I lived with my dad in Elkhart during my sophomore year of high school and spent chunks of several summers there. Somewhere along the way, we discovered that we had a serious weakness for Mexican food. First, it was El Toro- a true hole-in-the-wall with tacos de lengua marked by an upside-down Toro lawnmower sign. Next was La Esperanza: it was the best food I’d ever eaten, and I finally made it back two decades later.
Dad lived a split-screen life during the summers I stayed with him. By morning, he wrote copy for a local ad agency. In the afternoon, he edited books about collectibles for Krause Publications of Iola, Wisconsin. Dad was always up far earlier than me in the summer, but he was always home for lunch. That’s when things got interesting: more often than not, he was itching to try somewhere new for that noontime meal. One day, he came home with a tip about La Esperanza.
We tracked the place down to a small building at the corner of Jackson and Prairie northeast of downtown Elkhart proper. I wish I could tell you what the inside looked like, but none of it stuck since something far more memorable stood along the wall: a full Mexican buffet. I’d never heard of such a thing! All I could think was to praise God, from whom all blessings flow. La Esperanza cooked up the best Mexican food either of us had ever tasted, and I mean ever! The rich spices and bold flavors turned our lunch into a full-blown experience.
By the time we staggered out toward Dad’s Beetle, we were already making plans to go back. Unfortunately, digestion took longer than expected- when we finally made it back, a handwritten sign taped to the door said the owners had gone home to Mexico. With sadness, Dad and I tried to fill the gap. We and I hit El Toro again. Then we found ourselves at El Zorrito in Topeka and Paradise in Goshen. We joined family trips to Bandido’s before we fell on El Maguey in Elkhart as our new favorite. None of them quite captured what we’d stumbled onto at La Esperanza, but the search ended when Dad died. We never made it back.
I’d only returned to Elkhart twice over the past fifteen years. The last time I was there, something along Jackson and Prairie stopped me cold: La Esperanza was back! I vowed to eat there the next time I made it to town, and that happened when I was there with my mom. She didn’t know the place or the story behind it, but that didn’t matter: I finally had my chance to return and see if La Esperanza lived up to serving the best food ever.
The moment we stepped inside, one thing was immediately clear: the 2026 version of La Esperanza had moved on from the buffet. At any rate, Mom and I were seated right away. A carafe of spicy salsa hit the table shortly afterward; it was bold and fresh. After some debate, Mom went with an avocado chicken salad with no shell. That way, the salad only consisted of the good stuff: a mound of shredded lettuce topped with grilled chicken, slices of fresh avocado, jalapeños, tomatoes, black olives, and tons of cheese. It was something worth admiring before digging in! In fact, she did.
My own meal was a beef enchilada plate and it was superb. The corn tortillas were earthy and held up nicely when attacked by my fork. The sauce was rich and layered. The beef was seasoned and as finely-ground as any I’d ever encountered. On the other side of the plate, the sides were far more than filler. The rice was fluffy and perfectly seasoned, while the beans had real texture and depth. Our meals weren’t flashy, but everything was perfect. In a way, it felt like returning home.
What struck me more than the food was the strange feeling of continuity. Much of the Elkhart I knew with Dad has changed or disappeared since he died fifteen years ago. Stores closed. Buildings came down, and roads I remembered by instinct managed to feel unfamiliar. Still, there I was, sitting in La Esperanza with my Mom -divorced from Dad for more than thirty years- eating enchiladas that tasted uncannily close to the ones Dad and I inhaled all those summers ago. For an hour or so, the distance between my parents seemed to collapse. La Esperanza wasn’t just surviving after all these years; it was still creating the kind of memories that keep people coming back decades later.
Some restaurants feed you lunch. Others somehow preserve pieces of your life. Places like La Esperanza manage to do both, and I can’t wait to go back again.
I’m happy that, despite the lack of buffet, La Esperanza still delivers for you. So often one goes back to a loved restaurant after a long time, and either the food isn’t as good as it used to be, or maybe it wasn’t that good in the first place and you just didn’t have enough experience with that cuisine to know, or your tastes changed.
Growing up, I had a favorite Mexican restaurant that my folks took me to for several years. It helped develop my fondness for Mexican food, especially during a time and place where it was not yet a big deal. (1980s Connecticut) The visits stopped by about age 12 and I have never been back (not helped by moving 3,000 away.) Looks like it closed so I’ll never know, I’ll just have the memories.
The Elkhart area of Indiana is home to tons of authentic Mexican food because of how many hispanics work at the RV industry there. The year after I moved back to Muncie, Obama came and spoke at my old high school.
I was shocked when I first discovered La Esperanza had come back, and I was so happy that it turned out so well. My tastes have not changed.
It’s a shame that you haven’t been back to that great place from your kidhood. If you ever find that it came back, I’d be happy to meet you there! At least I’ll expand an open invite to La Esperanza.
How amazing that a favorite old place reappears, and is still amazing. This almost never happens! And when it strikes a deep emotional chord, so much the better.
You remind me that I am still wandering the Chinese food desert after our favorite place closed when the owners retired.
My wife and I went to Europe in 2012, and the best meal we had was at what was quite literally a hole in the wall: a nondescript Indian restaurant seemingly carved into the stone blocks holding up a train trestle. We returned in 2024 and sought out the place hoping to recreate the experience, but the area had gentrified and the restaurant was gone, replaced by a fancy Tapas restaurant. However, the tiles set in the sidewalk in front of it still spelled the name of its predecessor: London Bridge Tandoori.
You’re far more of an international traveler than me based on even, presumably, going to Ohio, much less Europe. It’s a shame about London Bridge Tandoori, but at least you’ve still got the memory of it. Sometimes those vanished places end up lingering longer in our minds than the ones still standing.