The Week of Eating Dangerously: Two Hot Tamales

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Hosted by Raul Campos

If you move to New York from L.A. and ask people where to find a good Mexican place, they'll shake their heads and tell you to lower your expectations.

So when a colleague whispered that Lupe's East L.A. Kitchen had received raves, we decided to check it out.

The little SoHo restaurant definitely had the feel of a cantina, with reddish and yellowish lights warming the basic interior — formica at the counter and square wooden tables and benches all around.

Though it was about 8:30 p.m., the place was populated, but not crammed. In the corner sat a Dita Von Teese lookalike and her friend, who was no match for the raven-haired bombshell. There were also a few families and several clusters of guys and girls drinking Coronas and eating taquitos.

Lately, I've been on a tamale kick — there's something about masa flour that's really comforting — so that and a cup of Mexican hot chocolate, balmy evening be damned, was my order. My companion asked for enchiladas.

The servings were reasonably sized and bathed in some mighty hot red sauce. What was on my plate was good enough for me. My friend, however, grabbed the nearest of five hot sauce bottles. She dug in, then covered her mouth as her eyes began to water.

I shoved chips in her direction as she looked to see what had done the damage. The perp: El Yucateco KutBil-Ik, with a rating on the company website of 11,600 Scoville Units and a label announcing "XXXtra Picante."

"Of course, I'd grab the hottest one," she laughed through tears.

"So hot, they dropped the 'E'," I joked.

She dashed to the bathroom to recover. Meanwhile, I worked my way through the chicken tamales and seasoned rice. Instead of black beans, Lupe's serves refried, which was a little disappointing.

Still, dinner was enjoyable and the cheapest one I'd had since my week of gluttony began.

As we talked, my friend asked if Lupe's reminded me of L.A.

No, I said, but it did make me wistful.