Jimenez, dark-eyed, short hair swept into a peak, is 29, and his family lives upstairs.
And if the Bomb Bomb down the street harks to another era, to the great Italian migration of a century ago, there are immigrant echoes here - of learning the language (which Jimenez has done triumphantly), learning the ropes, making your case, taking your lumps.
He arrives at the table, sizing up the assembled gringos, offering photos to accompany the menu, giving a tutorial on his specials, though the tripe bubbling in the pot in the sparkling kitchen won't be ready until evening.
For a dollar extra, he suggests, you might want to add Mexican cheese to the tacos. The side of guacamole - a big bowl of fresh, lush guacamole with chips - seems too much for $6.50: "We can do a half order," Jimenez volunteers, without pause.
Los Gallos is named for the street in San Mateo, outside Mexico City, where Jimenez grew up: "The Roosters," he says it was called and, yes, roosters roamed the streets.
He joined the corps of dishwashers and prep cooks - most of them from Puebla, too - who have powered the city's restaurant kitchens for a decade, doing time at long-closed Cibucan, and Melograno, Bonte, the Belgian waffle house, and the redo of Oyster House on Sansom Street, where he cooked fish on the flat-top grill.
But he has something in common, as well, with the pioneers from Puebla who rose from the ranks - planting Las Cazuelas on Girard Avenue, opening the thriving Taquitos de los Puebla on Ninth Street (which has an open-air stand at the Sunday farm market at Headhouse Square), and another Jimenez, Dionicio, who apprenticed at venerable Vetri, and went on to open Xochitl in Society Hill, and now El Rey, the latest Mexican eatery in the Starr firmament.
When city inspectors told Luz Jimenez the kitchen in his newly leased space didn't have the proper zoning, he took photos of the well-scrubbed cleanliness of his premises, noted that his family lived there, right upstairs, got letters of backing from neighbors and from the civic association, and, as he tells it, was told (he pokes his thumbs up) after presenting his case to the zoning board: "We support you!"
He strung his festive pennants across the sidewalk, stop sign to street-cleaning-hours sign.
Can't do that, the inspectors came back and told him.
So he has redeployed them on the walls outside.
At 10th and Wolf, he is playing by the rules.
And he's playing for keeps.
951 Wolf St.
Contact columnist Rick Nichols at 215-854-2715 or firstname.lastname@example.org. Read his recent work at http://go.philly.com/ricknichols.