Pozoleria Iguala

A sore throat, wheezing cough, freezing rain, grey skies, icy road, dirty snow.

Driving along Fullerton, we spotted Pozoleria Iquala and sought shelter in soothing hominy soup.



Iguala is a city in Guerrero, so I figured the green pozole was the way to go (it’s more common in that Mexican state); Carolyn got the red pozole. There is also white pozole, and together the three pozoles call up the colors of the Mexican flag, which is a theme pulled through in other Mexican foods (cf., huaraches called “banderas,” or flags, that reflect the three colors with crema on top of red and green salsas).



As we waited for our steaming bowls, we read the mural on one of the interior walls; it explained the story of the six boy heroes – los Ninos Heroes – who are memorialized by a huge and somber monument in Mexico City’s Chapultepec Park. These boy cadets died fighting the troops of Winfield Scott during the U.S. invasion of Mexico; one of them wrapped the Mexican flag around himself and jumped to his death from the walls of Chapultepec Castle. Or so goes the mythology.



With the first spoonful of pozole verde, one word came quickly to mind: hefty. I’m not talking about the abundant pork or hominy in the spoonful, but rather the broth itself. Deeply flavorful and gaining heft from the mole verde that’s added in, each spoonful packed a lot of deliciousness, with a touch of heat that was very welcome on an awful day.



The pozole came with the usual tray of condiments (onion, radish, cabbage, chicharron, avocado, lime, tostada) and adding a fistful of each seemed to multiply the flavor exponentially. Nice senioritas came by several times to ask if we needed more; I should have asked for more condiments (for, you see, I am a pig for condiments).

The red pozole was not quite so wonderful as the green, but still good; Carolyn preferred it, but I found it thin by comparison. This was a rare instance when I chose a menu item that I preferred more than what she chose.



As we gobbled our pozole by the east-facing window, I grew slightly uncomfortable by the sight of a mural on the wall across the street. Something about the eyes of the strange bird weirded me out. As we walked back to the car, it seemed to me that this bird, with the laser beam-like spray-paint rays coming out of its hands, and the American flag on its chest, may have been intended to represent us Yankees. Next to this angry bird was a boy in what looked like an Aztec warrior’s jaguar suit ("el guerrero jaguar Azteca," below) covered in dollar signs.



On the mural, on the far side, you can see that the boy’s tail was clipped off, and he was bowing down to the bird, looking none too happy about the whole thing. Interpret as you will.

Pozoleria Iguala is a tasty stop, though it breaks few boundaries: tacos, quesadillas, all the greatest hits are represented. Menudo on weekends, but that’s not really my thing.

Driving home, I was surprised to see many other Mexican spots I’d never seen before, all along Fullerton, and many, I’m sure, quite worthy.

Pozoleria Iguala
3835 W. Fullerton
773.697.9245