, the food looked really promising when it came. We ordered the Grilled Veggie Fajitas ($15.99), Veggie Quesadilla ($8.53), and the Grilled Veggie Burrito ($11.93) respectively. Upon closer inspection, some things about our food seemed amiss. Dinner portions come with a side order of rice and beans, and both looked quite dry on first glance. The beans are mildly spicy, and come lightly smothered in cheese. The rice tastes just like the Taco Villa rice I used to serve during my teen days working there. The shocking part came on my second or third bite into the beans, when I bit into something I could only describe as a small pebble. It was rectangular, black, and definitely didn’t belong there. My friends actually heard when I bit down on the pebble, and it scared them out of eating their beans.

Along with the grilled vegetables, the fajitas came with some sour cream, guacamole, tomatoes, and shredded lettuce. I noticed it was quite brown, and not that fresh-looking. My friend complained that her grilled vegetables were dry. I found my burrito to be filling if nothing else. I tasted carrot, broccoli, some spiciness, and a huge amount of rice. The flavours just melded together and tasted like, well, a burrito. All in all, the tastes were quite average, but it was the quesadilla that left me wanting more. I only tasted a small piece, but I could clearly taste the fusion of tortilla, vegetables, and Jack cheese. It was light, it was filling, and everything a quesadilla should be.

This desire led me to the second Hernando’s location, on Wellington. This one was on street level (thank-god) and almost seemed more posh from the get-go. Going up a flight of stairs this time (I guess it’s a theme) led our way to a surprisingly large space, dim and decorated by cool blue-hued colours. Strings of lights gave the restaurant a whimsical charm. And yes, the lizards are there too, only smaller.

It was still early and there were only a smattering of customers, so we were seated quickly. Throughout dinner our server Jake was simply awesome; he gave us enough time, took our mutual indecision in graceful stride, and was very efficient all around.

Having been exhausted from an awesome pride parade, our weary group decided on the Mexicali Nachos ($9.49), followed by a Taco Salad ($10.49), a Chicken Caesar Salad ($12.49), an appetizer-sized Club Quesadilla ($10.47), and two Veggie Quesadillas ($8.53). The first thing I noticed about the plate of nachos was its size. The preparation method looked very different from the usual mix of nachos and toppings together in a large pile as in some other restaurants. The cheese was light, the nachos were crunchy, and didn’t seem to be overly fatty, like some restaurant nachos can be. I never heard any complaints about the food at all; I do know I was the last person to finish eating.

The quesadilla lived up to my expectations. The taste was almost exactly the same, though I tasted a lot more shredded carrot. The rice and bean side dishes looked better as well. The rice still looked the same, but the beans looked very moist, though I couldn’t taste the spiciness this time around. For dessert, we had Fried Ice-Cream ($4.86). It was covered in whipped cream and chocolate sauce. The fried ice-cream itself made us all act like hungry-hungry-hippos with our spoons, trying to snag the ice-cream and slowly carve out a piece.

In retrospect, I would have to say that the Hernando’s location on Wellington is better, if I haven’t made that point already. I think the other location just has some kinks to work out. If both the quesadillas at both locations taste just as good, they’ve got to be doing something right.

El Jacal
1056 Bloor Street West
416-244-4447
Diner for two with all taxes, tip and soda: $60

“Hey, what’s this place?”

It’s a steaming hot Saturday afternoon, and my husband and I are standing on the sidewalk on Bloor Street, just east of Dufferin, about to have one of those relationship meltdowns provoked by a foolish misunderstanding. Our intended destination was A Touch of Convenience to try out the brunch offerings from chef Christopher James, but both of us left the house firm in the knowledge that the other knew where we were going. The husband wanted to go south on Gladstone, I was pretty sure it was north, but there was nothing in sight that looked like a convenience store, so we wandered the hot city streets in search of sustenance like so many Mexican immigrants wandering the desert on their way to the US.

Of course I’m not in any way comparing the inconvenience of two pampered and overfed foodies to the struggle faced by immigrating Mexicans, but it’s a nice segue into the theme of this piece, which is the difference between authentic Mexican food and the So Cal or Tex Mex versions we are more familiar with. For the place we had discovered as we stood sweaty and cranky on the Bloor Street thoroughfare was El Jacal, and it took everything we thought we knew about Mexican food and tossed it on its head.

There are always people who complain that you can’t get good Mexican food in Toronto, and for a long time that was true. However what some of these folks are really looking for when they say Mexican food is actually Southern Californian “Mexican”, and while I’d viciously cut anyone who came between me and a fish taco from Taco Mesa in Orange County, authentic Mexican it’s not.

So walking into El Jacal was a bit as if we’d stepped off of Bloor West and into a village cantina. Formerly Etobicoke’s El Jacalito, owners Antonio and Luz Adriana Romero moved their popular restaurant downtown to Bloor and Dufferin last year. The space is bright yellow and decorated with flags and stuffed animals. Anywhere else this would be garish and weird, but here, because of the family-friendly atmosphere, it works. Eating lunch with Tigger looking down at me from the windowsill makes perfect sense.

The front counter doubles as a candy store and the shelves are full of many different kinds of Mexican candy and snacks. A few tables are occupied with men drinking Coronas or the popular Chelada ($6) – beer with ice, lime juice, hot pepper and salt. A couple of large tables are filled with families simultaneously eating lunch and watching the telenovella on the television hanging in the corner. Turns out, El Jacal is a popular spot for watching soccer games with Spanish commentary, so the TV is a real draw.

We peruse the menu with intrigue. This is definitely not Taco Bell. Wanting to try it all, we manage some semblance of control and order only as much as we figure we can eat as opposed to one of everything just for hell of trying it.

We start with a couple of refreshing, sweet Jarrito sodas in mandarin and pineapple ($2.50 each). The first dish to arrive is the cactus salad ($6.95), a basic iceberg lettuce salad topped with tomato, onion, avocado, tender cooked cactus and feta cheese. I am immediately addicted to the cactus, which is cooked and pickled. It would be overpowering on its own, but in the salad with the other vegetables and the cheese, it’s amazing. I’ve already started scouring the “Mexican” aisle at my local grocery store, but it looks like the procurement of cactus is going to take me to Perola’s in Kensington Market (note: found!).

Nachos “El Jacalito” ($5.95 small) are great, but come topped with the same salad (minus the cactus). The chips are fresh and crispy though, and there is refried beans underneath; we devour these along with a creamy house guacamole.

We ask our server about the use of feta cheese, which appears in a number of El Jacal’s dishes. Apparently the mozzarella or Monterey Jack we typically associate with faux Mexican food is not used at all in Mexico, where dishes are served with a locally made fresh cheese. The closest approximation to be found here in Canada is a mild feta, so that’s what they use. That’s how you know you’re getting authentic cuisine. That and the fact that they refuse to make me a vegetarian version of the Enchiladas de Mole.

They’re happy to make a vegetarian version with Salsa Verde, but if I want chocolate, then I must also have the chicken. Twist my arm. Three enchiladas ($12.95) arrive covered in a pool of shimmering sauce, resplendent with garlic, chili and twenty or so other ingredients. There’s that feta cheese again, and a drizzle of cream. I’m in heaven.

The husband orders three tacos ($7.95 for 3) and plays mix and match, choosing Chorizo con Queso (sausage and cheese), Conchintia Pibil (marinated pork in annato sauce) and Suadero (a special cut of beef). All are tasty, although the pork one is a bit dry, and the beef gives me a weird sense of déjà vu that I cannot place, like I’ve had it before but can’t remember where.

For dessert, we split a Flan Napolitano ($2.50), a milk custard in a caramel sauce that leaves us groaning with delight, and a single Churro ($1.25); a little stick of heaven that arrives hot from the oil tossed in cinnamon sugar.

Our server advises us to come back on a Sunday when they make the churros filled with dulce de leche and customers can order the Barbacoa de Borrego (deep-fried pork) by the kilo ($45/kilo with cactus salad and tortillas). I’m actually more tempted to come by someday for lunch when El Jacal offers both a lunch buffet and a variety of specials (most $5.99), as well as their all-day Mexican breakfast.

So while many Torontonians will continue to complain about the dearth of “real” Mexican restaurants and will continue to eat the food at mediocre chains because they believe there are no other options, I’ll be getting my fix at El Jacal where the food is fantastic, the service is friendly and informative (even to us ignorant gringos), and Tigger, soccer and pork by the kilo rule the day. Getting lost was never so much fun.

The venue was Rancho Relaxo and we were there for a show; the second in a trilogy of fundraisers to send York University playwright Melissa Major to the IDEA festival in Hong Kong. We hadn’t had Mexican food in a long time, so my companion and I decided to have a bite. The waiter told us we weren’t allowed to order food upstairs where the event was being held. Strangely enough, later on we saw other people being allowed to order food at the show when served by a different staff member. When I think about it, this was the moment that foreshadowed an evening of bad service.

We placed our orders while I tried hard not to have my arms end up in still wet sauce on the Mexican blanket that served as a tablecloth. I looked around for a napkin, but there were none in sight. Even when the waiter came over to unceremoniously dump a basket of tortilla chips and a dish of salsa on our table he didn’t bring any napkins. We tried eating our overly greasy, stale, bland and slightly chewy (and not in a good way) chips while hoping the grease would somehow magically disappear off of our fingers. I was quite worried that our dismal chips and salsa meant that the rest of the food would be a let down too. Fortunately when our unsmiling and unfriendly waiter came over with our food, we were pleasantly surprised. Hey, we also got napkins this time!

I had ordered the Mole Enchilada with chicken (S10.95) and my companion the Chicken Fajita (S14.95). The chicken filling for the fajita was tender with perfectly sautéed red and green peppers, and onions. The sauce it was cooked in was spicy, tangy and light. What I liked most was the smooth fresh guacamole served with the meal. I can’t comment on the quality of sour cream or cheese since my companion had his dinner sans dairy. Compared to the fajita filling, my enchiladas had the same prep, but different sauce. Now mole (pronounced moh-lay) being a cocoa-based sauce, has a very different flavour from the tomato based fajita sauce. I’ve never had mole before, so my judgement on Rancho Relaxo’s version may not be accurate. However, I found this sauce to be rich, dark, smooth and have a wonderfully complex taste. As I write this I find myself craving those enchiladas again. Oh, that lovely cheddar that smothered them, and that amazing mole sauce that pooled around the side of my plate. The refried beans were disappointing, though. Very salty to taste, but the accompanying rice was quite nice. I’m not really sure why they added a salad to the mix. It was just a spring mix sans dressing sitting on top of my enchiladas.

After awhile we gave up on trying to finish our meals. The portion sizes were just too large for our appetites. We also gave up on trying to interact with our waiter or have him become pleasant in any way. As for Rancho Relaxo itself? You’ll know it’s a Mexican place because of the overdone Mexican theme complete with stucco walls. As for the show? We went up after our meal and had a good time. For those of you in the area, stop by for a nice meal and avoid that one waiter. The rest of the staff seemed superb.

The last time I can recall seeing a chimichanga on a restaurant menu was at Chi-Chis, the awful Mexican family dining chain that went bust a few years ago. I remember going to the Toronto location as a university student and ordering one, not really knowing what it was, and receiving a deep-fried burrito-type thing that was soggy, greasy and generally disgusting.

With that memory in mind, I was a bit concerned when I heard that a Mexican take-out joint called Chimichanga had opened on Yonge Street just north of Dundas. But when I walked by around lunchtime one day and saw that the restaurant's namesake grease-bomb was not to be found on the menu, my confidence level was raised somewhat, and I decided to give them a shot.

Atmosphere-wise, there's not a lot to say about the place. It's basically a take-out counter with a couple of stools by the window. So I got my order to go and headed back to my office a couple of blocks away so I could surf the web work while I ate my lunch.

My choice for this first visit was the Tres Tacos combo ($6.50), which included three tacos, rice and beans, and a handful of tortilla chips. I went with the soft shell option, ordered one of each of the three veggie fillings (spicy tofu, roasted veggie & chili queso), and added a side of guacamole ($0.50). The shells were fresh (albeit store bought), while the chips were made in-house and were crisp and delicious with just a faint greasiness. The guac was excellent, very fresh and tasty, as was the accompanying chipotle salsa, although it was more on the medium side of the menu-promised "medium-hot".

As for the fillings, the spicy tofu was the best of the lot, with chewy chunks of tofu that were almost chicken-like in consistency, with a subtle spice that was complimented by the cheese, lettuce and sour cream toppings. The chili queso was also tofu-based, and was quite similar to the spicy tofu, but moister with a slight cheesy tang. The grilled veggie featured zucchini, bell pepper and onions in a mildly spiced sauce that was on the bland side, but improved somewhat with a shot of the salsa. All in all, it was a decent enough lunch, but could've used a bit more of a kick to really hit the spot.

A few weeks later, the wife and I were sitting at home with a craving for Mexican but no inclination to leave our taqueria-less neighbourhood. So we hit one of the local food delivery websites and were happy to find that Chimichanga had recently been added to the list of options for our neighbourhood. We were extra happy to find that they had Pacific white fish on the list of fillings, something I had somehow overlooked on my first visit. We'd both developed an addiction to fish tacos during a trip to Southern California a few years ago, and had been searching in vain for a local spot to get them when we needed a fix. We placed an order for a trio of hopefully tasty fish tacos ($8.00) as well as a roasted veggie burrito ($6.99) and an order of chips and guac ($2.50), and then we waited with barely contained anticipation.

Unfortunately, our glee was short-lived, as we received a phone call from the restaurant soon after our order was placed informing us that they were out of fish, as well as the whole wheat tortilla we'd requested for the burrito. They made a few hurried suggestions to replace the fish, and I said that we'd be fine with any combination of one meat and two vegetarian tacos. To make up for the price difference, they said they'd throw in some extra chips and guac. Sounded like a good compromise. Or so we thought.

The food arrived in a reasonable time, and was a bit cold, but otherwise OK for delivery. The tacos were one meat (chicken) & two veg as requested, although both of the vegetarian ones featured the same roasted veggies that were in the burrito. The veggies were even blander than the first time I'd tried them, and even the addition of salsa couldn't bring any excitement to the flavour. The chicken faired a bit better, as it was moist and had a bit more of a kick, but still didn't wow me.

As for the burrito, it proved to be the biggest disappointment of the meal. It appeared to have been wrapped in the foil before it was grilled, causing much of the wrapper to stick to the tortilla shell, particularly on the side where the shell was burnt. Ironically, though, this burnt part was the best bit, as it gave a bit of smokiness to an otherwise bland and flavour-free burrito. The veggies were just as lifeless here as in the taco, and the rice was overcooked and mushy. The beans offered a hint of flavour that was missing from all of the other elements, but there was barely a mouthful of them, and the promised cheese seemed to be missing entirely.

And actually, I lied - the burrito wasn't the biggest disappointment of the meal. That distinction has to be reserved for the chips, which were still handmade and crispy, but which were over-salted to the point of being completely inedible. A real shame, as the guacamole was just as good as it was with my earlier lunch.

I intend on trying Chimichanga at least once more, if only to see if their fish tacos are up to the standard of those I had in California. But that would involve them actually having the fish available, as well as learning how to use other spices besides salt. And frankly, both of those may be too much to hope for.