Extrañamos Your Flavors!

Ghosted and starving, with sauce still in the mouth

Having a favorite food spot is special. It’s the default when every other option just doesn’t sound like it’s going to hit. There was one that was always there for my wife and me, like a friend in hard times, a weighted blanket on a cold night, and a lover’s warm embrace. When a place like this closes, it feels like a bitter breakup. I was ghosted by a restaurant, and it feels awful. Never again will I feast upon the best Mexican flavors I’ve ever tasted. Never again will picking a place to eat have a default answer. Never again will I lay my eyes upon their bright red brick building waiting for us deliciously.

If anyone reading this knows what happened to El Chef in Orange City, California, please reach out to me. I have made it my life’s quest to find the couple who ran the best Mexican food in the country, and dare I say the world. My wife and I have tried damn near every taco place in Southern California, and nothing has compared to El Chef. I rarely say I yearn for something, but my mouth and belly yearn for them.

One table was ours

This wasn’t just a place to eat. It was one of the first places my wife and I chose as our regular spots while we were still dating. For some reason, we never had it delivered. We would always drive together, either eating there in the tiny dining room with what seemed like eight tables, or going through the drive-thru. It was an exciting errand that became a weekend ceremony during COVID. I think we, at one point, had tried everything on the menu, and it was all bangers. We still reminisce about the spicy shrimp tacos.

The one thing we could never figure out was why they were never busy. There was never anyone sitting inside or a line in the drive-thru. What is it about the best places never being busy? We tried the busier places in the county —I’m talking about places with lines out the door— and they were never as good. Some were downright bland, with rave reviews calling them the best Mexican food around. 

Lies. Every day, more lies perpetrated by those who don’t care to know better. I’ve been burned by good reviews more than I’ve felt bad reviews were justified.

We became friendly with the couple we presumed ran the place, we ate there so often. It was always just those two and never anyone else. Not even an extra hand helping in the kitchen.

No comparison, just bang on

It’s not often I get to say I never had a mediocre meal from a place, let alone a single bite that didn’t live up to the hype. El Chef gave me that. A place to share with my wife that became a comfort meal no matter the occasion. They have become the metric by which we compare all other Mexican food to this day. We have other spots we can rely on, but it’ll never be the same. Never. 

Sometimes I wonder if we were lost in the sauce because they were one of the first places we called ours. Like it was the song we chose to define our relationship (“September” by Earth, Wind & Fire, by the way).

El Chef will forever hold a special place in our lives. I hope they weren’t forced to close, but chose to retire — living the good life built on the vertical spit they sliced marinated tacos al pastor from. 

Extrañamos. We miss you.