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At first glance, all you can see is that there’s a window off the sidewalk that opens onto the grill, where tortillas and huaraches are frying. But a few steps lead down into a long, low-ceilinged dining room. Old black-and-white photos of dangerous banditos line one wall, along with the inevitable steer horns and saddles. Try the mole poblano de pollo, if it’s available; the spicy, smoky sauce is impressively complex, a lush brown bath for a single drumstick with falling-off-the-bone meat (and for the warm corn tortillas that come wrapped in a cloth on the side). Quesadillas come with such uncommon fillings as pumpkin flowers and huitlacoche, a corn fungus that tastes of the musty damp earth in the same unaccountably delicious way that truffles do. The tacos al pastor, filled with pork carved off a spit, are served with bits of pineapple to counter the pork’s savory saltiness. — Rob Patronite and Robin Raisfeld