Last Concert Café started out as a humble Mexican restaurant, but it was slowly taken over by the dreadlocked set (or those who wore dreadlocks in their youth). These days, people don’t go so much for the just-serviceable Tex-Mex, but to partake in a drum circle or psychedelic hula hoop show. Call it a contact high, but it’s hard to stay grumpy inside this compound hidden on the edges of downtown. Under its spell, it’s easy to fall in love with the botana platter, with its quesadillas, jalapeños, chicken flautas, and guacamole. Or you might declare potato with green chile soup “the best thing in the world,” with its chunks of potatoes simmering in chicken broth full of poblanos, cheese, and pico de gallo. Maybe you’ll construct epic poems about “Apolinar’s Enchiladas,” two roast-beef-stuffed enchiladas with chili gravy and rice and beans.

Then again, maybe it’s all just an illusion, man. In the harsh light of day, this food is actually pretty greasy and underwhelming. Does the flavor come from the sauce, or from the wisps of patchouli that linger as women dance by? Maybe from the delicious memories of Grateful Dead show parking lots, in which vendors hawked beads and handmade jewelry, as they do here, in this strangely bordello-like yard where the squares have to knock to be let in.