This is our most often-visited, most reliably delicious, and—coincidentally—cheapest Mexican restaurant. We don’t even care that it’s wedged up north, inconvenient to any freeways, or that it’s bland and cramped inside (although the no-frills patio is protected from grackles by see-through plastic curtains, a nice touch). The service is unfailingly nice, and fumblings at Spanish are met with patience. Its consomé de cabrito is maybe the best deal in the city, a fantastic, spicy, deeply goaty experience that we have Pavlovian fits over—and you could pay for it with the change floating around your car.

The salsa bar’s like a Vegas buffet: there’s a lively tomatillo, a hot creamy green, a simple macerated red chile, an alarming charred red that tastes exactly like ashtray (but is terrific with the gamier meats); plus all the jalapeños, escabeche, limes, onions, cilantro, and squeeze bottles your heart desires. Order several tacos to dress up (and get ‘em on corn): pastor’s predominant flavor is marinated, caramelized pork, not big chunks of pineapple; head meat’s fatty and rich; lengua, in chunks and shreds, has good, gamey flavor; chicharrones are of the squishy variety, but tasty. Sopes are fine, but we prefer the masa softly griddled, where these come crisper. Gringo orders are not to be sniffed at, either: bistec quesadillas are a pleasurable vehicle for all those salsas. Pozole is outstanding; ceviche is limey with lots of fresh-tasting fish and avocado. Aguas frescas are plentiful and grand. Are you getting that we really, really love this place?