Poughkeepsie’s El Azteca: not your average grocery store

Sometimes the process of getting to the restaurant may be as interesting as the food one eats once seated. That was every bit the case this week. Someone told me a couple weeks ago about this Mexican place that I absolutely had to try. The mystery place was called Tacocina, located on Route 9 in Poughkeepsie, and it's supposed to be an incredible eating experience. Supposedly it's a little Mexican grocery store with a taco stand in the back—the kind where grandma presses the masa into tortillas and fills them with pork face and beef tongue. Sounds like my kind of culinary adventure, and one that takes a lot of dishes to experience fully. So, with the enlisted help of about eight of my friends, we made our way to the vague direction of "somewhere on Route 9," myself being too lazy to actually print a map. A little bit of 3G navigation led us to 1582 South Road. It turns out Tacocina is now a dry cleaner, one that unfortunately does not sell pig cheek tacos out of the back. Although something tells me that even if they did, I probably wouldn't eat them. I don't think dry cleaning chemicals and food complement each other well.

As I stood in the brutal wind with two cars of friends whom I felt I was letting down, my brain raced. How was I going to satiate the ravenous hunger of college students on a balls-to-the-wall taco bender? To be fair, I guess I can't speak for everyone in our little group, but I needed me some tacos, and I needed them bad. Luckily, we actually had a Mexican guy with us—a chef in training at the Cullinary Institute of America to boot—and the priceless information stored away in his brain led six of us to El Azteca, that hole in the wall restaurant/grocery store right next to the train station on Main Street.

I was tentative about this. Didn't I already review a small, authentic Mexican place on Main Street last semester? I don't want to turn into the dude that talks about burrito fillings each week. I take this restaurant thing kinda seriously…sorta. I needed to find some other dimension to explore within the Mexican eatery archetype.

Luckily for me and for this article, El Azteca delivered. I think that their business model is something as follows: Mother and daughter make and sell anything and everything food related that a Mexican food lover in Poughkeepsie could possibly want. These two ladies know a lot about selling stuff that tastes good. Delicious fruits and pastries are stacked against the walls for sale, including lots of mangos and avocados—my two personal favorites. Plus there were lots of creepy-looking tentacle-type plants in jars that I'm guessing taste far better than they look, but made me want to buy them just to make my room look like a bio lab from a slasher film.

There is seating for probably about 15 people and a menu that's large and dynamic. Here is where coming with a big group of people helps out. At our table we ended up with a plate of enchiladas with molé, two thick tortas, huevos rancheros, chili releno, tamales, and a big helping of chips and guac. Not to mention the homemade salsas verde and roja that were unlike any I've had before. For starters, the salsa verde was served warm, something that I had never even thought of before, but that somehow has the really nice effect of mellowing the spice, letting some extra dimensions of tomatillo taste get all up in your business.

Both of the tortas—a kind of Mexican sandwich—were phenomenal. Something about the mix of that semi-indescribable Mexican spice/flavor with two thick, soft hunks of bolilo bread really does something otherworldly. Like any sandwich, the bread is key for its soakability—how much flavor it can contain before it loses that structural integrity that makes it so good in the first place. And for some reason, I really don't know why, the Mexicans have perfected this art better than anyone else. Maybe it's what they put in the sandwich, maybe it's that the spicy toppings lend themselves to being sponged upon really well, but I really think that a torta, like any good sandwich, is bigger than the sum of its parts.

But I don't want this monument to the bread world to eclipse the innards of the sandwich. Both tortas at the table, the Cubano and Milzchoriz, had good stuff crammed in there, and managed to cater to totally different flavor spectrums. The classic Cubano sandwich has eggs, ham and pork. It's basically the best breakfast sandwich you could ever eat. The other was a wonderfully spicy, salty combination of chorizo and queso fresco, the unsung hero of the cheese world. People always talk about Italian Parmigiano-Reggiano or France's Camembert, but the Mexicans have their own white gold, which they have unpretentiously titled "fresh cheese." And this sublime substance was also found in perfectly abundant quantity atop my chicken enchiladas that were covered in an amazing molé sauce.

The enchiladas were great, but probably nothing to write home to mom about. The green quagmire of eggs, tortillas and salsa verde that made up the huevos rancheros however, is a must have. Needless to say, it puts the Retreat's delicious, yet misguided, version to shame in an oh-so satisfying manner. Food that isn't constructed, but is rather a celebration of a few key great ingredients will always, always, taste better, and this dish is an exemplary illustration of this point. Eat this, please, and taste a little bit of heaven on earth. It isn't listed on the menu per se, but if you ask nicely, with a smile, who could refuse?

Chili releno—a stuffed poblano pepper with cheese, rice and beans, and then battered and fried—was a great approach to a dish that I've only ever had with couscous in bell peppers. Not that I have anything against a bell pepper—it happens to be my favorite vegetable actually—but the poblano, once it's roasted, has such an intense, smoky flavor that you can't even begin to have an argument about what lends itself better for stuffing. That smokiness, which licentiously infuses itself into the cheese, holds you in the moment and lightly caresses the taste and smell portions of your brain, letting you know that yes, you did make the right choice. Sometimes vegetarians really do get it right.

Me being me, the beer and dessert portions of the meal were not forgotten. A bottle is pretty cheap at El Azteca and, in my opinion, is a necessary compliment to any Mexican meal.

El Azteca is also a grocery store after all, so boxes of cookies line the walls, and in the corner there is a decent sized candy collection. If you ever make it there, try the duvalin, a little packet of this strange frosting-type stuff that Mexican kids absolutely adore. It's one of the weirdest but fbest things I've ever eaten. Marzipan, lollipops and mango candy are also found in plenty.

But if you really wanna do some justice to the dessert course, there is the fried ice cream, or heládo frito, which has a batter that can only be described as decadent and is served on an enormous buñello, a fried, sugary tortilla platter. It was a bit of a sugar overload, but with six people clawing at it, we managed to pack it in.

I feel bad telling you that there is yet another Mexican place on Main Street that you should try out if you're going to live in Poughkeepsie with any sort of dignity. But when push comes to shove, this is a really fun place that I know I'll be revisiting. It's cheap, tastes great and is just plain fun. A word of warning, however—the whole store is cash only. So get some change and buy a torta already.