When I was coming up there wasn’t reason to go anywhere near Logan Heights in San Diego unless you were looking for trouble. The same went for Harlem and Boyle Heights back then, isn’t true for those neighborhoods nor Barrio Logan these days. Never in my wildest imagination would I have thought someday (such as this morning) we’d board the earliest possible flight into San Diego’s Lindbergh Field from San Francisco, land, skeedaddle to our rental car, head five miles south on Interstate 5, park, then stand in line with everybody else, before the best ever Mexican hole in the wall stops serving killer eats at three p.m.
Don’t expect to find menus, there aren’t any. Each day starting at 8:30 a.m. their offering is exactly what it was eighty-three years ago when they first opened for business: (chicken or pork) burritos, tamales, rolled or crunchy tacos and something which isn’t called soup, yet is, with rice, beans and chorizo — take a number, have a seat, scrumptiousness just minutes away.
Years ago this dive of sorts wouldn’t have come to mind choosing a first date place, however, what they lack in ambience more than compensates by satisfying flavor. Communal tables lend well to the overall experience; different ethnicities, alongside miscellaneous tax brackets have one thing in common finally discovering San Diego’s indulgence: everyone becomes family.
Jeanette, LouLou and I are vegetarians who cheat, but only when it’s worth it; since we visit our Encinitas dentist twice a year, we figure no harm done. For those who know famiglia di Schiavo, some might be thinking to themselves, “Hey wait a second, didn’t they just leave Puerto Escondido last Thursday? Aren’t they’re headed to Nuevo Vallarta on Friday? Haven’t those guys gotten their Mexican food quota filled yet?” My response is this: “I can’t count the amount of unfulfilling meals we’ve had in Mexico during which time at least one of us complained, then inquired, ‘so when are we going back to Las Cuatros Milpas again?’”