Omar S.
Yelp
Carnitas Las Michoacanas is an animated mix of distractions: the constant movement of indefatigable meseros; the bouncy serenade of banda and norteña music covering the place's waves of chatter - some English, mostly Spanish; and always, the taquero, chop-chopping carnitas at his station by the door, an area often jammed by people picking up their family's evening meal.
And yet, despite the frenzy, Las Michoacanas is a good place to relax.
In its dining room, office workers chat over fragrant plates, while lingering couples and older solo diners savor slow bites at a time, happy for the warmth and good smells of the place. One afternoon, I watched parents arrange a sort of buffet so their three young children could help themselves; while Mom and Dad picked at their meals, the kids snacked, and turned the underside of their table into a fort.
I like Las Michoacanas. When I go, I feel less a customer than a friend visiting friends.
**********
In a marketing ploy that any drug dealer would recognize - useful because it works - Las Michoacanas gives a taco's-worth of delicious carnitas free to each waiting customer. These patrons, once hooked, return repeatedly to buy the meat by the taco, plate or pound.
The restaurant also offers superb barbacoa and chilaquiles; and they serve menudo and pozole, each of which is delectable, and rustic to the point of scariness.
But the thing I enjoy eating most at Las Michoacanas, at least for now, is their abuelita-grade birria de chivo.
Birria isn't sophisticated fare, and though the dish can be refined, it can't be perfected, by which I mean to say that there's no "right" way to make it. It's simply braised beef or goat and the sauce produced by that braising, a savory infusion flavored by herbs, spice and meat, and it's in the combination of those things that each cook establishes that their version is... well... theirs.
In the case of Las Michoacanas' birria, that means goat bathed in a succulent, earthy sauce that's underpinned by smoky guajillo chiles, garlic, a bit of clove and God-only-knows what else.
I'd guess that each serving is 10% bones and 5% fat, but never mind; those are costs you pay to lose yourself in homey satisfaction. And besides, their birria's bones and chunks of meat push the broth to near the large bowl's rim; they are, to the delight of the hungry diner's eye, the culinary equivalent of a Wonderbra.
**********
As has been noted by my friend Jay K. - San Diego's resident "Tortilla Crusader" - the tortillas at Las Michoacanas are not awful, but they're not first-rate.
They seem machine-made from middling masa preparada, no doubt in their thousands, and they're brittle, bland and tough. But when such breads accompany soups and stews, I'm not sure that any of that matters.
I love the toasted corn taste of tender home-made tortillas served straight from the comal, but the best qualities of freshly-nixtamalized, hand-pressed and cooked-to-order tortillas are likely to be lost amid birria's wetness and pronounced flavors.
At Las Michoacanas, these suggestions will help:
1. Ask your server that your tortillas be dipped in the birria grease and then placed on the grill for a few moments.
2. To avoid steaming your tortillas in the warmer they're served in, ask that its lid be left off, and, when they arrive, lay a napkin over them to keep them warm.
3. If you get what you ask for, tip generously.
**********
Finally, a word about the most underrated side dish served at Las Michoacanas and perhaps in all of San Diego County: chile de árbol dorados.
These moderately hot little rat-tail peppers are deep-fried, then drained and salted. You can request them with your meal or grab a bunch at the counter, and so you should. Tortilla chips be damned; these are the crunchy bites you're looking for. ¡Qué sabroso!
I first had something similar, years ago, at a lonchería in Ciudad Oaxaca's Mercado Benito Juárez. As I sat waiting for my tamal de mole con pollo, two Indian women approached me from behind, carrying round woven trays piled with a mix of fried chiles and chapulines - grasshoppers - that they'd portion into small paper bags and sell for a few pesos each.
One of the ladies tugged at my shirt sleeve and held out a sample. Being curious, and wanting to return her generosity (and honor her salesmanship), I took what she offered, popped it into my mouth, and was struck by two things: the predominate taste was light, funky smoke; and the crisp, spicy chew of the things was fun! I bought a bagful, ate them with my lunch, and fell in love with Mexico, again.
Carnitas Las Michoacanas doesn't sell chapulines - at least, they're not on the menu - and that's a shame. A place so warm and welcoming, where such good food is served in so cozy an environment, ought to round out the experience with those entertaining bites.
But they do provide the chiles, and that's a start.
