Rate My Pupusa: Elsy’s

2893 Mission Street, San Francisco CA

Elsy’s doesn’t have it easy. They share a wall with La Taqueria, one of the city’s most celebrated eateries. Christmas decorations hang above the door, meaning either their employees are all very short (sad) or they can’t afford a step ladder (sadder). And they specialize in pupusas, the Jan Brady of Latin American cuisine.

But check your pity at the door, because Elsy’s will knock your socks off. Now I didn’t grow up in El Salvador. And neither did my grandma. But I can imagine that if she did, these pupusas would be exactly like the ones she made.

Freshly pounded masa de maiz served as the exoskeleton for my order of revueltas (pork, cheese, beans) and loroco y queso (a flowering bud from Central America—thanks Wikipedia). While pupusas can get soggy in the middle, Elsy’s were perfectly crisped. The revueltas achieved a balance of ingredients that must have taken generations to master. It lasted no more than 48 seconds on my plate. The loroco y queso was essentially a cheese stick reincarnated in pancake form. I had a couple of scares where the cheese made a break for my esophagus. Nearly choked to death. But it was worth the risk.

Price is never a concern in pupuserias. My bottle of Coca Cola cost almost as much as the meal. What can make or break a pupusa are the accoutrements. Elsy’s curtido (pickled cabbage salad) was superb, bringing a welcomed vinegar crunch to the cheesy oblivion. And the salsa was, hmmm, convenient? It came in a squeeze bottle. Not much else to say. I’ve found pupuseria salsa to be the same from one place to the next. Red. Mild. Runny. Yet somehow absolutely necessary on each bite.

Upon finishing my plate, I passed out and slipped into a vivid dream state. I was back in my non-existent Salvadorian childhood at la casa de mi abuela. She was, as always, making pupusas in the kitchen. I sat at her feet and listened to stories of bloody revolutions, aching heartbreaks, and jaguars. A rooster crowed and I awoke with the rating:

3.5 out of 4 Dios Mios