By Heather Hoch
By Eric Schaefer
By New Times
By Rachel Miller
By Eric Schaefer
By Heather Hoch and Lauren Saria
By Robrt L. Pela
By Heather Hoch
But now, it's gone. A large propane tank near the kitchen went up in a violent blast one recent Tuesday evening, just at happy hour. The force leveled the restaurant and bar, set the vehicles in the parking lot on fire, and blew out all of the windows and doors in the adjacent hotel and in the shops across the street. Miraculously, no one was killed, though almost two dozen victims suffered extremely severe burns. I feel like I've lost a best friend.
In my sorrow, I'm craving Mexican comfort food. Nothing fancy, just some hole-in-the-wall Sonoran-style grub like they had at Costa Brava, the good homemade stuff served by pleasant folks like my pals did in Rocky Point. I need a place where I can sit quietly, enjoy a lovingly prepared, inexpensive meal, and raise a gentle toast to my wounded buddies across the border. It takes some doing -- and some driving -- to find these places, leading me out to Glendale for Don Marco, and to Mesa for Carbajal's.
Carne asada combo: $5.75
Fajita torta: $3.99
Carbajal's, 7340 East Main, Mesa. 480-807-0887. Hours: Lunch and dinner, Monday through Saturday, 10:30 a.m. to 9 p.m.
Green chile beef combo: $7.75
Machaca combo: $7.75
Don Marco Mexican Food is no Costa Brava (though, in my 25 years of living in the Valley, I must admit I've only found one place that even comes close -- the amazing Acapulco Bay at 68th Street and Thomas). Still, it's a choice little cafe, open just five months in a run-down strip mall in Glendale, and I find great relief in the kind, personal attention of the owners. Joe Ramirez is host and chef, cooking his traditional family recipes alongside his wife, Lupe, and son Joe Jr. The tiny clutch of less than three dozen seats brings a warm embrace; the place is a sparkling clean white and teal, and lively mariachi music thumps happily in the background while the cooks work busily in a kitchen separated from us by a plastic shower curtain. Nothing costs more than $5.99, and that's for a generous platter of satisfying chicken or steak fajitas, fluffy orange-tinged rice, creamy beans sprinkled with white cheese crumbles, lettuce and sour cream. Most of the dishes fill me up for less than four bucks (a 32-ounce bowl of posole brimming with tooth-tender pork chunks, crisp hominy, white onion, lime, cilantro and cabbage is only $3.95).
Honestly, how does this restaurant make any profit charging just $3.49 for an enormous signature "Don Marcodilla"? The fluffy thick corn tortilla round knocks the edges of its plate, bloated with melted jack cheese, onion and cilantro, folded like a quesadilla and carefully griddled. Ramirez recommends carne asada for my meat filling, but shrugs when I opt for lots of tender green chile pork instead. It'll be messy, he says, smiling, but I can have my dinner any way I want.
It can't be smart economics, either, to send out two tamales when I order just one, yet Ramirez clucks that today's batch of red chile beef bundles turned out a little small (they look full-size to me, but I'm not dumb enough to argue). I partner mine with a chimi -- not Costa Brava's delicate gems, but a hefty model that's satisfying in its own right, rolled with anything from chicken to beef tongue, cheese, rice and beans.
Don Marco's carne asada deserves a starring role on any plate, paired simply with rice and beans and flour or corn tortillas. Ramirez isn't sharing what those secret spices are in his beef, but it's a recipe I'd be willing to research. The meat is marvelous, grilled just a bit chewy, as it should be, tasting lightly of smoke, and peppery hot.
Other specialties remind me of past, happy meals in my Rocky Point beachfront town -- like the quesadilla, tangy with Mexican cheese (no gringo Cheddar here), and chunks of dark-meat chicken. The thigh meat -- uncommon in U.S. restaurants these days, though typically tastier and juicier than breast meat -- shows up again in a fajita torta. The Mexican sandwich is so big I have to eat it with a knife and fork, cutting cross-sections of dense bun-like bread, avocado, onion, grilled green pepper strips, lettuce, tomato, beans and mayonnaise. A huarache is even more interesting, the fat oval of masa resembling somewhat its namesake (a sandal) capped with mayonnaise, beans, carne, lettuce, tomato and sour cream.
When I'd called my mother to tell her about Costa Brava's demise, she'd wailed: "What about the chips?" They, too, are gone, reduced to dust; such an injustice for the addictive dish of warm corn chips doused with a thick, creamy vegetable sauce and crumbles of salty white cheese. In its one failing, Don Marco doesn't do justice to the appetizer. My baskets of bland corn chips taste bagged, and the pico de gallo is too watery and under-spiced.