Day 8: Cuzcatlán Restaurante

John and I cruised down Central Ave at mid-afternoon on what surely was the hottest day of the year so far and ended up in a shopping center just past the intersection of Rosehaven Dr that boasted an incredible FIVE Latin American food establishments. We chose the one with signs reading “Pan Salvadoreño” and “Pupusería” but whose name is actually Cuzcatlán, after a pre-Colombian nation contained in present-day El Salvador. But enough history and more food. Seconds after opening the large menus, John and I realized we would be ordering breakfast because…well, how often can you not eat Salvadoran breakfast when you have the opportunity to order it at 3:30 on a Friday afternoon.

Though we got the food to go (more rule bending), Cuzcatlán was in no hurry delivering it, thereby giving us time to soak up what atmosphere the place had to offer. John and I spent most of the time discussing the presence of a thin man in fedora and green leisure pants who bore striking resemblance to The Greek from the second season of The Wire and who paid for a nearly fifty dollar tab before manning a party van in the parking lot by getting in on the passenger side and then sliding across the bench seat. Soccer played on a small television. Enrique Iglesias blasted from the jukebox. The very cordial owner made small talk with us, despite our rusty Spanish.

While it’s hard to compare breakfast food to lunch or dinner and despite the fact that breakfast is already, in my opinion, easily the best meal to eat out, Cuzcatlán’s Desayuno Santaneco might have been the most enjoyable meal I have yet consumed during the course of Goles y Frijoles. Back in my living room, I opened the Styrofoam box to reveal scrambled eggs, sausage, beans, plantains, slices of avocado, sour cream, and hearty corn tortillas. All of the ingredients know their roles and played them well, but the real key to the transcendence of the breakfast burritos I ended up constructing was the complementary nature of the plantains and tortillas. Like all great duos, the players in this one temper the other’s shortcomings and enhance its virtue. Individually, the tortillas could be mistaken for bland (to American mouths) and the plantains found overwhelmingly sweet. Together, though, it’s like Phife and Tip pouring syrup on their pancakes.

The Score: Reserve judgment for lunch or dinner. Break fast to break fast here.