Casa de Pupusa

OK, I’ll say it again … I could still kick myself for not taking Spanish classes instead of snoring through high school Latin. Case in point: I recently checked out a new restaurant on the city’s east side, Sabor Centro Americano (2661 Independence Avenue), where the staff spoke so little English that I would have been lost if I hadn’t brought along a translator.

I had invited my friend Carmen to lunch with me because, as a native of Guatemala, she knows much more than I do about the culinary traditions of Central America. When she stopped by my office to take me to the restaurant (located in an old Captain D’s near Independence Avenue and Benton Boulevard), I warned her that I knew nothing about the place except that a reader, Mark Blumberg, had written to tell me that it wasn’t “upscale” — a word rarely associated with Independence Avenue — but that it did serve pupusas, a Salvadoran delicacy that isn’t easy to find in Kansas City.

A few years ago, this location was a modest Vietnamese takeout joint. The new tenant, Honduras-born Fredy Rios, spiffed it up, installed four TVs (all tuned to World Cup games while we were there), and draped the tables with fabric and clear vinyl. Customers can order at the counter or wait at a table for a pretty young waitress — ours was from Costa Rica — who may speak only un poco Inglés. Carmen was a charming liaison and ordered several things for us to try — not one of them a taco or a burrito.

We sipped icy tumblers of horchata — a sweet concoction of rice, milk and cinnamon — while we waited for lunch. “This was my version of Kool-Aid when I was growing up in Guatemala,” Carmen said.

She gave thumbs up to the pupusas: tortillas folded around a pork and cheese filling or chopped green loroco buds (a beloved snack treat in Central America). Carmen thought the fried chicharrones — meaty chunks of pork skin — were very good. (I did, too; I ate almost all of them.) She decided that the fried pork chop, a chuleta, was a shade too dry, though, and commanded our waitress to bring limes. “We put lime juice on everything,” she explained.

Everything except the fried yuca, which we dipped in runny sour cream (Carmen says that’s how Central Americans like it), or the sautéed sweet plantains, which we ate with hard cheese.

I can’t wait to go back. At least the menu is in English, and I can point in any language.