June 10, 2022 – I was talking to myself, in Spanish, near the Tijuana border. 

“¿Puede ser?” I asked, (Can this be?)

That was the only reaction to what stood before me, a dental hygienist telling me a teeth cleaning with state-of-the-art technology would be $20, flat.

My chiclets and I did not deserve such grace. I had gotten so swept up in the culture and cuisine and scenery of Tijuana—street corner al pastor tacos, a top-shelf barber trim for $5, mercado municipal shopping—that it wasn’t until my last morning, a Sunday, when I realized I hadn’t checked dentist off my to-do list. 

And all the dentists near my lodging were closed Sundays. 

So I headed for San Diego, its trolley a short walk from downtown and Caesar’s, the original home of the salad by the same name, which makes the best Caesar I’ve ever tried. 

Tijuana is a magical place with donkeys painted like zebras and all-hours that gets an outdated rap for seediness and sketchiness. It’s changed quite a bit. 

Don’t get me wrong. I walked into a real-deal saloon in the downtown commercial district only to do a heel turn because of unsavory scents that took on mist-like texture. 

But I also tasted world-class seafood from Javiar Placencia, who’s visited Monterey Bay for Aquarium sustainability awards. Upon arrival I had the cabbie take me straight from the border to Erizo Mariscos Estilo Tijuana for spicy ceviche, chowder de almeja and the capper, a shot of ceviche juice, vodka, yellow aji pepper and quail egg. 

Not far from the dentist, I bought still-warm handmade tortillas from a vendor wading through traffic. 

Handmade was a key selling point. 

That was the only reasonable reaction upon walking into 4-month-old Mission 19 on Lighthouse in New Monterey.

I hadn’t realized Mission19, named after a celebrated Tijuana restaurant, had opened in the former Tutto Buono Eataliano, and I just so happened to be in the mood for Tijuana-style tacos. (OK I’m always in the mood for TJT.). 

But that’s not what had me asking, “Can this be?”

That was the adorable twin girls who sat in a corner of the restaurant cradling pug puppies underneath a neon sign that reads “Life is better with tacos.” 

Other elements also signaled good things to come: old-school peppermints in the jar on the counter, real-deal Mexican style cakes in the deli case, brightly fruiting baby cacti on the tables, and tiny Mexican flags on toothpicks poked into various dishes.

But the most striking omen was the salsa bar. 

Maybe it’s the bold value that it presents—which took me back to Clinica Dental—or my reverence for the generous free salsa bar at fellow Found Treasure Taqueria Zarape in Seaside. I find a buffet of salsas a sign of generosity, self-belief, pride and house recipes that drive return visits.  

Mission19’s salsa spread, tucked beneath a retractable stainless steel hood, represents the new gold standard for local salsa bars, with a grid of bins that are all visibly made in-house: nopales salad, pico de gallo, pickled jalapeños, sliced cucumber, radishes, cilantro, diced onions, green salsa, chipotle salsa, and a smoked-and-stone-ground specialty salsa.

Later I asked owner-operator David Rodas why he invests so much in the salsa selection.

“Here’s the thing. People like choices,” he says. “Many decent restaurants give you something, but you may not like green salsa or spicy salsa. I don’t want to limit my customers.”

The homemade ethos extends to the corn tortillas, which make a great foundation for what’s to come. Under the guidance of lead cook and Tijuana native Christina Barrios, they’re made fresh daily from organic masa. (She’s also the abuela of the twins with the pug puppies.)

Rodas met Barrios after getting to know her son Samuel, who’s the Mission 19 manager. Rodas had been on (yes) a mission to find authentic Baja California food, visiting restaurants in Tijuana and Los Angeles. 

After a taste test at her Seaside home, he knew he had his flavor maker.

The menu arrives simple enough to fit on a small sheet of paper, but its choices make the possibilities get bigger quickly. 

Step one: pick a featured meat or veg (asada, marinated pork/al pastor, chicken, birria or vegetables) and decide—as the menu says—“Where do you want your meat?”

It can go into a melty quesadilla that comes Tijuana style, folded in a single, thick corn or flour tortilla, and is solid thanks to expert guacamole sauce and, in my case, nicely seasoned chicken. 

“We wanted to keep authenticity,” he says, adding he knows domestic audiences might not recognize what they order, so he eventually added a Californian version with two flour tortillas cut into triangles.

The featured act can also go into a taco. The al pastor I ordered was a little boring, but that’s the only sin I’ve seen committed, and evokes a helpful rule: Just as homemade tortillas are a good sign, so is al pastor cut from with a giant spinning spit of pineapple-marinated pork. (Here there’s no spit. So bad call by me.)

In addition I ordered a quesabirria and did a little shoulder shimmy after tasting the savory dynamic of dripping shredded beef and its dance with the house tortilla and cheese.

The birria soup represents the house signature, so that was a must-try too. The combo of slow-cooked chilis and Harris Ranch meat with a tickle of cumin, all simmered together for four hours, merit its flagship status. 

Rodas says the ingredient expression isn’t weighed down by salt or lard. 

“Fatty or salty happens when places are trying to hide cheap ingredients,” he says. “We stick to the traditional Mexican recipe. [Chef] doesn’t deviate from what she’s been cooking for 25 years.”

He checks in on tables, as does the server-clerk-manager Samuel, which speaks to the level of service.

I asked Rodas about the little flags, which feel like a functional symbol of the resident attention to detail.

“A lot of times people get lost in translation—customers come here and say, ‘Why pay $4 for a taco? At Taco Bell I can pay $2.50,’” he says. “But [Taco Bell] doesn’t offer handmade tortillas and doesn’t cook your carne asada on the spot. They don’t buy organics. The details are what matter. You gotta make sure you have them.”

The place seems like a dream that he has been incubating for a while. I asked him if he ever asks himself, “Puede ser?” 

“Absolutely,” he says. “All the time.”

Hours are 11am-9pm Wednesday-Sunday. More at Mission 19’s Instagram or Facebook page.

Mark C. Anderson is a writer, photographer, editor and explorer based in Seaside, California. Reach @MontereyMCA by way of Instagram and Twitter.

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