There's a phenomenon that occurs when 'Hounds all eat together -- all of a sudden everyone is Jonathan Effing Gold. Either everyone is in total adoration or everyone is in total disgust, and the crowd in which I run will typically err on the side of adoration. One visit to the 8th St location of Guelaguetza, though, and we were all pretty much in mutual disgust. It wasn't an overblown snobby foodie reaction -- it really was bad.

I blame me, really. I'd only been to the Guela location on Olympic, and had a great meal there. And so when we were all at a loss as to what to do for dinner, I mentioned the Guela location on 8th as something that was somewhat familiar, but at the same time new.

Things started off well. A few of us ordered the horchata, which didn't contain that thick ricey texture that fills you up in an instant, and instead featured a thinner consistency more apt for sipping. In addition to the bits of fruit and nuts, it also seemed to have a fruit syrup, giving it a sweetness that was not quite cloying, but still potent enough to change its color.

We began with the mole rojo on one of their signature tlayudas. The rojo is definitely my favorite of the moles offered at Guelaguetza, providing a nice depth of flavor without an overbearingly intense smokiness. In fact, the tamal con mole negro even elicited a reaction of "grass-clippings" from someone at the table, a reaction not too far from the truth.

Still, the chiles provided a great base of flavor, and only in the red mole could a nice sweetness smoothe out the intense earthiness.

In addition to the tlayuda, we also ordered a memela, which is a smaller tortilla, but without the thin cracker-like texture because of its added thickness. Here, we also opted to add tasajo, which Wikipedia tells me is a Cuban form of beef jerky but really seemed closer to bisteca by the look of it. It was fine, but certainly not anything earth shattering.

At that point, the hubbub and murmurs of disappointment started flickering in across the table. I don't know what it was, but negative energy started flowing and the upcoming dishes could do nothing to stem the tide.

The amarillo de pollo was delicious enough, but it really was a pretty bland chicken soup. I'm trying my best to find a distinctive feature, and we had a variety of palates at the table, and no one could find anything really remarkable about the dish at all. It didn't taste bad, it was just so non-existent. At one moment, it was in your mouth, and at the next it was gone from memory.

Really, the only dish of note was the barbacoa de borrego, a weekend only special that I ordered. Not exactly the prettiest of dishes, it certainly was the tastiest dish by far. The meat had a great texture, soft to the bite but still had enough tug that it was still reminiscent of any good cut of lamb. The long, slow cook dissolved any gameyness that would normally punish any lamb dish, but it still retained its flavor.

It was also served with a pretty tasty hominy soup, but by that point the damage was done. Other dishes, none of them worthy of photographic evidence, littered the table and had everyone doubting my ability to select a dinner destination. I, too, felt guilty that night and hastily paid for everyone's dinner in true Taiwanese fashion, subversively paid the bill before anyone else could.

I'll have to go back to the location of Guelaguetza on Olympic, because this instance was outright bad. I have no problem associating it with one location because I thought the Olympic location was quite flavorful. We all decided to head down to the Prince after "dinner" to see if some squirming octopus could rinse the taste out of our mouths.