Each week, the Cheap Bastard goes looking for a new place to eat a meal for less than nine million dollars. This week, she's at home with the other renegades at El Rincon de Villa, 6867 Greenville Ave., 214-891-9954.
Number of people eating lunch when I was there: 10 Parking danger level: 10 (out of 10)
I was driving down Greenville Avenue feeling bad for the frozen fake cha-chas of the women who work at the Seven Express. (I don't care how far you bend over in my face with the six-pack of Lone Star I ordered, ma'am, it's much too cold out here to just cover your Mary-Kate and Ashleys in a bikini top. Is there no abuse hotline for fake tits? Just because you can afford circus boobs doesn't mean you shouldn't treat them nice. Respect your poseur hoots, ladies and gents. It's the right thing to do.) Then I was reminded how badass El Rincon de Villa looks. It's bright yellow, and it has gun-toting, bullet-having, sombrero-rocking dudes painted on the side. I crossed my fingers that these badasses are inside, managing the front of house.
The dude who recommended this place told me the chilaquiles were "the shit." The menu told me they were "small pieces of fried corn tortilla with your choice of red or green sauce with beans and eggs -- $7.00." I ordered them because saying "chilaquiles" is fun. I also immediately discovered that saying "horchata" is much better than saying "Diet Coke."
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SHOW ME HOW
The horchata was in front of me in a split second. Cinnamon-y. Nutmegg-y? Milky. It was like eggnog on the rocks, without booze. Read: really confusing. My mouth was like, "What in the many fucks did you just put in me? It's like all the things you add to tea without the tea." I think I liked it?
The chilaquiles were delicious. Chip-sized pieces of fried corn tortilla and egg covered with verde sauce, cheese and onions. The dish comes with a side of grilled chicken and refried beans. Because the tortillas are fried fresh, they're puffier than a regular chip and they're so much more tasty. Turns out, chilaquiles are basically the best nachos you've ever tasted. The difference between nachos and chilaquiles is like the difference between getting to bone The Mario Brothers or He-Man and She-Ra. Chilaquiles are Masters-of-the-Universe good.
Get your face into El Rincon de Villa (which, I'm pretty sure is Spanish for "Across from that drive-through beer place with boob hostesses called Seven Express and what used to be The Million Dollar Saloon but is now just the somehow-even-sadder-than-it-was-when-it-was-open abandoned Million Dollar Saloon"). Order the damned chilaquiles.