Theres plenty about Commercial Drive for any food lover to swoon over. Ive always found it to be a superb place to shop for ingredients, especially for those that are particularly hard to find elsewhere. (I can think of few other neighbourhoods that inspire me more as a home cook.) I cant go past Prado without stopping in for a well made cappuccino, and Ill always browse the shelves and design some crazy sandwich at La Grotta del Formaggio.
For the past decade, The Drive has devolved into the background noise of Vancouvers restaurant scene. If you want a solid pint, or a ubiquitous, reliable cocktail, or some half-assed fare endured for two halves, four quarters or three periods, theres plenty to go around. But should you desire a plate of food that will stay in your mind for long after its gone, your options dwindle to perhaps half a dozen joints.
Its a common complaint I hear from friends and colleagues who live on its flanks. Theyre not looking for anything fancy, and neither am I. Really, were just looking for reasons to return. A sojourn from mediocrity. A spark of genius. Something like the pupusas at Rinconcito.
That cant be too hard. The little Salvadorean restaurant doesnt look like much from the outside, and its the same on the inside. The interior is earnestly basic with a slight tinge of non-ironic kitsch lending an added patina of authenticity. All in, its a handful of tables and chairs, some palm fronds and a bamboo bar looking like it just arrived from Gilligans Island, plus a couple of dated television sets permanently tuned to a saga of soccer games. The scene is only marginally uplifted by salsa music played at low volume, which cant be right. But no one comes for the atmosphere. They come for the pupusas.
Aside from being a word that children like to say a lot (who knew having the sound poo-poo in the name of a food would be so darn hilarious?), the pupusa is a seemingly straightforward and ancient bit of nosh native to El Salvador. Similar to the Colombian arepa and the Mexican gordita, its essentially a still-warm, thick tortilla disc made interesting by a stuffing, which is most often augmented by a healthy dose of soft cheese. Theyre served with a gently fermented slaw and an unthreatening, vernacular hot sauce, which is to say that they dont look particularly appetizing, sort of like a flat taco-sized tortilla that has gone on a bit of a piggish bender. When perfect, its glistening and plump with delicious promise and gone splotchy golden brown. And thats always the way at Rinconcito.
There are four types: revuelta (a mix of cheese, pork and beans); frijoles y queso (bean and cheese); chicharron (pork ground to a paste); and straight up queso (cheese). The taste differential between them is predictably minor (I yearn for them to diversify), but if I was to pick just one of the bunch (and I usually do), Id go for the revueltas. The pork paste might sound far removed from the flavour of bacon, but its swell when sandwiched by cheese and bean, and the combination of slaw and sauce provide different bites each time. Still, at $2.75 per pupusa, dont take my word for it. Order the lot.
A worthwhile restaurant need not be perfect, but it needs to offer something that makes moot the notion of perfection. Near Rinconcito, look to Little Nest for their special soups, Biercraft for their coned frites, The Reef for their Island of Eggs, Divino for their bright antipasti, Bandidas for their tacos, and Riddim & Spice for their proper Jerk Chicken.
Rinconcito Salvadorean Restaurant
2062 Commercial | 604-879-2600
