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The Spot: Las Cazuelas

Chef Alfredo Aguilar remembers when his neighborhood on the edge of Northern Liberties was quite different.

We always hear about the shiny, new restaurants. This is one in a series about the Philadelphia area's more established dining establishments and the people behind them.

When he was 5 years old, Alfredo Aguilar moved to the United States. His parents had left him in the care of his grandparents in Puebla while they explored the possibility of a better life. As soon as they felt somewhat settled in their new home in Camden, they returned to Mexico to bring their children back with them.

A few years later, the family moved to Philadelphia, first taking over an abandoned house near Fifth and Girard and then buying it for $1,000 at a sheriff's sale.

Aguilar had always been a good cook - his family raved over the rice he made when he was just 10 years old - and after graduating from Roman Catholic High School, he got a job doing kitchen prep at a Mexican spot on City Avenue.

He was a quick learner, and when that restaurant closed after four years, he took a kitchen manager position at Spaghetti Warehouse, then on Spring Garden Street near 10th, and then eventually moved to San Diego to attend culinary school. The trip west connected him with the company running Hometown Buffet, which recruited him to run a new outpost it was opening on Roosevelt Boulevard (it's now Old Country Buffet; the two companies merged).

After four or five years as a manager and trainer for that company, Aguilar decided he'd rather dedicate his energy to his own place. He searched for a location and finally found it just a block from where he'd grown up - in an old house at 426 W. Girard Ave. Las Cazuelas launched in autumn of 1999.

Business was slow at first, but then Inquirer columnist Rick Nichols visted and was impressed by the authentic Mexican food and colorful surroundings. His piece in the paper brought customers through the door, but not quite so many as the next year, when Craig LaBan published a glowing review that led to hour-long waits.

Though the fortunes of the Northern Liberties BYOB faltered during the general economic downturn a few years ago, things are picking up again.

Taking a break from his roasting a batch of habaneros in his small kitchen, Aguilar took a seat next to the mural in his back dining room and mused about the path that brought him this far. He remembered early food experiences - pre-sunrise blueberry picking in Hammonton with his dad, helping his mom make tacos to sell at Philly street festivals - and more recent ones, like being denied a liquor license. He also described plans for Solo Tacos, a new Mexican restaurant due to open this summer in the former Fuji Mountain space in Bryn Mawr.

You were born in Mexico?

Yes, Mexico City. At 3 months, I went to Puebla to stay with my grandparents while my parents traveled to the U.S. I was raised in Puebla until I was 5 years old, when my parents came back to get us.

Had they settled in Philly?

My dad landed in New York. He was staying at the train station with $5 in his pocket, but he was fortunate to run into an undercover police officer who - instead of deporting him - took him to Camden and helped connect him with a job. In Mexico, my father was a police officer, but in Camden he got a job working at a nursery, with plants, flowers and all that stuff.

Then you moved to Camden?

Yes, me and my two sisters. My third sister was born here. I remember I used to go with my dad blueberry picking in the summer. He used to wake me up at 3 a.m. - I could tell by his voice that he felt sorry for waking me up so early - and we would drive to Hammonton, the Blueberry Capital of the World. I was 9 or 10 years old, but he needed an extra hand. One day the security guard stopped him and told him, "Listen, there's new restrictions; kids can't come in." The next time, I hid in the truck of the car until we passed security.

Why did your family move to Philadelphia?

My father had found an abandoned house in Philadelphia at 1012 N. Fifth St., and he just decided we should move in. A couple years later, the house went up for sheriff's sale. I remember them coming in - we thought it was immigration. But all they wanted was for us to move out. They were nice enough to tell my dad, "Listen, if you want to buy the house, here's the auction date; just go and bid." He did, and actually bought the house for $1,000. This was in 1976.

What was this area like back then?

It was nothing but Latinos. We used to sell flowers on the corner of Fifth and Lehigh - it was called the "Golden Block." We'd buy flowers from the nursery in New Jersey at low prices and resell them on the street.

When did you decide to get into cooking?

The first memory I have is one day, when I was blueberry picking, my uncle said, "Why don't you go back to the house and make us some rice?" I didn't know how to make rice, but he gave me instructions, and when they all came to eat it, everyone was like, "This is really great rice!" I was 10 years old, but I started getting ideas. And my mom would cook. When we were in Philly, there was an annual street festival, and my mom would have me and my sisters make tacos. Everyone who bought them kept saying, "You guys should open a restaurant."

What was your first restaurant job?

After high school, I applied at a Mexican restaurant on City Line Avenue as a dishwasher. The chef - his name was Carlos Mesa - he said he didn't need dishwashers, but he did need a prep cook. I told him I didn't know how to cook, but he said, "I'll teach you everything." I worked there for four years, and it started to grow on me.

Next step?

That restaurant closed, because Chi-Chi's bought them out. Someone who used to work with me was at Spaghetti Warehouse in Pittsburgh, so he got me an interview for the one on Spring Garden. I walked in and talked to the district manager, who asked me how long I'd been at my previous job. I told him, and then he says, "Where are you from?" I told him Mexico, and he goes, "OK, you're hired." I'm like, huh? He goes, "All Mexicans are hard workers." I'm like, OK.

What was your position?

I was hired as assistant kitchen manager. My first day, I went in, and I see a server bring back a dish because the customer complained it was cold. One of the assistant chefs puts it in the microwave. I looked at him like, "Are you serious?" The next time I was scheduled to work, I took the microwave and put it in the trash compactor. The other chefs were upset with me, but they knew it was the right thing - I had just been through training, and there were no microwaves. If you make a mistake, you redo the food.

Where did you go next?

After three years, I went to San Diego University for culinary. I got a call from a recruiter from Hometown Buffet. They were opening on Roosevelt Boulevard and needed a kitchen manager. When I showed up at the interview with the district manager, he was wiping down tables himself, so that was a good sign. I told him about myself, and then he goes, "Where are you from." Mexico, I told him. "OK, you're hired." The concept for the place was actually much fresher and different from what I'd thought, so I took the job.

You worked there how long?

Around five years. My restaurant was busier than many others in the chain, so they started having me train other managers. But eventually I said to myself, I'm giving these guys so much, why don't I open my own restaurant. This house, where Las Cazuelas is, I had my eye on it for years. The guy who lived in it wouldn't sell to me, but eventually it became a flower shop, which failed. So the owner let me rent it for $500 a month.

Where does the name Las Cazuelas come from?

It's the name of a casserole dish - the pottery you use for making mole in Puebla, where mole was born. That's our specialty, so we decided to name the restaurant after it.

Were you busy from the start?

Not really. I used to stand in the door and wait for people to come in. But three months after we opened, Rick Nichols comes in. I had just gone to Mexico, my first break since opening the place. My father called me and goes, "You need to come back right now! There's a guy from the Inquirer here!" I told him, "Look, I can't come back right now. You do the interview, just tell him it's your restaurant." So he did, and that's why his picture was in the paper. For years later, everyone thought this was my dad's restaurant.

Did that bring in the business?

It really came after Craig LaBan came in. I remember, I was serving a pork chop with a mole verde - a pistachio sauce. It wasn't a busy night, so I had come out to the dining room to watch people's reactions to the food, and I remember this guy in the corner who was going crazy over the pork chop. The next day I got a call from Craig LaBan. I was like, oh, God, he was in. Then he said, "I had the pork chop and I loved it," and I knew it was that same guy. Then he gave us a good review and we started getting busy. Around 2003, I bought this building.

Do you remember how much you bought it for?

It was $60,000. A lot more than $1,000, but a lot less than it would sell for now. I started renovating the second floor - I wanted to add a bar. I knew the rules about liquor near a church, and there's a church on the corner. So I went to the rector and explained what I was doing. He used to eat here all the time, and he said, "You're very good to the family. You've been here for years. The liquor license is no problem for me."

So I did the renovation and built the bar, but a week before we were scheduled to get the liquor license, I got a certified letter from the state saying the church had opposed it. I tried to get in touch with the rector to find out what happened, but he ignored my calls. I walked over but as soon as he saw me, he said, "When I say no, it's no," and slammed the door in my face. I had been an altar boy in his church!

So you never got a liquor license?

No, and now they're like $90,000 or $100,000. It hurts not having one. The neighborhood had changed, people want liquor, beer, to sit and relax with a margarita. We still do get a percentage that love BYOB, but I think BYOBs are fading away from Philadelphia.

Why do you think that is?

New Yorkers. A lot of people started moving down here from New York - it's cheaper, and they can commute via Amtrak. And New York has no BYOBs. The restaurant industry in Philadelphia has changed a lot since the 1990s. It used to be just cheesesteaks, Chinese and burgers. Now you can go from Moroccan to Indian to Mexican to Peruvian to Japanese, you name it.

Has your own menu changed?

I've changed it according to the clientele. I used to get more people from the Main Line, who like entrees, my mole. But the people here, they just want to get tacos or quesadillas, so I changed to do more appetizers and small plates. A lot of people get the nachos - but the difference in ours is we use authentic Mexican cheeses. No Monterey Jack or American; we use oaxaca, chihuahua, cotija cheese.

What are your plans for the future?

I have a friend who's opening up a restaurant on the Main Line, where Fuji Mountain used to be. He used to own a media advertising company, but he sold it for millions and decided he wanted to open a restaurant. I met him because every Sunday he would order posole for like 50 or 60 people. One day, he asked me if I would be chef at his new place. The offer was so good, I had to say yes.

Will you still keep Las Cazuelas?

Oh, yes. He wants to do pretty much the same thing we're doing here - high-end, authentic Mexican (although the place is going to be called Solo Tacos - "only tacos" - which doesn't exactly make sense, but sounds good). It's going to open this summer, maybe June or July.

Las Cazuelas

426 W. Girard Ave., 215-351-9144

Hours: 11 a.m. to 9 p.m. Tuesday to Thursday; 11 a.m. to 10 p.m. Friday and Saturday; 11 a.m. to 8 p.m. Sunday