Local Guides World
Jay Keyes
4 reviews on 1 places
More people would eat tripa if tripa was (aptly) described as "fried sausage casings," or if it was better known how magnificent the tripa is at Santa Cecilia Mexican Restaurant.
Santa Cecilia's glorious "Taco Grande de Tripa" consists of cow intestines shredded into lean ribbons that, depending on how long they are griddled, can provide varying textures ranging from fibrous to crunchy. As with bacon, the best tripa is mostly crispy on the outside with just the faintest amount of chew inside. When you order tripa at Santa Cecilia, you're always asked how you want it prepared. While the resplendent results of ordering "extra crispy" is perhaps what I'd recommend to tripa novices, you could order "regular" and be rewarded at Santa Cecilia with an arguably more interesting taco. You really ought to try it both ways -- a reasonable excuse to order more tacos here, not that you need one.
Regardless of how long the tripas are cooked, the flavor is straightforward: beefy, a bit salty, and a little earthy. This pairs well with the handmade corn tortilla and the house's green salsa habanera, a zippy and tart sauce that tastes like it was purpose-built for this specific taco.
Santa Cecilia's glorious "Taco Grande de Tripa" consists of cow intestines shredded into lean ribbons that, depending on how long they are griddled, can provide varying textures ranging from fibrous to crunchy. As with bacon, the best tripa is mostly crispy on the outside with just the faintest amount of chew inside. When you order tripa at Santa Cecilia, you're always asked how you want it prepared. While the resplendent results of ordering "extra crispy" is perhaps what I'd recommend to tripa novices, you could order "regular" and be rewarded at Santa Cecilia with an arguably more interesting taco. You really ought to try it both ways -- a reasonable excuse to order more tacos here, not that you need one.
Regardless of how long the tripas are cooked, the flavor is straightforward: beefy, a bit salty, and a little earthy. This pairs well with the handmade corn tortilla and the house's green salsa habanera, a zippy and tart sauce that tastes like it was purpose-built for this specific taco.
Mi Tierra is a Jalisco-style Mexican food restaurant on a stretch of Highland Avenue in National City that is one of the region's most popular clusters of Mexican restaurants, including Tacos El G, Salud, Karina's Mexican Seafood, Gorditas Don Andres, and even Roberto's Numero Uno (their flagship restaurant). I initially found myself at Mi Tierra out of curiosity, having passed by it so many times to get to these other places.
The "Crunchy Beef Taco" I got was not great. To me, it resembled a "grown-up" version of a Jack in the Box taco. It had similar textures with shredded cheese and lettuce, and obviously beef with a similar chili powder flavor. I did not care for the harsh liver-y flavor of the beef, which I suspect to be a sourcing issue rather than a prep issue. That said, it can be masked with enough salsa roja, so it wasn't a deal-breaker to me completing the taco.
Mi Tierra's "Gorditas" are what to order here. I had one stuffed with "Chicharrón en Salsa Verde," and another filled with "Carne Asada." The chicharrón version was the better option by a mile, but that's not saying much due to the carne asada being bland and playing a background role due to being smothered out by a bunch of lettuce and queso fresco. Ask for them to not pile that stuff into your gordita and thank me later. The house-made masa gordita shells are not as thick and refined as what is used with the gorditas sold next door at Don Andres, but they are nonetheless tasty. After eating at both places a few times, I prefer the restaurant next door, as they've never let me down, whereas my satisfaction with Mi Tierra's food seem to be heavily dependent on what I order.
The "Crunchy Beef Taco" I got was not great. To me, it resembled a "grown-up" version of a Jack in the Box taco. It had similar textures with shredded cheese and lettuce, and obviously beef with a similar chili powder flavor. I did not care for the harsh liver-y flavor of the beef, which I suspect to be a sourcing issue rather than a prep issue. That said, it can be masked with enough salsa roja, so it wasn't a deal-breaker to me completing the taco.
Mi Tierra's "Gorditas" are what to order here. I had one stuffed with "Chicharrón en Salsa Verde," and another filled with "Carne Asada." The chicharrón version was the better option by a mile, but that's not saying much due to the carne asada being bland and playing a background role due to being smothered out by a bunch of lettuce and queso fresco. Ask for them to not pile that stuff into your gordita and thank me later. The house-made masa gordita shells are not as thick and refined as what is used with the gorditas sold next door at Don Andres, but they are nonetheless tasty. After eating at both places a few times, I prefer the restaurant next door, as they've never let me down, whereas my satisfaction with Mi Tierra's food seem to be heavily dependent on what I order.
El Dorado is one of my favorites out of the many excellent under-the-radar Chula Vista Mexican restaurants that need to be getting more love than they do.
They serve a fantastic "Shrimp Taco" owing mainly to their sizable shrimp, sweet and clean, battered and deep-fried until crispy. Slaw and white sauce on top are on-point and applied in reasonable ratios, and the red sauce from the salsa bar is pure fire and must be added. The "Fish Taco" is the same thing, but with fish instead of shrimp. It's a decent fish taco, but it doesn't work as well as the shrimp does.
What you must really get here, however, are the "Camarónes a la Diabla," a dish consisting of taut prawns in a spicy, rich, and garlicky sauce of roasted tomatoes and chipotle peppers. In San Diego, I have never eaten a superior version of this coastal classic than what is served at El Dorado with rice, refried beans, and fresh avocado to take off some of the fiery bite.
I want you to love this place, so I must manage expectations appropriately: El Dorado is a low-key and quiet "mom 'n pop" restaurant in a small strip mall, probably more ideal for lunch than dinner.
They serve a fantastic "Shrimp Taco" owing mainly to their sizable shrimp, sweet and clean, battered and deep-fried until crispy. Slaw and white sauce on top are on-point and applied in reasonable ratios, and the red sauce from the salsa bar is pure fire and must be added. The "Fish Taco" is the same thing, but with fish instead of shrimp. It's a decent fish taco, but it doesn't work as well as the shrimp does.
What you must really get here, however, are the "Camarónes a la Diabla," a dish consisting of taut prawns in a spicy, rich, and garlicky sauce of roasted tomatoes and chipotle peppers. In San Diego, I have never eaten a superior version of this coastal classic than what is served at El Dorado with rice, refried beans, and fresh avocado to take off some of the fiery bite.
I want you to love this place, so I must manage expectations appropriately: El Dorado is a low-key and quiet "mom 'n pop" restaurant in a small strip mall, probably more ideal for lunch than dinner.
The name of this restaurant refers to Nochistlán de Mejia in the Mexican state of Zacatecas, the town where chef-owner Javier Moreno learned how to make "Birria de Chivo" (aka goat birria) from his grandfather. This is a restaurant with no menus, as they only serve their birria, and there are only two options: you can have it wet in a bowl or dry in a taco.
The house's spirited, mood-altering birria is rustic and gamey, yet not at all unpleasant. It is tender young goat braised until it reaches its purest, softest, meltiest form, and it stands up to condiments and a house-made tortilla in a way that other birrias can kind of fade into the background. Here, the garnishments harmonize with the birria rather than sing over it -- and even once you spray your taco with a few squeezes of lime, add some onions and cilantro, and spoon on some of the lava-like salsa, you still are left with that delicate goat flavor that you'll begin to look for in each bite. Birrieria Nochistlán's salsa, by the way, is one of the best I've had at any restaurant anywhere, and is purportedly made with Yahualica chiles de árbol, a potent árbol imported from the region around Zacatecas.
On an early Sunday morning, service from my waitress was attentive and efficient and my tacos, which were filling, were just $2 each, taxes included.
The house's spirited, mood-altering birria is rustic and gamey, yet not at all unpleasant. It is tender young goat braised until it reaches its purest, softest, meltiest form, and it stands up to condiments and a house-made tortilla in a way that other birrias can kind of fade into the background. Here, the garnishments harmonize with the birria rather than sing over it -- and even once you spray your taco with a few squeezes of lime, add some onions and cilantro, and spoon on some of the lava-like salsa, you still are left with that delicate goat flavor that you'll begin to look for in each bite. Birrieria Nochistlán's salsa, by the way, is one of the best I've had at any restaurant anywhere, and is purportedly made with Yahualica chiles de árbol, a potent árbol imported from the region around Zacatecas.
On an early Sunday morning, service from my waitress was attentive and efficient and my tacos, which were filling, were just $2 each, taxes included.