With a Name Like Foxy, It Must Be Good

Last month, Miguelito took Max and me to a Glendale establishment that boasted having the best Mexican food in Glendale, Calif. It's called Foxy's. I was skeptical because the restaurant bore a moniker worthy of a strip club and a decor evoking a hunting lodge serving venison and ale. Even Max, who grew up in Pasadena with an extensive Mexican-Spanish clan, admitted that he had never stepped inside of Foxy's before that day. No sooner had we sat down at our corner booth that Max's high school friend stopped by, revealing that he's a regular at Foxy's.

While I had been craving eggs Benedict before we arrived at Foxy's, I was curious about a particular specialty dubbed "The Leaning Tower of Mexico." The menu described it as layers of fried tortillas with Spanish rice, black beans, melted cheese, fried eggs and avocado slices. I envisioned a ziggurat miraculously built by the Aztecs. It was more like a Japanese omelet smothered with a warm salsa instead of ketchup. Max lost his Mexican craving once he spied the French toast on the menu. Being a solid Midwestern boy, Miguelito stuck to his predilection for eggs Benedict. The dudes of Mexican descent acknowledged that my dish was the picturesque of the three.

The tower gracefully held its poise after I sliced into it with a serrated knife. The rice and beans soaked up the runny yolk.

The restaurant's gray-haired Foxy's must have met their share of skeptics who doubt that Mexican food belongs to a place called Foxy's. That's why they printed a dare to sample the goods on the back of the bill.

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