Every time I go to the Aldi on Arthur Ashe at Broad St., En Su Boca tries to seduce me with its tequila and tacos perfume. It doesn’t work all the time, but I feel the pull when I’m browsing the nonsense in Aldi’s middle aisle. I once bought sweatpants there. I’m not ashamed.
There was a time when the words “en su boca” meant something completely different at this address, but we’ll let you figure out why on your own time. None of that has anything to do with why I’m here writing this, so get your mind out of the gutter and into this patio booth with me.
The scene. It is a beautiful late May afternoon. The sun and breeze tickle the decorative palm fronds as they wave between terracotta colored benches on the generous patio. More than half of the restaurant lives outside the building, and today’s weather was made specifically for its’ enjoyment. The playlist on the speakers is fire, a mix of 60s to 80’s classics that recall jorts and fishing, maybe a boat and a brew. The high walls surrounding us assisted Lynyrd Skynyrd in quieting the constant traffic exiting the Diamond District and Scott’s Addition. My photographer (who I married), my favorite drinking buddy and devourer of tacos, rode shotgun on this adventure. We were bobbing along to a Stones song when Alex Holt brought us out the first dish.
Nachos. Let me tell you something about nachos.
Ahem.
*starts Powerpoint presentation*
I was asked what my favorite cuisine is by Randy O’Dell, En Su Boca’s owner, recently. After thinking about it and realizing I was gonna be culturally shamed for answering thusly, I said, “street food.” From any culture. Really well done munchies-fodder. Pho, pizza, banh mi, ramen, tacos, etc. Sure, I can wax poetic about some fancy quail perched on a “cushion” of some foam or whatever, but if you want to make me really happy, give me a couple pupusas or a grip of onigiri.
King among all of these for me is a perfect plate of nachos.
You can do nachos with very little effort without controversy. But put a little magic on it, and you summon the Guy Fieri’s in every one of us. En Su Boca’s nachos went to wizarding school. First of all, check out the photo of this dish. Gorgeous.
Critically though, the house made tortillas were substantial without the chewiness thicker chips often suffer from. Perfectly crispy through and through. This also makes them resistant to the inevitable wilt due to multiple sauces and creams. Enjoying a plate of nachos is often a race against the clock, and dainty chips aren’t built for the journey. You just know there’ll be soggy casualties at the bottom of the plate, or worse, virgin chips dry as they day they were born – never once enjoying the embrace of a stray bean or drip of queso. So sad.
Nachos can also often taste monolithic. A gormulent mass of “Mexican flavor.” Something Doritos can distill into a science powder. These had respect for your boca. The lime crema confetti’d with fresh cilantro enhanced the bountiful pico de gallo, while the pickled onions gave dimension to the heavily sauced chicken’s tangy heat. Black beans gave the rivers of queso texture, and rounded out the vinegar and citrus. The only thing I like better than cheese is melted cheese, and this plate made me a happy dude. Every layer of the beautifully presented dish had something to say. That is rare for a menu item often included as an afterthought for half-drunk and incurious diners.
The nachos were paired with a couple of fresh Ranch Waters, Mineragua bottled seltzers with Cazadores silver tequila, lime, and orange bitters. More tart than sweet and concealing the liquor well, these sneaky drinks were refreshing as whaaat, while greasing our slippery slope towards inebriation. We had to remind the bar that we are only human (and kinda old), and should probably share one serving of the clutch of cocktails we are scheduled to put down. We ended up smuggling the remainder home in a styrofoam cup.
Next, we were treated to the birria torta. Served with a side of birria dipping sauce, as is appropriate, this dense grilled barbacoa sandwich boasted a guac layer topped with En Su Boca’s signature chipotle crema to max effect. Some sandwiches require a commitment of resolved purpose to finish them, and this is one of them. Like the tacos the recipe gets its inspiration from, the torta was very filling, droolingly juicy, calling for a stack of napkins. This is the moment in the meal when I wished I had a portable stomach to assist the rapidly filling one in my gut. There was no chance of that, so into the to-go box it went.
The bar kept surprising us as we went along. The second cocktail, the Cantarito, was our favorite of the afternoon. The expectation at most Mexican lunches I’ve attended is a drink menu filled with sugary takes on margaritas. The kind of drinks that presage a wicked headache. This was not that. This was an adult beverage. Smoky, refined, balanced. It was built with an artists’ palette (or palate) consisting of Ilegal Joven tequila, orange juice, grapefruit juice, and grapefruit soda. Topped with a candied orange slice and a sprig of mint to boot. It was served in a sexy clay mug and would roll its “R”’s at you like a wealthy caballero in Condesa if it had a mouth. It definitely had an accent.
Finally, for the lunch courses, we were served a flight of tacos. Four in total. A note on tacos in general. Yes, I love genuine article, real-deal, street tacos. Simple and small, white onion, lime, and cilantro on top of whatever protein you ordered. Love ‘em. I also love American tacos. It’s just a different thing. The sooner you realize that, the more fun you’ll have eating out and the less of a drag you’ll be in food conversations. En Su Boca serves American tacos that rhyme with their Mexican counterparts more than most. There are the typical soft corn tortillas, but with proud US of A portions creatively layered with condiments. This is not a food truck in Silver Lake or an under-marketed gem on Midlothian. This is Taco Tuesday tacos with the homies. “I just got off work and am starving” tacos.
There was the barbacoa taco (our hands-down favorite) that was filled to the weight limit of the straining tortilla. It was dressed with the same pickled onions that made the nachos sing, an encore of the chipotle crema, and a healthy sprinkling of cotija cheese. The textures were satisfying, and the brisket melted in our mouths obediently.
Next, we mowed down on the Hungo taco. This was clearly aimed at the vegetarian crowd, and I’m sure they appreciate that. I wasn’t sure exactly how the flavor profile was supposed to come together for this one. I think I missed the plot a little. I love mushrooms a lot. Unfortunately, this wasn’t the high mark for me. To describe: The base was tajin-marinated portabella mushrooms. It was topped with guacamole, black bean corn salsa, aji amarillo (Peruvian yellow chile), and cotija for good measure. Maybe I just wanted another bite of the barbacoa.
The Al Pastor taco, generally my favorite of the taco family, could have used a little more time on the grill. That’s a prep issue, not a recipe issue. Other than wishing for a bit more crispy edges on my pork, the meat was flavorful and aptly sweetened by the pineapple chunks. The effect was strengthened by the pineapple chimichurri it rested on and met its complement in the diced onions that completed the presentation. I want another one, but with more char.
Baja fish tacos. I feel very strongly about fish tacos. There’s a fish taco spot on Mission Beach in San Diego that ruined them for me. They’re too good, and now everything else is just ‘not that.’ There is also one spot in Brooklyn my wife and I go to every time we are in town – just for the fish tacos. They know us there. They usually don’t have to bother taking our order.
I say this as preamble because there is no fair way to compare a traditional battered cod or tilapia taco with the Southern departure from the norm that this was. They start with a marinated and grilled blue catfish filet, and dress it with cabbage, pico de gallo, and chipotle crema. I dug it. It was damn good. But I had to file it one shelf over from where I keep my appreciation for what I know of the traditional versions. And that, my friends, is not a bad thing. There’s a new entry in my fish taco book and I ain’t mad about it.
This was when we were served the obligatory margarita. Keeping in the theme of not overwhelming the menu with cloyingy sweet options, this tagine-rimmed fine lady of a drink was comprised of Cazadores Silver, agave, lime, and orange juice. It was neat, well-bred, and probably doesn’t fuck on the first date.
“Prim” is the word I’m looking for.
I actually was impressed with the care Anna Estes put into these cocktails, because she didn’t have to. These would be welcome at any of Richmond’s premier cocktail bars. She gets a wink and a Mentos thumbs up from me.
Just when we thought we were done, we got ambushed by the piece de resistance, the churros. Oh, the churros. You know when you’re sharing a dessert with your partner and you’re carefully watching that they don’t eat more than their half? Like, there’s about to be a fight if she doesn’t break that third churro in exactly the middle so we both get exactly 2.5 churros? This was that, and these were perfect. Just deep-fried, chocolate-filled, confectioners’ sugar-dusted blessings from Mount Fatboy. There was also a side of warm caramel that the churros like to swim in. They got their diving certificates that day. I will be back for these. This is a great idea for late night dessert with a date. Impressive, irresistible, and vaguely phallic.
To add compliment to backrub, we were given another cocktail. Appropriate for the dessert course, Anna brought out a delicious Mexican Mudslide. Patron reposado, Kahlua, Bacardi Ocho Rum, coconut cream and housemade horchata. I let my wife finish the Cantarito while I indulged happily in draining this one down to the ice.
Once again, I shuffled away in gluttonous shame and thought about what I was having for dinner.
Main photo by R. Anthony Harris
Support RVA Magazine. Support Independent Media in Richmond.
At a time when media ownership is increasingly concentrated among corporations and the wealthy, RVA Magazine has remained one of Richmond’s few independent voices. Since 2005, the magazine has provided grassroots coverage of the city’s artists, musicians, and communities, documenting the culture that defines Richmond beyond the headlines.
But we can’t do this without you. A small donation, even as little as $2, one-time or recurring, helps us continue to produce honest, local coverage free from outside interference. Every dollar makes a difference. Your support keeps us going and keeps RVA’s creative spirit alive. Thank you for standing with independent media. DONATE HERE.
We’ve got merch HERE
Subscribe to the Substack HERE
And Reddit HERE
And YouTube HERE
