Comfy as an old shoe

What’s a huarache? Anglos like me aren’t always familiar with the term for this south-of-the-border footwear, let alone its history. According to the Web site of a company that sells them:

“The sandals probably first started off as a leather weave with leather soles and date back hundreds of years. In recent times, especially with the rapid rise of the automobile, the sandals adopted their iconic use of synthetic rubber soles made from recycled tires. Tire-tread-soled huaraches started showing up in Mexican markets around 1936, though the actual date that recycled tires started being used is up for some speculation. The rubber from the tires and the heavy leather weave has made them popular as sandals that don’t wear out, or at least not easily. Some wearers report huaraches lasting 10 to 20 years.”

But there’s another, more appetizing huarache. That’s the one fashioned out of masa (corn meal) to resemble one of those rubber soles. It’s griddled and then topped with any one of a number of zesty toppings. Frankly, they’re not as durable as their namesakes. Instead of 10 to 20 years, they’re likely to be gone in a similar number of minutes, especially when washed down by a refreshing agua fresca.

Whenever I have the need to get my appetite re-soled, I head southeast to Highland Park. There, on York Boulevard, is a tiny Technicolor storefront restaurant called El Huarache Azteca 1. Once inside the tiny restaurant, I always go into sensory overload — lots of colored pictures and a number of lists of menu items (fillings for tacos, huarache toppings, agua flavors, etc.) that don’t always match.

The walls are deep red-orange, and a painting of an athletic Aztec warrior carrying a maiden off graces the front window. It’s similar to one on the walls of La Nueva Posada in East Pasadena, and I still don’t know the iconography of the image. But it’s certainly pleasant to contemplate it while we wait the almost infinitesimal time that it takes to get our food, no matter how busy the kitchen.

If we’re eating in, we dress our huaraches with the homemade salsas and condiments laid out near the rear of the restaurant; if we’re taking out, we’ve got to remember to pack up the onions, hot sauces and cilantro in little cups to douse our sandals once we’re home. And to select our beverages (diet Coke, or even a Dos Equis, just won’t do) from among the ever-changing flavors of agua fresca (flavored waters) they make up daily.

Choosing the toppings (or fillings if you’re ordering tacos or burritos instead of huaraches or sopes) is the hardest decision. My favorite is adobada (marinated pork); my husband’s is carne asada (grilled steak). The chicken is kind of bland, and we haven’t tried the tongue, cow’s head or tripe. I once ordered chicharron (fried pigskin), but was disappointed to find it gelatinous instead of crisp.

Whatever the meat, the huarache winds up topped with cheese and sauce and beans and a drizzle of cultured cream (like a thinned-out sour cream). Once we’ve customized it with our own additions from the bar (gringos — a warning — stay away from the nasty-looking dark-red mixture that seems to glare aggressively from the rear. It’s not kidding!), it’s time to dig in. And dig is the operative word. Both the huaraches and the sopes are thick, the masa dense and filling. They’re messy to eat but, many napkins later, intensely satisfying.

If they have sandia (watermelon) among the agua fresca offerings, order a large one, or maybe two. It’s one of the most refreshing drinks in the universe. So is melon (cantaloupe). Pepino (cucumber) is pretty nice, too, but it wasn’t in the repertory last time we visited. They did have piña (pineapple), horchata (almond) and jamaica (hibiscus). The first two are quite good, but the last was way too sweet for our taste.

Tacos are $1.50. Sopes are $2. Huaraches are $2.50. And burritos are an extravagant $3.50. The aquas are $1.25 medium/$2 large. Our last meal (a huge one) cost us a total of just over $11. That hardly covers a couple of hamburgers, fries and Cokes at McDonald’s, and it’s a hell of a lot more interesting.

If you want to splurge on something a little more formal at El Huarache Azteca 1, you can try a pork cutlet, a plate of carne asada, or a milanesa (chicken cutlet), all with beans, rice and tortillas. Each platter will set you back a whopping $6.99 as will the caldo de res (beef soup) and most of the daily specials, ranging from moles to stews to barbecued meats.

Desserts? There’s flan ($1.50), but I’ve never tried it. My indulgence is a second or third agua fresca to wash down the meal while I contemplate how little treasures of restaurants like El Huarache Azteca 1 tuck themselves into ethnic neighborhoods and maintain a low-profile popularity well under the radar of mainstream restaurant-goers. And if they ever were to choose to move their operation to fancier digs? What’s Spanish for Gucci loafers?