Above All Else: Felipe Mendez & Iris Avelar of Brooklyn’s La Superior

On first appearance, the name could be braggadocio. It’s a restaurant that appears to be by no means extraordinary. It’s ostensibly, at most, just another trendy Mexican joint attended to by Manhattan’s social pariahs, following a line of them: La Esquina, Dos Caminos, Rosa Mexicana, et al. But, the thing is, La Superior is far more than that. If God is in the details, the braintrust behind this small, inconspicuous culinary destination are True Believers.

For one thing, it’s not in Manhattan. Situated in South Williamsburg, far from the Mexican-for-models scene, La Superior is tucked cozily into a nondescript block not five minutes from the neighborhood’s main drags. Aside from a vestibule and their logo painted on a firetruck-red wall outside, the place is hidden in plain sight. Entering, one notices a hungry cross-section of New York’s denizens only a restaurant with legitimately solid, reasonable, accessible food attracts—hipsters, families, culinary tourists, regulars, the occasional wayward, B-Burg celebrity (members of the Rapture, New York rapper Tes Uno)—and the sound of a resident iPod, which, on a noisy Thursday night last week, piped LCD Soundystem’s Sound of Silver through the restaurant. A hand-screened wallpaper (from a friend, it’s explained) and lighting fixtures—bottom-open glass orbs with exposed wiring (intentional, and again: custom made for the restaurant)—adorn the walls and ceilings. If anything, the place has atmosphere.

Owner/executive chef Felipe Mendez (a born-and-bred Mexico City ex-pat, and a DJ, a photographer, and a de-facto designer on the side) and co-owner Iris Avelar (a Bay Area import who comes from a publicity background) are the restaurant’s backbone, and maybe, besides Felipe’s cooking, the restaurant’s strongest asset. Besides being somewhat unlikely restaurateurs, they’re young—Filipe’s 29—but both have been working in the restaurant business for most of their lives, and both have family roots in Guadalajara, where the desire to cook authentic food only recently unleashed on New Yorkers comes from.

Seated at a table in the back, we take in the restaurant: kinetic, bustling, filled with pungent, strong scents of Yucatan spices emanating from the kitchen. Tonight is unusually busy for Mendez: interview, in the middle of service, for our publication, and, later, the Paper party, where he’ll celebrate his entrance into the Beautiful People 2009 issue (which he proudly sneaks out from a closet to share). But he can’t stop moving, adjusting things, greeting customers. The energy in the place is soulful, and it shows in the food that comes to the table: unlike any Mexican dish you’re ever going to eat, unless, Mendez asserts, you’re going to Mexico City. Avelar finally coaxes him to sit down at the table to discuss what it takes to build a place like this. He can’t stop fidgeting.

I’ve had plenty of Mexican food before. But the recipes you two are turning out La Superior aren’t anything I’ve ever seen before.
Felipe: Mexican restaurants in America aren’t authentic. It’s always fusion. It’s Tex-Mex or some kind of food that isn’t Mexican. I have worked at Dos Caminos, Rosa Mexicano and Bonita. I saw what they were serving, and I was like, This isn’t authentic.

It’s an Americanized version of authenticity.
Felipe: There’s also a lack of really interesting tastes, because most of the owners of Mexican restaurants in New York aren’t Mexican. When I make something, if it doesn’t taste like my Mom’s cooking, then I don’t sell it. If it doesn’t taste like home, we don’t do it.

What are your favorite dishes on the menu?
Felipe: They’re like my babies, like my kids. I really can’t choose.

What ingredients are you using that other Mexican restaurants aren’t?
Felipe: We use Mexican cream, we use homemade chorizo, we use fresh corn dough, and we do, like, 15 different salsas. We do everything fresh because we don’t have a large basement, so we have delivery every day for the meals. Our kitchen staff is trained for this kitchen—like the guy who makes the quesadillas, he’s a master of these quesadillas. They say, in Mexico, that the master of the dough makes the quesadillas. If you do it right, it becomes an art.

You have been in a six-month-long battle with the State Liquor Authority to get your license.
Felipe: We’ve been waiting for a license. We believe that a good taco goes with a good beer, or nice tequila. We’re going to do some amazing things.

You’ve since both gone in front of the community board and cleared all the paths. Why has it taken six months to solve this problem?
Iris: Well, it hasn’t really taken six months. The paperwork actually took a bit longer than we expected—we applied in early January.
Felipe: It used to take from three to six months, and now they’re shooting for six to nine months, or even a year.

And you had a BYOB policy for a while, which has since stopped.
Felipe: We stopped because they told us to stop.
Iris: We didn’t know, and I received a newsletter.

Do you think that has hurt your business?
Iris: A little bit, in the beginning, maybe.

If you get the liquor license, what do you intend to bring to the table?
Felipe: (Grinning) Oh, man. I really like tequila. We’ll be using house-infused tequila to make homemade, authentic margaritas.
Iris: Keep in mind that we will have (a license) eventually. Not going to jinx it, but… we’re going to get it.
Felipe: When we do, you’ll know. You’ll hear us screaming about it.

LA SUPERIOR. 295 Berry St. Williamsburg, New York, 11211. 718-388-5988