If I hadn't seen it with my own two eyes, I might not believe there really is a restaurant called El Jefe's. It made me want to walk right up to the hostess desk and ask, in my best Chevy Chase voice: \"Do you have anything here besides... Mexican food?\"\r\n\r\nBut the place is indeed real, and, in fact, they do have plenty of things on the menu that would confuse the heck out of Mexicans, real or fictional. The decor's your first clue that perhaps this isn't your typical combo-plate shack. Obviously, these guys have pretentions, and it shows in the menu.\r\n\r\nNow, I'm no purist when it comes to my comida: I love my gringified Mexican places as much as the next SoCal emigrant, and I'm even pretty fond of Mexican fusion, when it's done right. But even given the fact that they're obviously shooting straight for my demographic, I couldn't find anything to latch onto at El Jefe's. The chips and salsa they brought to the table didn't give me much hope: The chips were made from a strange combination of flour and corn masa, giving the impression of eating the wrapping from a greasy chimichanga, and both green and red salsas were obviously sweetened.\r\n\r\nEven though I wasn't particularly hungry, I ordered a \"Mexican chopped salad\" to hedge my bets. The spicy mix of chicken, lettuce, poblanos, pepitas, hominy, and apples wasn't bad, although, again, someone in the kitchen used a very heavy hand with the sugar when mixing the dressing. For my main, I went with mole chicken enchiladas. They arrived in a soup plate, swimming in sauce and \"artfully\" drizzled with crema. The chicken was good, if not particularly interesting; the sauce would have been a perfect balance of smoky, spicy and rich, if it hadn't been marred by an odd fruity sweetness. Accompanying pintos were bland, and white rice was waterlogged... and unnecessary.\r\n\r\nThe whole experience made me want to go back into the kitchen and ask: \"Could it be that you are angry for something else, and you are taking it out on me?\"
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