We'd been to El Famous Burrito just down the street one too many times. Not that their food is bad (it's actually a pretty good bang for the buck), but we felt we should try some other Mexican joints that line the Clark Street between Pratt and Touhy. It's nice to have a favorite neighborhood eatery, but it's also fun to try new ones.

So, the other day for dinner, we went to Quesadillas y Mariscos Doña Lolis near Clark and Morse. A Reader article recommended something called champurrado, "a mixture of masa, chocolate or cocoa, cinnamon and other seasonings." Though we didn't have a faintest idea as to what that was from the description, we were game for it. (We thought it was a bread-like thing, mixed and then baked; in reality, according to this recipe, it's a warm, cocoa-flavored drink thickened with masa.)

The thing is, we didn't look up this info on champurrado before we headed out (too hungry). By the time we finished our seven-minutes walk to the restaurant, I had forgotten what their specialty was. The only thing I remembered was that it involved chocolate. Munching on the homemade tortilla chips loaded with frijoles, I looked for items with chocolate on the menu. None.

"Do you remember the name of their special thing?" I asked.

"Nah, I don't remember," said Patrick.

"I feel like it started with a P," I said (totally wrong).

We decided we were too hungry to remember, and went for the two dishes that sounded good: Patrick got a steak with freshly made guacamole, while I ordered meatballs in chipotle chili sauce. We devoured the thick tortilla chips as we waited for our food. The green sauce had a wonderful peppery flavor (I felt like I was cutting one up right that moment), but the fun part was the brown one. I tried to discern what it was made of, and had no clue. It was very smoky; almost exclusively so. We should have asked the waitress, but she seemed to be so engrossed with a horribly acted drama on one of the many manifestations of Fox Channel that I felt disinclined to interrupt. (Yes, it was something on Fox, not a telenovela on Telemundo. Was there any difference? Perhaps not.)

The food was very good in a rather homey way. My chipotle sauce had just a hint of heat, nothing to make you run for the second glass of cold water. Wrapped up in their homemade tortillas (served in lidded containers to keep them warm), the tender meatballs were quite comforting. Patrick's steak looked intimidating at first. It looked too much like the indestructible, flavorless beef I once had in Madrid, both in color and texture. But when I took a bite into the tortilla-wrapped, guacamole-slathered steak, the premonition immediately dispersed. The beef was on the tough side, that's for sure, but it had a ton of fbeefy flavor (i.e., that greasy goodness) that went fantastic with the onions in the guacamole. The two small quesadillas that came with the steak was a nice touch, too.

When we finished the hearty meal, we noticed a hand-written sign on the wall. "Champurrado," it said. Was that what the Reader article was talking about, I wondered for a moment, but I had absolutely no room for anything else. (We were so full we decided to take a neighborhood walk afterward, if you need an idea as to how large the portion is.) The bill came to just short of $20. You'd pay more here than at El Famous Burrito, but Doña Lolis has a better variety, and the quality of food seems better. So I'd say it's $20 well spent (except that we didn't get to try their specialty).

(Patrick took the steak photo.)

I'd definitely want to try the champurrado (which seems to have been ingrained in my brain by now) the next time we go there, but the meatballs and steak were very good in their own ways. So, hooray for the amnesia!

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Qusadillas y Mariscos Doña Lolis
6924 N. Clark St., Chicago, IL
773.761.5677