The bread, the salsas, the pan dulce, every espresso shot — made in this kitchen before anyone walks in. By the time the doors open at seven, the drive-thru has already been running half an hour.
Come sit down for breakfast. Bring the family at lunch. Or take it out the window on your way to work — nobody minds either way.
A blossom tree in the middle of the dining room, in bloom every day of the year. The tables around it go first. People photograph it before they've even ordered.
We built the room around it — green velvet, mustard chairs, brass, and a lot of light.
The window opens before the dining room does. Cafecito, a concha, and you're back on Trenton in four minutes.
Chilaquiles under green or red. Huevos al gusto — chorizo, machaca, divorciados. Tacos mañaneros at three dollars each, which is the correct price for a breakfast taco.
The hamburguesa Jardín with jalapeños on the side. Rib-eye tacos with a cheese crust. Enchiladas suizas, flautas, sopes.
Pozole and menudo. Barbacoa by the taco, or by the pound with sixteen tortillas made by hand that morning.
The Cappuccino Jardín comes with rose. There's a mazapán latte, a Mexican mocha, a brown sugar shaken espresso, and matcha three ways — plain, strawberry, blueberry.
Because it's brunch: mimosas at eight dollars, classical or peach bellini. Aperol and limoncello spritz. Sangria, margaritas, and five kinds of carajillo.
Frida on one wall. A moss hedge that reads I ♥ Mexico. A neon sign that doesn't try to say anything clever — just buen cafecito.
Green velvet booths, mustard chairs, brass on the tables, and the tree in the middle of all of it. Stay as long as you like.
