It was hot and muggy, and we were on a quest for Mexican food for dinner.
Yes, there are a lot of delicious options on the Central Coast, but we wanted something specific. We wanted something authentic but original. We wanted an atmosphere that would transport us to someplace that matched the warm, unusually humid weather outside. And we wanted this place to manifest instantly.
I’m told I get afflicted with “hanger”—that angry attitude certain people (but not me) get when they are hungry. It was Ron, my husband. He said that. I ignored his comment, called him stupid, and told him to just drive and find someplace already.
We drove aimlessly around town for a while and then I began to throw out options while trying to feign enthusiasm. After several options were turned down I was getting desperate to eat. “I really want to eat at that one place. I really, really like it there,” I said unconvincingly.
“You hate that place,” Ron said.
Then some growling, monstrous voice escaped from deep inside me and forcefully yelled, “Just go there!”
Ron just shook his head. He was right. Just anywhere wouldn’t do. Neither of us had eaten since breakfast, we were feeling weak and hungry, but at the same time it just felt like a day when ordinary wasn’t going to cut it.
We wanted something specific enough that we drove 20 minutes to a place we had been to once or twice before but which had no discernable hours, no Facebook presence, no website, and no searchable phone number. We had arrived at this place twice before only to find it was closed. Because of that we assumed it was closed on certain days. Turns out this place is open when it is open, closed when it is closed. That’s it. No real explanation.
As we approached the entry, curtains closed, no hours posted on the window, we found the door locked. We were hungry, hot and sweaty and prepared for a Dos Equis or a Negra Modelo with a little salt and lime and maybe some fish tacos.
Instead, the only food we found was in the arms of a man walking down the street with ice cream on a tray. He offered us some with a smile. We managed to politely grumble a “No, thank you,” possibly becoming the only people that have ever grouchily turned away ice cream.
Sad and feeling defeated, we turned toward home.
As we approached Santa Maria, we decided to drop in to a little Mexican restaurant on Blosser and Main streets called Lo Mejor de Jalisco. It turns out this is the perfect place to go for a hungry family.
We were seated quickly and the wide number of available meals on the menu was a bit overwhelming, but welcome, to our hungry minds. They also have a huge seafood selection, which I love. We settled on chicken tamales and chile colorado. My 7-year-old, who’s normally an adventurous eater, chose a bacon cheeseburger but added a horchata—a sweet rice milk—after seeing another patron order it.
We must’ve just missed the rush because at 6 p.m. the quaint place came alive shortly after we ordered, filling to capacity. Still we were met with friendly and attentive service.
Owner Lupe Arias said she’s been in business for 30 years. She sat at a counter and talked casually with customers. I told her she must be doing something right.
My husband, Ron, who has an especially discriminating palate—particularly when it comes to Mexican food, which he loves—said it’s the way they prepare the meals. The chile Colorado had the right blend of spice, he said identifying cumin and a tiny bit of sweetness.
My son gave the horchata an enthusiastic thumbs up.
Arias said that she believes her success lies in the big portions. True to her word, the portions were extra-large. I absolutely love food, but most of the time my eyes love it more than my stomach. But I have three hungry sons and an equally hungry husband, so size matters.
Their specialty? Something they call “four ways.” It’s a selection of meals that are served in portions large enough for four people to share.
But there is also another reason she said she’s been successful. “I know a lot of people. I like my customers,” she said.
The small restaurant has colorful tilework of fishing scenes and swordfish on the walls. It was quaint but not stuffy. Looking around me at a packed house, I didn’t have to taste the food to know this place had that magic—although the food said that, too. So we sank back into our booth and relaxed a bit, letting the warmth of the food lift our spirits. We’re thankful there are still plenty of dining experiences to explore.
Shelly Cone doesn’t get “hangry”—it’s just low blood sugar. Reach her through the iterim editor at clanham@santamariasun.com.
This article appears in Jul 16-23, 2015.