[This Hole-In-the-Wall Life] Drowning Your Yen at La Perla Tapatia

¿Ahogadas, o bien ahogadas?” the owner of LA PERLA TAPATIA asked me the other day. “Drowned, or really drowned?”

Only two foodstuffs in the world can inspire such a question: pancakes before a maple-syrup shower and the torta ahogada, a Guadalajaran specialty that's one of the messier meals you'll enjoy. Cooks prepare a hard bolillo (large French roll) by splitting it open, slathering on a layer of refried beans, then stuffing it with carnitas and onions until the two slices can't close. Then comes the deluge: salsa poured on top of the torta, inside the torta, enough so that a puddle of it gathers and transforms the torta into an edible island. The option La Perla's owner referred to was the spiciness of the salsa—either fiery or hellacious. I chose the hellacious and—despite a runny, sweaty nose—didn't regret it.

Seemingly straightforward, a torta ahogada is actually a nuanced thing, and La Perla Tapatia offers one of the best (not to mention one of the few) in the county. Although covered with salsa, the bolillo has a hard-enough crust that the salsa doesn't seep past the fluffy interior, ensuring a crunchy bite. The carnitas strike the ideal balance between fatty and lean and are shredded into manageable chunks. Onions lend a welcome bitterness; the beans, sweetness. And the salsa ties everything together with its Faustian heat.

La Perla's torta ahogada is really the only Jaliscan specialty at this well-kept restaurant; the rest of the menu is tried-and-true Mexican favorites, but rarely will you find them so well-executed. I've never had better chilaquiles than here—freshly fried chips topped with ranchero cheese (salty yet creamy), then drenched in the same salsa that engulfs the torta ahogada. The quesadillas, the chile rellenos and the pozole are all delicious, but really: If you're going to travel all the way to La Habra, go for the torta ahogada.

Now, a word about La Perla's real attraction: tejuino, an ancient Mexican drink I've only previously found in Orange County hawked by street vendors or at swap meets but never at a restaurant. It's fermented corn masa cut with piloncillo (unrefined sugar), salt and lime juice. If you want to see people scrunch their faces in disgust, give them a sip of tejuino. Its ripe, spoiled-milk-like sourness hits first, quickly followed by saltiness. But as you prepare to spit out the tejuino, in comes the sugar—and lingers for minutes afterward, eliminating the bad memory of the fermentation. Screw that Kombucha shit health nuts hawk; tejuino is nutritious, rare and a welcome addition to your arsenal of drinks to battle the coming summer.

La Perla Tapatia, 514 W. Lambert Ave., La Habra, (562) 697-2280.

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