New York may lag far behind L.A. as a Mexican food metropolis, and Angelinos may still have license to mock our nascent, bodega-rooted taco culture, but I find hope in the idea of humble corner shops turning gradually into restaurants. All five boroughs are dotted with small delis in the process of shifting their primary business model, the stocks of everyday staples vanishing, replaced by stretches of tables and chairs anchored to a food-dispensing back counter. Such eateries usually serve rudimentary, rib-sticking fare, but they’re a starting point, providing the seeds for innovation and opportunity to expand. New York may not be able to match L.A.’s produce or tortilla culture (or the breadth of its Mexican diaspora), but it has potential to grow and improve. In terms of innovation, I have very high hopes for the imminent rebirth of Atoradero, the home-style Bronx restaurant which recently closed due to an egregious rent hike, and is now relocating in dangerous proximity to my apartment. Most bodega-based spots are content to use the same fossilized bagged herbs they sell in dwindling quantities by the counter, keeping the recipes simple, the portions large, and the prices low; Atoradero’s Denisse Chavez, on the other hand, made regular (often life-threatening trips back to her native Puebla for fresh herbs. This isn’t to shortchange a place like Chinantla, which does a few things and does them well. An exemplar of the expanded-bodega tradition, it serves up monstrous cemitas whose diverse layers of ingredients slosh together without becoming indistinguishable. The effect is several sandwiches in one, eggs and avocado and beans and chorizo piled together in a teetering mound. The effect is similar to the clamorous aesthetic of the store itself, which is constructed on a series of stylistic divisions, between canteen and grocery, neighborhood clubhouse and exotic hang-out for young gentrifiers, with Corona décor and colorful sombreros sharing decorative significance with traditional Mexican symbols, right down to the dualistic Aztec-inspired sun-and-moon symbol. Pinned behind a small freezer, there’s even the ultimate syncretic symbol - a bloody-faced Jesus icon pinned with roses and dollar bills - his pain gently soothed by the cool glow of the drinks cooler.
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