First off, let’s say this. I love Mexican food and have a long history with it. I started traveling to Baja when I was 14. As a San Diego native, we’re weaned directly from the breast to the bottle of hot sauce. I love birria and menudo and Cotija cheese.

My derision of the tostada is pretty simple. It is one of the toughest foods in the world to eat. Attempt to bite it like a pizza, and tostada shrapnel cascades all over your person. Congratulations on your new tostada pants.

Try to eat it with a fork? Ever tried to eat a corn chip with a fork? Tostadas mock your silly utensil.

Plus, being flat as a CD (those were thin, flat discs that once played music), all of the awesome juices from the toppings would run off onto the plate. All that lovingly stewed meat juice, just wallowing and alone on a plate. And since the tostada shell is hard, it’s not like you can dredge it through the orphan sauce, like you would Indian flatbread.

And so tostadas make me sad.

And unlike other hard-to-eat foods (crab legs come to mind), the tostada shell was intentionally left in this useless shape. Why wouldn’t you just fold the fried corn disc into an easier shape? Like the glorious side-vee of the taco, which is much easier to eat? Or at least fold the edges of the tostada so that it can contain the goodness of the toppings and not freely donate its juices of gold to the plate?

Leaving it flat was like doing laundry and deciding not to fold it. I called it the “half-ass laundry taco.” Chef Chad White was gracious about the peculiar missive, painting “#HALFASSLAUNDRYTACO” on the wall of his restaurant’s bathroom.

Two weeks ago, chef Flor Franco decided she needed to educate me. So she organized a trip as part of her food/drink/travel company, Indulge. With myself, a handful of chefs, food people and Baja lovers, we headed south in search of tostada enlightenment. They dubbed the journey “The Half-Ass Laundry Taco Tour.”

I felt honored. And ashamed. And skeptical. Read below for the gold we found.

Dear Tostada, I’m Sorry

FIRST STOP: LA OAXAQUEÑA @ MERCADO HIDALGO

Mercado Hidalgo is Tijuana’s permanent farmers market. There are chiles and moles and dried fruit of every kind. There’s what looks to be a plastic bottle of water, filled with mezcal. Here you can buy raw huitlacoche—the Mexican truffle, which looks like corn has a disease but tastes like Jesus. Our first tostada is from La Oaxaquena, the shell slathered with black bean in a sort of delicious glue, topped with shredded lettuce and sturdy chunks of chorizo. They make their tortillas with organic corn from Oaxaca. It’s got the thin, crispy texture of a flatbread like lavash or papadum. When plied with salsa, it’s excellent. Still, hard to eat. Hurumph.

Raw huitlacoche at Mercado Hidalgo in Tijuana.

SECOND STOP: POPOTLA FISHING VILLAGE

Just past the movie studio where they filmed The Titanic, we make a right on a dirt road down to Rosarito’s famed fishing village. While many tourists eat lobsters up the road at Puerto Nuevo (lobsters, most locals tell me, that are often flown in frozen from China), Popotla is where locals eat fresh seafood. Cars pull right onto the beach. An old VW Bug splashes through the shallow water. There are tables piled high with the day’s fresh catch—yellowtail, oysters, chocolate clams, lobsters, you name it. Literally boat-to-throat. One table is piled so high with vibrant, red sculpin that it looks like an apple cart.

Dear Tostada, I’m Sorry

Our liaison is Patty Villareal, who, along with her husband, operate Think Blu, which promotes sustainable seafood for Baja’s immense supply. Stands—plastic lawn chairs, tables, and outdoor kitchens covered by tarps and tents—feed the locals who come to play in the waves. We sit down at La Reina de la Playa for tostadas, literally on the edge of the water, gazing out at the wet horizon. Both are piled high with fresh ceviche. Looking at the mound of incredibly fresh, raw seafood—including excellent Baja octopus—I have a tostada epiphany. There is no way a taco could take this load. The taco’s thin middle severely limits abundance. A-ha! Tostadas are how you put an entire meal on a fried tortilla. Still, it’s hard to eat and the juice from the excellent ceviche escapes onto the plate and makes me sad.

Dear Tostada, I’m Sorry

THIRD STOP: MANZANILLA

When I wrote San Diego Magazine’s story on the Baja food and drink scene (and how incredibly, incredibly hot it is among food lovers these days), I was just learning about the culture. I was trying to not miss any of the major chefs and/or food and wine people. But inevitably, every story has its holes or every story would be as long as Ulysses. I nearly missed interviewing chefs Benito Molina and Solange Muris—the husband-and-wife chef team behind Manzanilla in Ensenada. It would’ve been a grave mistake, since these two are one of the first to create high-end food using the world-class seafood and produce found in Baja. Their restaurant is right next to the Ensenada port, and it’s awesomely kitschy with art and sustainable building materials. It’s lovely and hip, masculine and feminine, arty and not pretentious. A place easily loved.

Dear Tostada, I’m Sorry

And Solange’s tostada—the corn round oven-baked so that it has crispy, charred edges and a softly crunchy interior—is the best thing we eat all day. Unsurprisingly. She’s quickly seared local abalone, and covered it with chipotle crema and spiked it with cilantro. It’s divine. There is a reason why this has been named by multiple sources as one of the best restaurants on the planet. I look at their menu. An eight-course tasting dinner, with wine pairings from nearby Valle de Guadalupe, is less than $100. I’ll be back.

Dear Tostada, I’m Sorry

FOURTH STOP: HUSSONG’S

There are no tostadas here. It is where the margarita was invented. Though culinary tourists, we’re still tourists. There is a mariachi band. We dance, some of us badly.

FOURTH STOP: CERVECERIA WENDLANDT

This is where Ensenada does craft beer. And it is righteous.

CONCLUSION

I have seen the tostada light. It is a crispy Mexican pizza of sorts—an edible Frisbee of glee. Its flatness, while a real pain in the ass to eat, serves its utility. And that is to accommodate a heaping of delicious food. It is essentially a taco of plenty. Do I still maintain that a mere curling of the edges of the corn crisp would better serve humanity and keep all those juices contained for the full ride? You bet. But I’ll gladly get it all over my person when it’s this good.

An octopus tostada on the beach at Popotla.

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And, hey, while we’re at it, let’s talk other types of seafood. Got your heart set on clams or mussels? Well, how about trying some geoduck (pronounced gooey-duck)? It’s certainly out there.

That’s the beauty of Catalina Offshore Products. Tommy Gomes and company bring in not just the usual stuff (although the usual stuff—sea bass, swordfish, shrimp, and yellowtail—are damned good). They bring in the seafood you need to ask about. That you might not know how to cook—or know if you’d even enjoy. No problem. On Fridays, chef Chris Logan comes in to do demos and give you a chance to ask prep questions and sample. On Saturdays, the “Man with the Pan,” Ken Gardon does the same.

I went in last week and Tommy loaded me down with some collars and I got a geoduck primer. Now, you get it, too.

Catalina Offshore Products

From left: yellowtail collars, salmon collars, geoduck

Yellowtail Collars

This yellowtail comes from the along the West Coast, from Baja up to just south of San Francisco. It’s a perfect sushi fish—sweet and a little fatty. You can get a fillet and grill it, bake it, or broil it. But how about the collar? There’s no reason you can’t do the same. At $5 apiece, it’s very affordable and, more to the point, the flesh is ridiculously rich. Logan suggests marinating it in a combination of rice vinegar, soy sauce, brown sugar, garlic, cilantro, and Serrano chili a day before cooking. Then grill, broil, or bake it.

Wild King Salmon Collars

When Tommy pulled these out of the case I had a moment that took me back to my childhood. I grew up munching on “lox wings,” the thick piece of the smoked salmon attached to the fins and, I realize now, collars, that the deli guys would just give away to kids. No one does that anymore, but oh, the sight of those collars took me back. Salmon collars at Catalina Offshore Products are $2.50 apiece. Marinate them in a mix of lemon, olive oil, parsley, and dill, then steam, put them on the grill, or bake.

Geoduck

Typically we think of geoduck as a Pacific Northwest delicacy. But Tommy’s are hand harvested in Baja and, he admits, have less fat content and are a little less sweet. But, man, are they interesting. You have to be careful when cooking with them since they can get tough quickly. You can prepare them raw, sliced thin like carpaccio or added to ceviche. Or slice them, toss in cornstarch, and quickly pan fry them, then dip in Chinese red chile garlic sauce. Or, make chowder or cioppino, and,  like with clams, add them at the end to just briefly cook. But before you do anything, they need prepping—as in boiling in a deep pot to loosen the skin, shocking them in ice water, cutting them out of the shell and then peeling the skin. Tommy has a video demo that shows how it works. $12 to $14 a pound

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