Mighty, Mouthwatering Tortas at Bárbaro
A Taste of Mexico City in Humboldt Park
Chicago has one of the best Mexican sandwich scenes north of the border. You can enjoy exceptional versions of pambazos, cemitas, ahogadas, cubanas, etc. in nearly every corner of the city. Heck, you can even have high-quality tortas at the airport, as anyone who’s ever stopped at O’Hare’s Tortas Frontera can attest.
In a city stacked with stiff competition, Bárbaro Taqueria y Cantina (2525 W North Ave.) stands head and shoulders above the rest, offering not one, but two, of Chicago’s most mouthwatering tortas. Hands down, their milanesa de pollo and chilaquiles tortas are the best versions I’ve had outside of Mexico.
Let’s begin with a truism: a sandwich of any kind is only as good as the bread it is served on. Bárbaro stakes their torta bona fides on an outstanding pan telera, the staple roll for a number of classic Mexican tortas, characterized by an oblong shape, fluffy crumb and crusty exterior.
The restaurant sources its first-rate bread from a southside bakery and treats it with the respect it deserves. Rather than squishing the delicate roll under the heft of a panini press as many lesser establishments do, they do it the right way, meaning they slice the telera in half and toast it on a flat-top grill. As such, the exterior retains its delightful crunch and its warmed insides meld with the spreadable condiments.
In the case of the milanesa, these include a slick of mayonnaise and a swipe of refried beans. The mayo has the same tang as the popular lime juice-spiked, McCormick-brand mayonesa found at torterías across Mexico. The beans are a liquidless, partially-mashed version of the restaurant’s exceptional black beans. (Do yourself a favor and order a bowl of these beans, which come with corn, crema, queso fresco and avocado.)
In addition to these spreads the sandwich is garnished with a generous portion of perfectly-ripe avocado and slivered red onions. Thankfully, there’s not a shred of lettuce in sight. (There’s nothing I hate more than salad greens withering on a hot sandwich.)
The centerpiece of the milanesa de pollo, of course, is the breaded and fried chicken cutlet that gives this torta its name. As someone who’s eaten her fair share of schnitzel, katsu, cotoletta, chicken parm and the like, I can attest that Bárbaro’s chicken is pounded to optimal thickness. It’s moist but isn’t the least bit chewy, and is coated and fried with such precision so that the breading is shatteringly-crisp yet still adheres to the meat when you bite into it.
What really takes this sandwich to the next level is the cheese. Anyone who’s been fortunate to experience a costra in Mexico City will instantly recognize this game-changing technique: a pile of shredded cheese is placed directly on the griddle and cooked until the eponymous “scab” or “crust” forms. Once you’ve devoured a torta with a molten mess of seared Chihuahua, you can never have it any other way.
If you order the milanesa as is, it arrives draped with pickled jalapeños and accompanied by salsa verde. Because I am a total spice wimp (sad, but true), I always omit these two items from my order. You may be tempted to stop reading right now and hit the unsubscribe button, but the fact that this sandwich is perfectly-moist and balanced in spite of my loserish modifications is a testament to its greatness.
I’ve had dozens of milanesas since I first dined at Bárbaro in 2021 and they’ve only gotten better over time. Frankly, I’ve never considered ordering another torta off the dinner menu since I’m so devoted to this extraordinary creation.
But on a recent Saturday morning when I noticed the addition of a chilaquiles torta to their weekend brunch menu, I shot up in bed, threw some clothes on, hopped on my bike and pedaled as fast as I could down North Avenue.
For the uninitiated, the torta de chilaquiles is quintessential Mexico City street food. Residents of the capital (chilangos) love their carbs on carbs—you may be familiar with the guajolota, aka the torta de tamal, aka the tamal sandwich, aka the tamal on a roll—and they love anything that soothes a wicked hangover after a night of bar-hopping.
The typical torta de chilaquiles consists of a bolillo (the crustier cousin of the telera) filled with stale tortillas that have been cut, fried and simmered with salsa (red or green are standard). In its simplest form, the sandwich comes with crema, queso fresco and sliced onion.
Disagreements abound as to whether the reconstituted tortillas should retain a bit of crunch or disintegrate into a soggy mass—the people of Mexico City are fiercely-opinionated about food—but most chilangos and visitors in-the-know agree that the torta de chilaquiles is a delicious monstrosity.
Bárbaro takes some liberties with their version, but in my opinion these adjustments result in an improvement on the classic. For one thing, they use the telera in place of a bolillo; they also offer the option to add egg (kitchen’s recommendation: over-easy). The cheffy addition of cilantro sprigs and mandolined red onion brightens this beige behemoth.
In place of crumbled cheese they go full-melt: that base layer of crusty cheese and beans from the milanesa makes another appearance here, adding textural complexity and capturing some of the runoff yolk from the superbly-prepared fried egg.
Since I fall in the middle of the great chilaquiles debate (I like them mushy with a bit of crunch), I find Bárbaro’s preparation ideal. I delight in the herbaceous epazote green salsa that builds to a pleasant heat, only to be tempered by the buttery sweetness of the crema.
The riot of flavors and textures, carefully layered, build into a rapturous whole like the full-throated, powerhouse crescendo of a mariachi band. Simply put, this sandwich is a knockout.
If you happen to dine with companions who don't understand the beauty of carbs on carbs (why would you associate with such people?), they can order the chilaquiles, which feature those same soaked tortillas accompanied by lacy eggs.
The chilaquiles are good, really good. But the chilaquiles torta is next level.
My only gripe about Bárbaro is that you can’t experience my two favorite tortas at the same time: the milanesa is available on the dinner menu and the chilaquiles torta is only available for weekend brunch.
I’m going to propose that they merge these two sandwiches into one, in homage to Mexico City’s celebrated La Esquina del Chilaquil. A milanesa torta topped with chilaquiles and all the fixings? Yes, please.
In the meantime, head to Bárbaro for dinner and come back for weekend brunch. This is your best opportunity to taste chilango-quality tortas without hopping on a plane.
All photos by Whitney Moeller and Jared Wheeler.
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