Comfort me with chicharron

>> La Carreta serves up Salvadorian soul
food made with heart

by Genevieve Paiement

Salvadorian food, with its emphasis on pork, thick corn tortillas, fried yuca, refried beans and other fried things, is heavy-hitting stuff. And if you have any kind of tendencies towards gluttony, the country’s home cooking, in expert hands, will have you giving in to temptation until you find yourself bleary-eyed and loosening your belt, wondering what possessed you to eat like it was your last meal.

At least, that’s how I felt one recent summer evening after a dinner at la Carreta. With the storefront windows open wide and the balmy night air drifting in, we ordered a half-pitcher of horchata ($3.75), that wonderful Mexican and Central American rice or barley beverage. La Carreta’s horchata is ambrosial—ice-cold, milky-sweet and packed with cinnamon, it’s the perfect thirst-quencher on a hot and humid night.

We ordered the guacamole ($6.50) and the seafood cocktail ($5.95) to start. The guacamole, served with a sliced egg, a wedge of lemon, homemade tortilla chips and a generous dollop of sour cream, is not your average mushy green purée. The big, fat chunks of perfectly ripe avocado come sans the strong come-on of onion, garlic or other competing flavours. Yum. And the chips? Bar none, some of the best in the city. These are brawny, crispy, flavourful, satisfying things that verge on divine. Holy moly.

The seafood cocktail, while refreshing in its coldness and delightfully tart with a distinct smokiness, was not quite as stellar. The shrimps were firm and fresh, but the calamari was meager and the muscles were of the small, tinned variety, and I’m not a big fan of these little suckers (who doesn’t prefer them fresh?).

For the main event, I chose the enchilada combo ($9.75), while my date chose the “super steak” ($16.95), purely on the strength of its name (there are over a half-dozen steaks on offer). My dish consisted of a bean enchilada, fried yuca and a pupusa (I opted for the chicharron variety, which often refers to pork rind, but in this case was a shredded pork mixture).

Now, for those unfamiliar with Salvadorian fare, be forewarned: terms shared with Mexican cuisine often do not share the same meaning. For instance, a Salvadorian enchilada is more like what Mexicans call a tostada (crispy fried tortilla with toppings), and mine was simple (just refried beans on a large, fried, corn tortilla), but damn good. The tortilla was in the same family as the aforementioned chips. Enough said.

The accompanying chunks of yuca were fried to the gills and satisfying in their starchy, fatty crunchiness. As for the pupusa, it was an excellent example of its species, with a substantial corn tortilla pocket and tasty pork filling, it matched nicely with the traditional curtido (coleslaw-ish stuff) and tomato sauce.

As for the super steak, it came pan-fried and my date gave a thumbs-up to this as well as to what came with it: a chicken burrito (with deep-fried corn tortilla), refried beans, a simple salad of chopped onion and tomato, and a slice of queso.

Though it wasn’t logical, I enquired about desserts. Our friendly waitress told me dessert was strawberry cheesecake. Was it a Salvadorian version? No, just regular old cheesecake. I must have looked disappointed because, after a pause, she revealed another choice: there was also the typical Salvadorian quesadilla cake ($2.75). Sold.

Not to be confused with the savoury Mexican quesadilla, which involves a tortilla, variable stuffings and loads of melted cheese, this Salvadorian treat is a plain, bready cheese cake topped with a smattering of sesame seeds. A wallflower of a dessert, it borders on bland, but is strangely beguiling in its fluffy, subtle sweetness when served warm. I was shocked to find myself leaving just a few bites behind.

Like all of the fare on offer at la Carreta, the quesadilla was honest-to-goodness food made with heart. I think the sign behind the cash sums it up well: Bienvenido a su casa humilde (welcome to our humble home).