Quick, name the weirdest place you'd expect to find a restaurant — a good restaurant.
How about a tire shop? Pretty much smack in the middle of nowhere.
Hop on South Sixth Avenue as it unspools into South Nogales Highway, and you'll cruise past a casino, an aviation technology center, scattered dulcerias and lots o' desert, and there, looming like a beacon — mostly because it's wrapped in bright-yellow wrought iron — is the Pepe's compound.
As you might guess by the rows of tires in the free-for-all gravel parking lot, a hunk of the property is Pepe's Tire Shop. The other part, well, that's what owns our hearts and stomachs: Pepe's Mexican Food.
Yes, it is an unusual combo.
But it makes sense to the Velarde family. Matriarch Julia handles the restaurant while husband José Luis — better known as Pepe — runs the tire shop.
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"My husband fixes tires, and I fix stomachs," says Julia, 66.
Now, if you're one of those five-star-only restaurant types, then it might be a turnoff to wipe a layer of dust from a bench in the screened-in patio. You'll probably turn up your nose at the red plastic napkin holder decorated with a flower that looks like it came from the dollar store.
It goes without saying that meals are served on foam plates. Real silverware, though.
Don't worry, that extreme casualness about the decór doesn't extend to the Sonoran-style food. That much is obvious from the minute you step out of the car and catch a whiff of the unmistakable smell — not of rubber but beef, smoking on the grill. We're guessing that heavenly aroma came from the gently charred carne asada that graced the torta ($4.75).
The beef wasn't the most tender, but it was smoky and well-seasoned, cradled between the squishy-soft, football-shaped bun. The torta, or sandwich, was simple: nuggets of beef, shredded lettuce, a smattering of tomato chunks and a sprinkling of Monterey Jack cheese that — along with the buttered, pan-toasted bun — kept the sandwich from being dry.
We were tempted to smuggle the salsa out of the restaurant. The tomatoes and chiles had that smoky richness that comes from roasting. It wasn't hot but tickled just enough to tease you into dunking another chip and then another and another. Just what exactly goes in there anyway? Good luck pulling that — or any food prep details — out of Julia.
"That's my daughter who makes the salsa," she said. "She has her own recipe, and she don't talk about it."
OK. How about those cheese enchiladas ($5.50, with beans and rice), then? That deep crimson sauce cloaking the soft, corn tortillas and melted Jack cheese is thick and rich as velvet with a full-bodied chile taste. It most certainly doesn't come from a can.
"It is the same routine — we don't talk about it," Julia repeated firmly.
She did say, though, that the green corn tamales (three for $4.50) are made the same way everybody else makes them. Which simply can't be true since those tamales were the best we've ever scarfed.
Made from fresh corn — Julia admitted that much — the tamales were actually fluffy. The masa, which can be dense and bland, was light and pleasantly sweet. A fat ribbon of melted Monterey Jack and mild green chile ran through the center.
The red menudo ($3.50 for a small bowl), brimming with tender tripe and fat hominy kernels, packed so much fire power that our taste buds started to sweat. Or, was that drool? Hard to tell.
If you're trekking all the way out to Pepe's, try to miss the lunch rush that strikes as early as 11 a.m. Service can be sluggish then since it's only Julia and her three daughters manning the kitchen and tables. But, hey, you could always scout new tires while you wait.
Review
Pepe's Mexican Food
9816 S. Nogales Highway, 889-6273
Hours: 6:30 a.m.-2 p.m. Tuesdays-Saturdays; 6:30 a.m.-noon Sundays
Vegetarian choices: A few
Family call: We saw kids chowing down. They'll think the drive alone is an adventure.
Reservations: No
Dress: A shirt would be nice.
$ — cash and checks only
