El Compadre

Long-standing WeHo Mex-fest. Studly old mariachis jam, dusky room of leather booths emits dark nostalgia, and margaritas shoot flames. You wait two hours for a table, getting in everyone's way, including the Seventh Letter Crew. Sizzling fajitas arrive slowly, still hot and tasty. By now, you're full of chips, and tired of telling your friends about 'real L.A. Mexican.' But it doesn't matter, they're drunk on sangria and having a blast. That's worth the wait.