Here, a full-platter order of Al’s Chimichanga—of crispy-wrapped bell pepper hinted mix of chicken, shrimp and/or beef with kernel corn, highlighted by onion slices, cheese and sour cream—is more than enough to transport a sampler back to the Pinoy’s late wild 80s Mexican gastro-boom. Tinkled with slight French afternotes that will go well with a strong shot of Cuervo Gold tequila and/or a modest salted-rim-of-glass doze of Margarita (as a home-groomed specialty of the bar,) this Chimichanga—in honest generous serving—is a fairly recommended dish either for a fine night’s alcoholic inebriation, or for a working-class’ meriendar afternoon.
Operational under Chef Alberto Al Torres—a San Juan boy with culinary training from ISCAHM, and
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Chef Al Torres | |
famous for his authentic Mexican kiosk in San Juan—La Salsa prides the simplistic and accessible side of Mexican cuisine. In this restaurant, a Mexican-enlivened order of T-bone steak on a sizzling plate—served with side relishes of vegetables and starching—in a traditional barbacoa marinade, topped with fresh onion rings, permeates as a fine entrée that will, indeed, slay a Chilean Shiraz’s aluminum film tones in the mouth, and a Sanmig Light’s bitter-sweet aftertastes.
Though, this restaurant doesn’t
serve fares that stretch a gustatory pedagogy on authentic Mexican cuisine—with the showcase of humble side-staples as cacao sauce with overwhelming chili-cracks, ground liver and sautéed pig’s blood, up to the Tijuana regular as burritos with beef-bituka stew in chili-pepper base and steamed black hobo and red beans, grilled tenderloin salads as counter liver-pates served with traditional salsa-cruda hinted with cilantro, and Chilangan Bunuelos served esta delante with unnamed beers worth 8 (ocho) Pesos if not chilled—La Salsa skulks up as a romantic bar with very promising Mexican food. That, by way of gauge, is based on the chef’s sharp wit on Mex-cookery, and the self-preference of using—by self-preparation—his own Taco shells, with flour base concoction, and light ground corn.
Chef Torres’ mélange of hard-shell taco—in Ground Beef, Barbecue Chicken, and Grilled Vegetable flavors, priced not more than P50, daintily slanted onto a Tex-Mex serving with red hot red sauce, cheese-grates, and minced crispy lettuce—is a fairly good snack for a hot afternoon’s homeroom post-work, and kicks well as a revitalizer when sampled with a tall glass of Piñacolada, or iced Coca-Cola.
Of course, dishes as Gambas (P178 of sautéed shrimps in pepper sauce on a sizzling plate,) Gambe-Guacamole Salad (P148 of shrimp and avocado highlights, tempered by a dash of cilantro and by gastronomic chic veers to a Pacific Rim Style than Mexican,) and Quesadillas (P118 of flour Tortilla sandwich in garlic and cream sauté-base in "Beef and Cheese," "Grilled Steak and Cheese," "Barbecue Chicken, Bell Pepper, and Cheese" and "Grilled Shrimps" flavors) are always available as light fillers, yet, more than enough to remind one that Manila once shared a Mexican culinary commotion during the post-Marcos days when Pinoys were still savoring what democracy was all about.
However, Chef Torres’ serving of the Taco Platter—P138 of ground meats of beef, polo barbacoa, and shrimp, topped with Mexican salsa, grated cheese, lettuce, and chopped cilantro—is, conceivably, the best taco dish in Manila (as this writer’s personal preference and recommendation,) and if tasted with any Torres Wine, might just reincarnate the wild memories of Araneta Avenue with caprices of Cory Aquino’s New Wave generation, and Madonna’s girly pom-poms.
Indeed, La Salsa—though, is a clear debasement of the original Mexican food in a razzmatazz of mescal (liquor with worm inside the bottle,) and illegal aliens, anisette or anisado victuals with cilantro flavors that kick good with Daimos, and Tia Maria resto fad, Burritos and/or Nachos that work well with Mole Sauce and Chef Buddy Trinidad’s Punk Band, Chef Gene Gonzalez’s "ethereally-expressionist Nouvelle Dishes" back when he was still a husband, or when gastronomique critiques were still in the Dead Kennedies soiree-afternoon truancy days, the 80s when Pinoys knew how to party with freedom and love with Tex-Mex as grub—is, no more than a humble restaurant, cheered by a popular rebellious past, offering simple Mexican food with the sweetest retrograde memories of a generation’s liberated culinary revelries.
