There has definitely been what one Mexican friend recently called a “whitening of San Miguel restaurants” in recent years but there is one that is steeped in Mexican history, one that is like walking into a museum, one that takes me back to Mexican food, circa 1975, one that is an absolutely must place to eat in San Miguel.

My first time there was the first time I’d ever out-españoled my friend, Jack. We were both struggling with the pronunciation of the name of the restaurant. It wasn’t just an X word, it was a double X. It’s not easy to purse your lips and breathe out while making the softest of “chu” sounds. 

“El Xoconoxtle”, said I. “El Xoconoxtle”, said Jack, correcting me. “El Xoconoxtle” said our server, correcting us both in the politest of tones.

“You do know what El Xoconoxtle means?”, I asked Jack. “You mean El Xoconoxtle“, he replied, this time correcting me with a smirk on his face. “No I don’t”.

“Ooooeeee”, I fired back, “I know a Spanish word that Jack doesn’t”, singing the sentence. “It’s the fruit that grows on cactus paddles, only the ones with the big word that starts with X are sour not sweet.”

The competition was on.

“OK”, said Jack, “what do you call these bottles of beer that are sat on every table?”

“Enormous?”, I replied.

“Caguama”, said Jack.

“Caguama, why do they call them a turtle?”, I asked.

“Why do they call those cactus fruits a tuna?”, said Jack.

It was time to order drinks. It was early in the day. Too early for caguamas. Jack ordered a granada water. I ordered guayaba.

A caguama holds 40 plus ounces of beer. My glass of agua de guayaba (or guava as it’s known outside of Mexico) held about the same amount. I asked myself how many guayabas, not the juiciest of fruits, do you have to squeeze to fill a fourty ouncer? The drink was priced at 30 pesos. It was the start of a ridiculously cheap lunch.

We were at El Xoconoxtle for one of the most argued about Mexican dishes. Is it Mex or is it TexMex? Is it important? 

Here’s Jack’s take and Don Day’s take on fajitas.

Jack, who’s from Texas, will tell you that over 50 years ago (fajitas made it into the Oxford dictionary in 1971). Sonny Falcon opened the first fajita taco stand in some place called Kyle, Texas.

Don Day, who’s not from Texas, will tell you that many years ago (but a lot less than 50), I was eating in a restaurant called Olé, Olé on Callé Loreto (the black bull sign is still there) in San Miguel de Allende, Mexico when I asked the owner, Rafa, if it was true that he had invented fajitas.

“No, Senor”, he told me, “they were invented in Los Portales, here in San Miguel, in what is now called the jardin. Like the Texans, I just borrowed them.”

There are a few choices of fajitas on the menu. I chose the most traditional, beef (fajita translates as “little skirt” which refers to the cut of beef used). Jack chose the chicken which is always the second most popular.

Now you would think that the older you get the less you’d appreciate the seen-it-all-before BS showbiz aspects of dining. Not true! Ancient me and even more ancient Jack and I still love it. Enough that I had to quickly figure out how to switch my phone to video and catch the sound of the sizzle and the steam streaming from my fajitas.

Cast iron pan. Check. Red and yellow bell peppers. Check. Lots of onions. Check.

Steam out of your ears chiles. Check. Skinny strips of nopales. Check. A couple of potatoes. A seldom seen ingredient but check. Generous amount of beef. Check.

Rice, beans and guacamole on the side. Check.

A choice of wheat or corn tortillas. Another rarity but double check. 

Now time to start humming a little Otis Redding and try a little of the tenderness of the arrachera. Ohhh, very nice. Obviously been marinated. But not so marinated that the taste of the beef is gone.

Next, steal a little chicken from Jack’s plate. Tender, moist, mix of dark and white. 

Beef and chicken. Two for two. Maybe neither of us could pronounce Xoconoxtle. But we both pronounced both fajitas excellent.

It was time for a walk. No, not outside. Not to walk off the two pounds I’d eaten. Just around the room.

“How do you say ‘kitsch’ in Spanish”, I asked Jack. “Try kitsch”, Jack replied.

I’m guessing most Mexican icons are somewhere on El Xoconoxtle’s walls. Jorge Negrete, Rita Hayworth. Cantinflas. Marilyn. Pedro Infante. Eydie Gorme. José Alfredo Jiménez. Maria Felix. And a lot more I didn’t recognize.

I love the look. It’s a cozy look. It’s a corny look. It’s a cantina look. It’s a look I’m not allowed at home.

I looked at the menu again. Down in the corner were postres. Just one, actually. But it was taking 21 words to describe it. 

“Ah no”, said Jack, “how are we ever going to eat dessert after all those fajitas?”

We ordered it. It arrived. And wouldn’t you know it, it was showbiz at the table, Act II. Crepes Suzette. Bananas Foster. Cherries Jubilee. Step aside and welcome Postre Del Xoconoxtle.

And after we’d watched the boozy syrup as it drooled and drizzled, bubbled and boiled, for a while, we ate it. We ate all of it.

I remembered El Xoconoxtle when it was on Salida a Celaya. And I’d seen it on the Libramiento (it’s hard to miss). But it was Jack who ventured in a while ago and started the “you’re not going to believe this place” chatter. “The prices are ridiculous, absolutely ridiculous.”

The check had arrived. 325 Mexican pesos. Jack was right. And I thanked him for the introduction. Even split the check with him.

No matter how you pronounce it, El Xoconoxtle may be the best bargain in town.

Fonda El Xoconoxtle is located on the east side of Libramiento a Dolores Hidalgo between Calzada de la Estacion and Ventanas Golf Club. The restaurant is open from 7:30 am to 6:00 pm, Monday through Saturday. Closed on Sunday.