Lola brought her recipes to Retro Row from Guadalajara, and it took awhile—the “We’re Finally Open” sign that’s hanging directly across the street from where the rejuvenated Art Theater will soon reopen is no joke, although by now she can laugh about all the hoops that City Hall made her jump through. That is what Lola’s laughing about, isn’t it?

Or does her chuckle have something to do with my wondering why none of the recipes she brought from her Mexican hometown to her Long Beach restaurant are for tortas ahogadas? The “drowned sandwiches”—thick rolls of bolillo bread stuffed with meat, served with onions and radishes and dunked in a fiery sauce of dried chile de arbol—are a culinary mainstay in Guadalajara. The people make windy sucking sounds after each bite as they try to cool their mouths, and when they can speak again they make jokes about how in a few hours they’ll be scratching the paint off their bathroom walls.

“Yes, tortas ahogadas are part of the tradition in Guadalajara,” agrees the cook in Lola. But it was the businesswoman in her that made the call in this case. “The people here? They couldn’t take it.”

Lola laughs again, just a little, which is a nice way of indicating she’d much rather come back in a bit to talk to us about what is on her menu—and most particularly, the plates of carne asada and chiles rellenos that she’s just placed on our table . . . you know, after we’ve actually eaten something and maybe know at least a little what we’re talking about.

Theo Douglas picked out the carne asada, reasoning that it’s pretty much the measure of any Mexican restaurant—and the measure of Lola’s recipe is that he only shared a small piece with me. The meat was thin but tender, cooked carefully enough that it didn’t come off the grill too charred. That allowed the rich marinade to actually do its work, seeping its way into the meat rather than getting lost in crunchy, burnt dust—which, I realize, some people like.

The carne came surrounded by a mound of rice that had been boiled in a light stock and emerged flavorful and moist—but not sticky—sharing space with a scoop of chunky guacamole and a cup of frijoles charros, a style of cooking beans that derives from Guadalajara but has spread all over Mexico. The charro beans are whole, not mashed or fried, and infused with flavor while simmering alongside any number of ingredients, from bits of meat to chilies, tomatoes and onions.

My chile relleno was large and fresh enough that you could actually tell it was a vegetable. It was stuffed with cheese and covered with a thin coat of batter that was drizzled with a deep red sauce. The relleno still tasted of all its distinctive flavors and textures, a mark of quality against the typical mushy pile that’s often hard to separate from the beans.

We reached periodically for the chips, which came with red and green salsas. The green is practically a revelation, made of tomatillos and whipped with an egg for an outcome that’s both frothy and spicy.

The specialty of the house is the birria, which is prepared in a way that seems to break with the basic component of the dish—it is not made of goat. But Lola goes out of her way to point out that the recipe actually adheres to a family tradition. “Abuelita wasn’t fond of goat,” she writes on the menu, “so she made birria with pork and veal, marinated in adobo spices.” It works. The shredded meat is hearty and juicy, and can be sprinkled to taste with onions, cilantro, radishes and wedges of lime.

“And my grandmother liked it because it didn’t stink up the house,” says Lola, when she returns to ask us how we liked our food.

We raved about it, but I couldn’t resist expressing one more regret over the absence of those tortas ahogadas.

“Believe me, you couldn’t take it,” Lola laughed. “You ought to be thanking me for saving you the pain.”

And saving the paint in my bathroom, too.

Tags: Food, Fourth Street, lola's, Long Beach, retro row