Raul’s Family Mexican Restaurant - Portland, Oregon
All I wanted was a haircut on Sunday. But a woman—who was incredibly kind and apologetic—hit my car from behind and I spent most of my morning calling insurance, going to urgent care for whiplash, and more or less sitting around feeling sorry for myself. My doctor gave me an injection in my left arm—and it hurt like a son of a bitch—and they told me to stay close by in case there are any bad allergic reactions.
Well, I sure as hell wasn’t going to stay another minute in the urgent care if I could help it, so I told them that I’d be next door at Raul’s Family Mexican Restaurant. I told them if I start to die, I’d run back and have them revive me. I guess the humor was lost on them, but oh well, that’s show business, baby!
Raul’s is nothing special, and I don’t mean that as an insult at all. If you’ve been in one family Mexican restaurant, you’ve more or less been in them all. There’s always a front counter and a bunch of arched windows, a bunch of cutesy decorations scattered everywhere, including maybe a sombrero or three. There are usually tiles painted some version of aqua marine color, and you might even see a painting of a donkey or similar somewhere.
This is truly the expectation of a family Mexican restaurant. It feels homey. It feels like you’re about to be fed by a Mexican grandmother that happens to be working in the back. I love these kinds of places, even if they never approach “fancy”. They are comfort and they are everything my brain needs after enduring a shitty morning of calls to insurance and being jabbed with needles.
I was seated immediately by a gentleman that was friendly, personable, and called me “boss” whenever he saw me. I liked him. He asked if I needed a margarita and that was my first cue that I probably looked as stressed as I felt. But I told him no—which I still regret—because I wasn’t sure how the alcohol would interact with the medications my doctor had just shot into my arm.
Service was exceedingly quick. Chips, salsa, and some sort of refried bean sauce were delivered to my table within only a moment or two. Water was poured. The woman who took my order made me feel like I was the most important person there, and that’s always a nice feeling. Especially on rainy days filled with crashed cars and whiplash.
I ordered a California burrito. Carne asada, cheese, pico de gallo, sour cream, guacamole, and french fries wrapped in a twelve inch tortilla. It usually comes with jalapenos, but I decided to forego that particular ingredient without knowing how my stomach would react.
Mmmm, California burrito.
It’s simple, right? How hard is it to mess up a burrito, after all? But man, sometimes a meal just slaps and this was one of those meals. Sometimes you wander into a place looking for solace and comfort and a metaphorical shoulder to cry on, and Raul’s became that place for me.
You know how sometimes when you order a steak burrito at some Mexican restaurants and it comes and you can tell it’s just beef that’s been sitting in some sort of salt bath for the last couple of days? It’s grey and tasteless and you just know that it has probably been the primary ingredient for a dozen different dishes?
This wasn’t that kind of beef. This actually had flavor. It wasn’t fire grilled, which is generally my preference, but it wasn’t lacking in flavor either. It had the right hits of umami, a touch of salt, without having that weird slimy this-has-been-sitting-in-a-beef-jacuzzi sensation. Along with the cheese and sour cream and the guacamole, it hit every single Mexican burrito note that my palate yearns for. And french fries! Oh man. I’m a big fan of shoving french fries into things that don’t normally come with french fries. Sometimes I put them in my burger. Or I dip them into a Wendy’s Chocolate Frosty—because fuck yeah, that’s why. Or putting chips on a sandwich so they have a crunch.
Give me unorthodox ingredients within other tried and true ideas, and I’ll love you forever. This burrito was what my whiplashed, injected up body needed on a rainy Sunday afternoon.
If I’m being picky, I would say that it’d be nice to have a sauce or some other thing to dip the burrito into. I’m sure that was one of the things the jalapenos were meant to cover, but alas, I ruin everything.
The chips that came to my table had a layer that had obviously been overcooked. They had that slightly burnt flavor that comes from tortillas being in the deep frier for two or three minutes too long. They weren’t BAD, but they would have been much better had that not happened. Once I got past the first few chips, I found an entire layer of chips that had not suffered that same fate, and so I was satisfied.
You don’t need fancy food to find solace and comfort from the outside world. I was assuaged, however briefly, by the warmth and kindness of a handful of folks at a family Mexican restaurant. Would I go back? Hell yeah. And if Mexican restaurants are your jam, and the above description about it being “nothing special” doesn’t bother you and makes sense to you for all the Mexican places you’ve visited, then this is the place for you.
The Portland Critic Verdict
Cost: $$. Not the cheapest Mexican in town, but by no means the most expensive. I wandered out after my burrito and chips for about $15.
Taste: 8/10 thumbs up. Authentically, unapologetically Mexican. Perhaps not worth a special trip, but if you’re hungry and within a few miles, it’s a great option.
Staff: 10/10 thumbs up. Kind, courteous, FAST.
Ease: 9/10 thumbs up. Situated across from the Fred Meyer, it had a large parking lot to use nearby. The main road that it is connected to is a bit busy, and turning left from it might be a pain in the butt. But otherwise, pretty easy.
If you’d like to give them a visit, you can find them at:
Raul’s Family Mexican Restaurant
4820 SW 76th Ave
Portland, OR 97225