Las 7 Estrellas

I have been all but criminally neglecting this Mexican restaurant review journal, and for that I sincerely apologize, as I have been traveling, writing speeches for a potential 2020 candidate for political office, and selling T-shirts. It occurred to me to expand the Avocado Taco nationwide—and I did write about some fine tacos in my Moleskine notebook (I've always been skeptical of those things, but they're really pretty nice—got one as a present) (and if you happen to see some guy in a taco restaurant with a laptop, that isn't Ray Speen)—but I decided to keep it somewhat local, for now, and it seems I'm back in town for a spell, at least until my court date. 

An acquaintance in the food world, Dick Skiller, woke me up last week with a desperate plea to meet him at a new Mexican restaurant. It seems he can't speak any Spanish—well, neither can I, unless you include counting off a Sam the Sham & the Pharaohs song. But no matter, I wasn't even fully awake anyway, so I joined him at Las 7 Estrellas, 112 E. Dakota St., in Bay View, and I had one of my favorite breakfasts, Huevos con Chorizo, which reminded me somewhat of my regular order at the old (gone now) Lopez Bakery, on National, where I started the day a record number of times. They brought warm tortilla chips automatically along with a standard salsa and some green stuff that was warm and spicy—it probably had a name—didn't think to ask—so for now, I'll just call it delicious.

Skiller had a plate of three tacos (three different kinds, including cow head), though he ate one of them before I could photograph it. After we were both finished eating, we were sad we didn't share each other's food, so we could each get a more representative overview, but we both agreed we'd return here soon, anyway. I know Skiller likes to eat at a place several times before reviewing it, and since he has an expense account (unlike me), why not simultaneously claim to have standards while sticking it to the man. The decor is modest yet comfortable. There's a TV, but it's behind the bar, so from the dining room you could only see the bottom of it, and since it was a football game, that meant just the players' legs were showing, which was too bad, or nice, because I was thinking this was the annual game where both teams wear papier-mache animal heads. I would have mentioned this to Skiller, but he already accused me of being high. I was not.