There are few more indulgent delights than ruffling open the foil wrap on a bundle of fresh, handmade La Casita flour tortillas, tearing off a steaming warm piece of the thick, spongy flatbread, and chewing the rich, slightly salty bite without adornment.
I like to savor a tiny piece like a sacrament, chewing it slowly just before I dig into a hearty plate of slow-cooked carnitas or spicy green chili with beans. I do it every time I go. And I’ve been going for a long time. La Casita is one of my favorite local places.
I’ve eaten everything on the menu. I’ve celebrated a number of life’s small victories at its colorful tables. But I never knew the full story of this local Mexican chain until I dug into its history.
La Casita opened its first bright pink location in an old gas station tucked almost under I-25 on South Nevada Avenue in 1986. The restaurant was set up like a fast food place: Wait in line, order, take your food away on a tray. But everything was made fresh; even the hot tortillas blistering on the grill started as a sack of flour in the back. And this little fast food place served bottles of esoteric Mexican beer from a heaping bin of ice, and fresh margaritas. It is a set-up so common now that it has its own industry label: Fast Casual. Think Smashburger, Noodles & Company and, of course, Chipotle.
But at the time, at least in Colorado Springs, owner Janet Sawyer said, “There was nothing like it.”
Mexican food in Colorado Springs then generally meant either Taco Bell or sit-down Tex Mex. La Casita was different. Besides exotic, sizzling fajitas and carnitas, the place boasted a salsa bar with four styles — unheard of at the time — and piles of fresh cilantro.
The place was a huge hit. When I discovered La Casita in 1992 it was not uncommon to see the line snaking out the door. Naturally, Sawyer expanded. Bright pink locations opened on North Nevada Avenue and Academy Boulevard in the mid-1990s. A location opened on Woodmen Road in 2004. Expansion of the interstate forced the original shop to move to Eighth Street, and the North Academy location closed, but all locations do a pretty good job of replicating the appeal of that first store.
I consider myself an expert on the menu. Over the years, I’ve worked through it as my tastes changed. My first love was the cheese enchiladas wrapped in Christmas-red corn tortillas ($4.20). Then the steak fajita dinner — long cuts of flank, marinated and tenderized, and served with piles of sweet onion and green pepper ($7.50). They were mild, delicious and perfect in those warm tortillas. Then I moved on to chicken fajitas ($7.50), flavored with what tastes like savory bay leaf. For a long time my main dish was green chili ($5). I would order a bowl of this greasy, gloppy, wonderful stew full of tender chunks of pork, dump in a few thimbles of La Casitas’s spicy tomatillo and jalapeño salsa, and wipe the bowl clean with hot tortillas. On my most recent visit, I found a new favorite, the carnitas ($7.50). The pork shoulder is roasted for hours until it has a luscious, caramelized crust and is so tender it easily falls apart. It is hacked up with a cleaver and served as big chunks that you eat in a tortilla. And it is bliss.
But for all I know about the menu, I was surprised to find out, after talking to the owner recently, that I knew nothing about its origin.
It turns out La Casita is an idea lifted, almost entirely, from a San Antonio doppelganger called Taco Cabana that Sawyer visited in the mid 1980s. Taco Cabana made its own tortillas. It had bins heaped with ice and cold Mexican beer. It had cheese enchiladas wrapped in Christmas-red corn tortillas. It even was, and is (Taco Cabana now has about 140 locations, mostly in Texas), painted bright pink.
At first I was a little disappointed that La Casita is little more than a copycat, but I suppose there are some concepts that gain strength and integrity only as they spread: freedom, democracy, fast fresh tacos.
And La Casita has a few of its own flourishes, like delicious borracho beans and that chunky green chili.
Of my hundreds of visits to La Casita, my most recent was the first I ever made as a food critic, and I noticed a few things I had overlooked for years that could use improvement.
The beef in the crispy tacos seems to be seasoned only with a little salt and pepper; a good base with some Tex Mex chile and cumin could jazz it up quite a bit. Same goes for the chicken enchiladas, which are overwhelmed by the fiat taste of black pepper. Adding some good Chimayo ground red chile and garlic would help.
The huge, tasty churros ($1.30), slaked in sugar and cinnamon, would be twice as good if they were fresh-fried to order, like the sopapillas.
The delicious borracho beans — pintos cooked with bacon, tomato, onion and beer — should be an option as a side with every meal, not just some.
And finally, the salsa bar should have limes. Right now it has only lemons, and I never see anyone use them. Limes go better with Mexican food and Mexican beer.
Now that I have heaped criticism on one of my favorite places, I need to absolve myself. I’m going for another bundle of fresh, hot tortillas.

Dishes touting Caribbean flavors work well at Tejon street eatery
Rasta Pasta, a new restaurant on Tejon Street, sounds like something my college roommates would have cooked late one night, probably while high. Roommate No. 1: “Dude, you know how Rasta and pasta, like, rhyme?” Roommate No. 2: “Huh?” Roommate No. 1: “Wouldn’t it be sweet if there was a place that served pasta with all kinds of gnarly Caribbean sauces?”
Long, intense discussion would have ensued late into the night. Then nothing would have happened.
But, in the case of the real Rasta Pasta, something obviously did. The local chain, which has a location in Breckenridge, one in Fort Collins and the latest addition in Colorado Springs, serves Jamaican-inspired pasta over a background of righteous reggae beats. As a short history on Rasta Pasta’s Web site notes: “No one really knows why Dan (The Founder) decided to go with a Caribbean theme, but speculation has it that since Rasta rhymes with pasta, and Dan likely enjoyed some Rastafarian traditions, it all just came together.”
Actually, for such a strange idea, it came together pretty darn well.
The vibe at the Colorado Springs locale is naturally easy-going. A crowd of small tables dressed in bright, tropical tablecloths are scattered across a bare concrete ffoor. Bunches of bananas hang above the steaming open kitchen next to a bar fringed with corrugated metal to make it look like a beach shack. Red Stripe beer bottles serve as vases on the tables. Bob Marley portraits gaze approvingly from most of the walls. If you are jonesing to listen to Jobob Miller or Burning Spear,
—
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this is the place.
And the pasta, as weird as it sounds, sorta works.
By weird, here is what I mean: A plate of cheese tortellini ($8 at lunch) comes sautéed with pineapple, grapes, Caribbean spices and banana. Tortellini Jamaica Mon is the kind of dessert-meets-dinner debacle you always find (but never try) at potlucks. But here the results are good. The rich but slightly bitter ricotta in the tortellini is complemented by the fresh, bright sweetness of the fruit. I ordered it hoping it would be an easy dish to make fun of in print, and found instead that it was my favorite of the four entrees on our table.
Not quite as weird, but just as good, is the Natural Mystic, a sweet and savory pineapple curry sauce served with jerk chicken over pasta ($7 at lunch).
Some things sound weird, only to disappoint with how normal they are. The signature Rasta Pasta — jerk chicken, green onions, diced tomatoes and a tomato-y garlic sauce ($7 at lunch) — tastes like a very Italian dish. The Seafood Alfredo ($10 at lunch), swimming with shrimp and minced clams, did not seem to have any Jamaican inflection at all. (It was a hit anyway. The shrimp were plump and perfectly cooked, and a friend who ordered it raved over the rich clamminess of the whole dish.)
What Rasta Pasta lacks in sophistication it makes up for in service. Vegetarian, whole-grain or gluten-free pasta options are ofiered for almost every dish. The servers are super friendly and the prices are good. Bargain-priced lunch portions can be ordered any time of the day. The bar has Bristol brews on tap — always a bonus. And Rasta Pasta’s Rum-flambéed, caramelly version of Bananas Foster, called Bananas Marley ($4), is a terrific way to end the meal.
The only place Rasta Pasta skips a beat is in seasonings. Dishes that are marked “hot” are often disappointingly tame. The kitchen is happy to bump up the spice, but the jerk seasoning seems to be dominated by heat, without the savory back beat of other aromatic spices.
A better spice rack would make this already-grooving spot really sing.

Manitou eatery takes French favorite and adds world of flavors.
Anyone expecting to find erudite French refinement at Coquette Creperie, a restaurant that opened late this summer in Manitou Springs, is bound to be surprised. So will those hoping for the simple, economical ham and cheese or Nutella snack crepes served on practically every corner in Paris.

In the folds of these crepes you may find tuna, basmati rice, sweet ricotta or tangy guava paste.

Coquette does Crepes Manitou style. They are diverse, funky and thoroughly enjoyable.

Diners can skip from country to country, sampling crepes like the Latin Lover (chicken with a jumble of zucchini, corn, onion, peppers, tomato, rice, black beans and cotija cheese) or the Cowboy (grilled tri-tip beef, barbecue sauce, black beans, coleslaw and sour cream). The stylish little dining room with an open kitchen and concrete floors also serves breakfast crepes and dessert crepes, plus a full bar with a surprisingly long and eclectic wine list.

The whole endeavor represents a collaboration of eight-year Manitou resident Michelle Marx, her daughter Turu Fleites, and Fleites’ husband, Hiram.

They had been talking about opening a restaurant for years, but the kids were busy with their indie rock group, The Human Value. (Described on the band’s Web site as “a power trio fronted by serpentine vocalist Turu and king of the fuzz-tone guitar Hiram.”) Now, it has happened.

Generally, the results are delightful.

All of Coquette’s thin, chewy crepes are gluten free (made from a mix of rice, potato and tapioca flours instead of wheat). The diverse stuffings are freshly prepared and always interesting.

The Rise and Dine South of the Border Crepe ($9) is stuffed with real scrambled eggs, good hippie chorizo sausage, a touch of Swiss cheese, and a fresh dice of tomato, onion, black beans and a cilantro-packed fresh homemade salsa.

The Monte Cristo ($9) is a lighter version of the classic deep-fried French toast sandwich that still offers the guilty pleasure of ham, Swiss and strawberry jam together.

Dinner crepes also hit the right notes.

The Coquette, a pairing of ham, Swiss, sautéed mushrooms and Dijon-style mustard with a dollop of béchamel, is as close as the restaurant comes to a classic French crepe, and it is delicious.

The Tokyo ($14) is about as far from French as crepes can get. It starts with ruby-pink ahi tuna, barely seared then encrusted in sesame seeds, sliced thin, and topped with steamed rice and sinus-clearing wasabi cream cheese and a light citrus-soy reduction. The finished crepe is lovely to look at, topped with a few squares of tuna and a tussle of seaweed ribbons, but our crepe was dominated by the strong cream cheese.

The Argentinean ($9.50) was another unexpected pairing. Chicken, basmati rice, sliced green olives, tomato and mozzarella came wrapped with a side of chimichurri, and Argentinean lemon and herb sauce usually served with steak. The sauce was great.

So was the citrus-marinated salmon we opted to sub in for $3, but the basmati — usually a light, dry rice — was mushy and dense.

For $2 extra, any of the crepes can be served as a salad or over rice, instead of in a thin pancake bundle. We went that direction with the Argentine and ran up against the fundamental problem of Coquette: the prices.

At $10, the Argentine crepe is a bit pricey to begin with. Add a salad and sub in salmon, and suddenly it costs $14.50. That’s a steep price for a salmon salad with a bit of rice.

Most of the menu suffers the same weakness — it is a bit pricey for what you get.

Nowhere is this more clear than dessert. A simple banana and Nutella crepe was fabulous but was worth $5, not the $7.25 Coquette charges. Bananas Foster in a pool of rum sauce was $8.25. A blintz with sweet ricotta and a choice of fresh preserves (strawberry, blueberry, fig, pumpkin butter) was $6.25. All were delicious but a lot to swallow when the bill came.