One of my best resources for reviews of one-of-a-kind, out-of-the-way restaurants is word of mouth. Usually, these places don't have the funds for elaborate marketing or benefit from having a big-name chef backing them.
Leah Fasten
When the chips are down, Mangos delivers tasty Mexican-American food.
Location Info
Details
Appetizers:
Nachos machos $5.99
Stuffed quesadilla with shrimp$7.99
Entrees:
Chile Verde or Rojo burrito$4.50
Shrimp taco/tostada combo $7.99
Torta$4.75
Dessert:
Flan$2.99
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So when a friend mentions Mangos Mexican Cafe to me, I perk up at her description. It's your basic menu, she says, but it's actually really good. Yet, as soon as I hear its location -- in downtown Mesa -- I sober up. Traditionally, there's been little culinary excitement in this sleepy East Valley city; its claim to Spanish fame being the ancient El Charro, an okay but oh-so-predictable purveyor of tacos, chimis and enchiladas.
After grabbing Mangos' menu, my hopes dampen further. It reads like a chain with its cute descriptions: tamale fiesta, killer burrito, nachos machos. While I admit that there's a certain gluttonous appeal to the type of food chain Mexican places serve -- American-style Mexican, I call it, featuring dishes heavy with sauce, sour cream, guacamole and ungodly calories -- so few deliver on taste. Sometimes I crave a good, old-fashioned bomb in my belly, and there's potential to this cuisine if only it could be done without tasting like wet cardboard.
I trust my friend's judgment, though, so I hike out to Mesa anyway. And joy of joy, I discover a jewel. Mangos is no chain operation, I find, partnered only with a sister cafe, El Sol, in Chandler, sharing the same menu. The cute dish appellations are in keeping with the restaurant's bouncy interior: walls in a fantastic smudge of lime, pink, yellow and blue under a faux cloud sky centered by a giant plaster sun; a panther-size lizard leering at us from behind the small ordering counter; and smaller critters creeping into ceiling-level planters. The decor, like the blackboard menu mounted on corrugated metal, is pure shtick, but here, it seems just right.
Mangos' success comes from the fact that its staples, including the hubcap-size flour tortillas, are homemade -- the fastidiously tidy kitchen is visible from the dining room, and I can see a cook performing her ballet, tossing a doughy tortilla to wobbly thinness, then dropping it onto a grill to bubble and firm. While the little shop doesn't offer anything Valley diners haven't seen many, many times before, it does serve the good, nonthreatening gringo fare that places like Macayo or Garcia's only wish they did.
Mangos has been open about a year, and after several visits, I understand why I haven't heard about it. Its owners surely wouldn't solicit attention from the media -- they've got enough from their customers -- and the customers likely want to keep the secret to themselves. Portions are enormous, and prices are reasonable, with nothing over $9 and many choices under $5. What's not to like? Indeed, the eatery is swarming every time I go, even when I arrive at odd hours during midweek to test its popularity.
The concept is fast food, but with a twist. We line up at the counter, flanked by a display case of Mexican-style desserts (basically sugared breads) and a counter laden with glass crocks full of fresh juices (mango, cantaloupe, strawberry, watermelon). We pay, are handed a number and settle down at a sherbet-colored table.
That's where the self-service ends. A busboy brings a bowl of thick, slightly salty chips that on first bite are too dense but very quickly grow on me. Mangos' homemade salsa helps -- it's a classic blend with a fabulous, back-of-the-throat chile bite. The busboy brings us water and our beverages of choice (the mango juice is a must -- thick, sweet and syrupy). He brings us our meals, then checks back to ensure we're happy.
And I am. After my first bite of the torta jamón served at this tiny place, I know I'm going to like Mangos. It's a weird attraction to an uncomplicated food, I know. Even decorated with spicy fresh jalapeños and avocado, torta jamón is basically just warm ham plopped on a hoagie roll. But there's the lingering heat of the jalapeño juices soaking into the lightly grilled, vaguely sweet Mexican bread. There's the comforting texture of the thick-sliced ham melding with the moist avocado and cakelike roll, finishing on a luminous note of grilled tomato and onion. And there's the way it arrives wrapped in wax paper bunting, just like at my favorite storefront stands in Mexico.
My tamale fiesta also hints of authenticity, including two sleek, corn husk-wrapped bundles -- one red chile pork, the other green corn -- plus rice, beans and a fountain drink. With such a name, I expect at least confetti or a party hat, yet that's it. But the homemade tamales are excellent, thick and moist masa dimpled with fiery shredded pork, green chile strips and jack cheese. The tamales are sold by the dozen, too, and I grab a bag to hoard in my freezer.
Stuffed enchiladas with my choice of shredded beef are winners, as well, unceremoniously topped by smooth sour cream, chopped iceberg lettuce and purple cabbage. This tooth-tender beef grabs the bit and charges, kicking up a flurry of burning spice in its wake. Carne asada, too, overflowing a burrito with large chunks of perfectly grilled beef, sneaks in a back-of-the-throat punch, thanks to gutsy chiles. It's tempered in the tiniest way by chunk tomato, onion and cilantro, but remember, gringo diners: This is not the whimpering, innocuous meat served at most Mexican-American joints.
