SFist Gets Stuffed: Real Meals Under Ten Bucks
Where a "big hungry boy," recently unemployed, searches for filling, nutritious and delicious vittles across the Bay Area.
We live in the Mission, which is pretty much ground zero for cheap eats. If the terrorists/communists/homosexuals/bloggers/what-have-you wanted to imperil the ability for the cash-poor and culture-rich to feed and reproduce, we figure they'd place their suitcase nuke at approximately 20th and Folsom. Because if you go half a mile from there in any direction and you will be able to stuff yourself for much less than ten dollars.
Of course most Mission gringos generally opt for the burrito, but we would like to make the case for the pupusa being the best thing in the 'hood, at least if you have time to sit down. Usulutan, El Trebol, Margeritas, even the La Palma Mexicatessen are all great spots for a delicious pupusa -- and that's just on 24th street! But one chef's pupusas are so famous, they've named not one but two restaurants after her -- Panchitas and Panchitas #2. So on a recent walk from 16th and Mission to the Zeitgeist, we decided to stop in on Panchitas #2 at 16th and Valencia to get some cheese and chicharrone pupusas before we started pounding Hoegaarden's like there was no tomorrow.
For the uninitiated, like we were when we first came to town, a pupusa (poo-POO-saa, but say it fast or you sound like a coprophiliac) is a masa-flour dumpling stuffed with your choice of goodness. They're kind of like a thick tortilla with a happy surprise in the middle, and are traditional to most cuisines in Central America (in fact, the recipe is probably older than Christ, but we digress). For the real pupusa experience, drop in on a pupuseria early in the afternoon on a Sunday, when families in their sunday best drop in after church to eat and socialize. In fact, restaurants like Margeritas only serve pupusas on the weekend.
We sat down with a copy of the Chron and the Weekly. If you order pupusas and they aren't made to order you're in the wrong place, so you can expect to wait anywhere from 15-30 minutes for your order. While we were waiting, Panchita herself dropped in on the shop to say hello. It was mid-afternoon on a Saturday and we were seated at one of maybe a dozen tables, four of which were similarly occupied. The decor is bland, but you'll never hear us complaining about 'atmosphere' in this column -- it's all about getting stuffed. We'd sit down to a table in the Power Exchange's dungeon room if the food was any good, though we might bring some wet-naps.
We ordered the pupusa dinner, which is two pupusas (the minimum order) with rice and beans, which is $4.75. We got two chicharrone (fried pork) pupusas and added another cheese pupusa at $1.50. We had something of a sore throat, so we got a tea to drink with our order, which added one more dollar. The waiter brought over a basket of chips and some characteristic Salvadorian red salsa, which is not our favorite (kind of thin and mild) but still tasty.
When the pupusas came we realized that we had ordered way too much food. Panchita's pupusas have a very high filling-to-masa ratio compared to those at other establishments we frequent. Pupusas are traditionally served with a crisp and refreshing vinegar-and-oil cole slaw, and Panchita's was coarsely cut and used both red and green cabbage. The idea, as far as we've been able to discern (we could just be a confused Americano), is to spoon some slaw on a corner of pupusa, pile it all gingerly on a fork, and then pray it stays there as you lift it all into your gaping maw.
While we enjoyed the delicious chicharrone filling, the real winner was the cheese pupusa. Other options included bean, cheese and bean (revueltas), cheese and loroco (a distinctive salvadorian vegetable), and all of the above with the addition of chicharrones. One of the reasons we love pupuserias is because it's the perfect place to feed your vegetarian friends (or yourself, if you've gone over to the dark side).
We almost made it through the meal, but even hardly touching the rice and beans (not stellar) we could finish all three pupusas. The waiter was happy to let us stuff the leftovers in a to-go box, and the meal, with tax and tip, came to a perfectly round 10 dollars, leaving us that much more money for pints of heffeweizen at Zeitgeist. So many pints, in fact, that we forgot the leftovers on one of the tables in the beer garden. So bon appetit to the drunk who found that delicious treasure!