“Buenos Dias!” I say cheerfully. The woman behind the counter looks up at me, clearly busy, and gives me an expression that lets me know she’s ready to receive my order. “What’s your favorite thing on the menu?” I ask. She looks over to the man next to her, and they converse in rapid Spanish in low voices. He translates between us. “She says you will try them to find your favorite.” He cocks his head to the side and looks at me curiously. “You speak Spanish?” “Lo intento,” I say with a grin, “but not well…. at all.” He replies with a smile and an encouraging nod. It’s time to order. “Puedo tener dos pupusas porfa,” I manage. The man smiles and turns to the woman, speaking in low tones once again. She smiles at me, nods and dutifully begins. She hasn’t stopped moving the whole time.
If we’re being honest, my Spanish sucks. I would describe it as barely passable traveler’s Spanish mixed with some basic kitchen Spanish from my time in the hospitality industry in Chicago, where a huge Mexican population lives and thrives. I always say that about the time I leave a Spanish speaking country, what I order in a restaurant and what I actually get in a restaurant start being the same thing. Lo intento. No issues today though. The man I’ve been talking to is Juan, and he speaks a lot more English than I speak Spanish, much to his credit. His wife, for which the eponymous Pupuseria Damaris is named, helms the kitchen and is clearly in charge of the operation. Her hands move so quickly they blur, as she fills pupusas, cooks quesadillas, and rolls burritos all while greeting her friends as they stroll through the market.
Damaris keeps her menu small for a reason. She only has what the people actually want- and they want a lot of it! While I’m sitting and waiting for my Pupusas, she sends out at least four orders (to take) and has another few couples come to sit down at the family style tables (to have) under her tarped roof in the middle of the San Ignacio Market. The smell is exquisite, and the sound of the dough sizzling on the griddle reminds me that this is the real deal- no premade crap, just the best local food that money can buy.
The food is mouth-wateringly delicious. Served piping hot and as fresh as can be, these are the best pupusas I’ve ever had anywhere. As I absolutely smash them, I speak with Juan about the history of the business. In a mix of my terrible Spanish and his much better English, I learn that Pupuseria Damaris has been in business for 28 years, and was started by Damaris’s mother, who immigrated from El Salvador. She has been at the helm ever since her mother retired and handed over the family business. They should be proud of that accomplishment; keeping any business open, let alone a food service business, is difficult at best. 28 years is legendary. But it’s also easy to see why they’re successful. Damaris effortlessly glides between greeting friends and making food at a pace that would impress even the most skilled chefs. Juan is always smiling and chatting and making sure the guests are taken care of, but also that Damaris has everything she needs in the kitchen. When there’s a lull, they laugh and smile and talk to one another. This is a family business that works.
“Necesito una quesadilla porfa,” I say to Juan as he wanders by with a plate for somebody else. It’s time for round two. “You will try them to have, or to take?” he asks, using the local equivalent of for here or to go? To have, for sure! The quesadilla is excellent as well, and I really like the fresh tortilla. It’s a game changer compared to getting a tortilla from one of the local factories. Don’t get me wrong, the factories make way better tortillas than anything you’ve ever had from any store- but the warmth and especially the texture of the fresh ones is unbelievable. It’s hard to describe how wonderful it is to enjoy a fresh tortilla you’ve just watched, heard, and smelled being made from scratch, that you now get to touch and taste. It’s often said that you eat with your eyes first- and this engagement of the senses elevates the experience beyond a culinary experience to a cultural one.
“Ok, Juan, it’s burrito time!” Juan seems amazed that I want more food. I have already eaten plenty and should not eat an entire burrito, but nobody can stop me. The guy having one next to me looks so pleased with his that I can’t resist; it’s just too wonderful of a meal to not completely overdo it. As one might expect, the tortilla is fresh and the texture is perfect, the cheese is gooey, and the salsa I slather it in is the ideal balance of tomato, salt, and acidity. It’s a remarkable and savory end to a wildly good meal. I eat the burrito in what has to be a record time, dipping it into the salsa to sop up any remaining goodness. I am now fat, happy, and kind of warm from the inside out. I sit at the table and watch the people come and go to Pupuseria Damaris for a few minutes, each one going about their day not realizing that this tiny kitchen run by two people is a world-class experience disguised as a plate of food, and how lucky we are to be able to visit any time we want. I look at Juan and Damaris and thank them profusely, exclaiming at the wonderful hospitality I’ve just encountered. I settle up the bill for a princely sum- $12bz for all of it. Amazing. This just goes to show that the best hospitality experience isn’t always the same as the most expensive, and that it’s often the little kitchen in the market that’s doing incredible things just because they love and appreciate it. So the next time you’re in town, make the time to stop in and visit. You’ll be so glad that you did.
Pupuseria Damaris is located in the San Ignacio Market, and open every day but Sunday, from early to just after lunch. Expect a line on the weekend! Walk into the market from the street and head past the main row of fruit vendors to a long tarped structure full of small kitchens and picnic tables in the next row. Look for the menu posted above, which will be inside, under the roof. If you find a row of clothing vendors, you’ve gone too far.
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