The whole table agreed, though, that the special Sunday pozole was a dish worth coming for. The stew brought fistfuls of tender cubed pork (with just the right amount of fat still on) and puffy kernels of hominy corn in a guajillo-red broth layered with bay leaf and thyme. Scattered at the table with a fresh "verdura" of minced onions and oregano, plus a squirt of lime, each spoonful was a fiesta of contrasting textures and earthy savor.
As a relatively new restaurant, Que Chula still has rough edges to polish. There's no concept of pacing here, and the all-at-once delivery is cumbersome with a lot of food. And there are a few off dishes to be avoided, like the overgrilled shrimp, the dry green tamale, and the quesadilla filled with low-grade cheese.
But these misses were the exception from a kitchen that cooked through the taqueria canon with notable consistency, from the chipotle-spiced shreds of chicken tinga to the chorizo-tinged suadero brisket (campechanos), pork glazed in a barbecuey "al pastor" brew of clove-scented pineapple-guajillo, and meltingly soft chunks of "whole pig" carnitas braised in Corona and Coke.
Even the torta Milanesa was an unexpected delight, a delicately breaded chicken cutlet sandwiched in the buttery puff of griddled bread with fresh avocado, ham and shreds of Oaxaca string cheese.
So, is Que Chula es Puebla the best new taqueria in Philly? I might not go quite that far yet. There are still so many to explore. But the mere fact that we have such riches to ponder now only makes the question that much more satisfying. What did we do in the dark decades before our Mexican revolution?
As I took a forkful of Que Chula's cool flan and let the stunningly creamy caramel custard melt on my tongue, I shuddered at the thought.
Next Sunday, Restaurant Critic Craig LaBan reviews Slate near Rittenhouse Square. Contact him at 215-854-2682 or claban@phillynews.com.
