I vaguely remember being fed in a high chair in my mom’s avocado-green kitchen when I was a baby. Aside from that, some of my earliest food memories are of eating at La Posada on 26th and Ridgeway, Papa Charlie’s on Taylor and Morgan, and Atotonilco’s original location on 26th and Springfield. Of those places, only Atotonilco’s remains.
One of the city’s oldest taquerias, Atotonilco’s was founded in 1972 by Don Jesús from Arandas, Jalisco. My dad remembers eating there then, but 1972 is memorable to him for other reasons. It was the year he graduated high school and the first time he ever lived in a house, when his family moved to 2352 S. Millard Ave. in La Villita.
Like Don Jesús, my grandparents migrated from Jalisco, and my father was born on a migrant farm in Weslaco, Texas. My grandparents picked their way up to Chicago where my grandfather sought work in the steel mills but ended up with a job at a taffy apple factory.
My dad grew up moving from apartment to apartment. The first was on Madison, the second on Garibaldi, and then one on Cullerton and Allport. From there, my grandfather moved them to Taylor St. and Laflin Ave., then 19th St. and Blue Island Ave., back to Mexico for a few months, and then back to the spot on Allport. They lived in an apartment on 19th St. and Carpenter Ave. before my grandfather finally bought a house.
My grandfather moved my grandmother, my dad, and his eight siblings into the corner house on 23rd St. and Millard Ave, just a few blocks from Atotonilco’s. It’s where he grabbed tacos after baseball games at Douglass or Piotrowski or after class at Amundsen Mayfair Junior College (now Truman College).
But mostly, Atotonilco’s would punctuate my dad’s late nights. He’d walk over with friends after a night of drinking, smoking, and shooting pool in the basement. He headed there after nights out with my mom or with friends going off to the military.
After all, Atotonilco’s opened during the Vietnam War, which ultimately claimed more than 58,000 U.S. lives, including 3,000 from Illinois, with nearly a third of those being from Chicago.
Five years after Don Jesús opened Atotonilco’s, it was bought by brothers Oscar and Raul Muñoz who’ve kept the taqueria in the family and expanded to Back of the Yards, Gage Park, and Pilsen.
Like my dad, Atotonilco’s on 26th St. was my late-night spot. It’s where I’d go after dancing to a new wave DJ Mode set at the Orbit, after bobbing to hip-hop at Funky Buddha or after getting high as hell in someone’s backyard.
It’s where I took someone when I really started to like them. I wanted them to see the place where I’ve been going since I was small enough to stand on a chair or needed both hands to grip the soda fountain glass to drink my licuado de Chocomilk.
Through the years, I may have changed, but my order never has: I always get a “torta de milanesa, no más frijoles, crema y aguacate,” and, of course, a licuado de Chocomilk like when I was a kid. Atot’s has the city’s best licuados.
Every year, there’s some list in Time Out or on TikTok claiming to know where to get the “best tacos” in Chicago. If they don’t have Atotonilco’s among them, I assume they’re transplants, try-hards or genuinely tasteless. When you bite a taco at Atotonilco’s, it ain’t just carne you taste, it’s history.
Walking into Atotonilco’s feels like going back in time in the best way. No computerized menus, just the big, brightly colored hand-painted signs. We don’t talk enough about how the invisible items on the menu at some Chicago spots like Atotonilco’s are our memories.