Quesabirria Jalisco in the Pilsen neighborhood serves a limited halal taco menu and frequently sells out before closing. Despite its limited hours, the shop has developed a loyal customer base of birria lovers, the religiously or culturally pork-avoidant and TikTok users. I knew none of that when I first entered the modest establishment on 18th Street. I was simply interested in trying some good birria.
Owner Ventura Orozco stood behind the counter, wearing his trademark-branded hat and tinted glasses. I took a look at the menu, written on a whiteboard. Beef, chicken, shrimp or vegetable birria tacos are sold by the pack (three-pack for $16, six-pack for $30, 12-pack for $60). It was simple enough, but there was one thing that surprised me.
“You’re … halal? Why?” I asked. I have seen many Arab Muslim-run halal taco spots, but something about this felt different.
Orozco took my question in stride and turned on his considerable charm. He said he owed his success to a stranger who got him on his feet when he was out of options. It was 2020. He was hustling, formerly homeless and had found a niche selling quesabirria as a street vendor in the Cermak Fresh Market parking lot in the Little Village neighborhood. The health department warned him to go legit and find a partner.
He began wandering into taquerias in Pilsen and Little Village and asking if he could use their kitchens. Nobody said yes.
One day, on his walks around Little Village, he saw a place called Tanoor Kabob.
“I said, ‘Well, it’s not Mexican, but let me go in,’ ” Orozco said.
Inside, he met Ayman Abu Taleb, the restaurant’s manager, and told him his story. Abu Taleb, who is Palestinian from Gaza, said he’d open up a kitchen for Orozco on two simple conditions. Rule one, zero pork. Rule two, zero alcohol. A third rule came when they shopped for beef: Serve zabiha halal meat. The most well-known Muslim dietary tenets. He promised success would follow.
“You’ll thank me later,” Abu Taleb told Orozco.
The way Orozco tells it, it has the whiff of a fantastical folk tale. But Abu Taleb confirmed every detail.
“The guy is a sweet talker,” Abu Taleb told me. “(Ventura) can go tomorrow to a remote area with a sign and people would come to him.”
Ventura Orozco takes an order at his restaurant Quesabirria Jalisco on West 18th Street in Chicago on March 20, 2024. (Terrence Antonio James/Chicago Tribune)
Orozco, who says he is not religious or Muslim, kept true to his word and Abu Taleb’s prediction came true: the lines of customers grew and grew.
“(Ayman) took me in when nobody would take me in. Nobody,” Orozco said. Abu Taleb taught him where to shop for halal meat and educated him on what zabiha halal is, a style of hand-slaughtering meat that makes it permissible to eat for some religious Muslims.
“I didn’t know there was this huge following behind it,” Orozco said about his Muslim customers. He estimates about 25% of his customers come for halal meat.
“I love the people. I love the culture,” Orozco said. “They’re not like Mexicans, but they’re like Mexicans. They have culture. They have history. We’re (both) humble people, family-loving people.”
The business grew beyond the limits of a pop-up. Orozco began renting a food truck. Then, he moved to an intermediary location until he was able to settle in the bricks-and-mortar location on 18th Street in 2023. Two other mighty taco stands are nearby — Rubi’s and Birreria Reyes de Ocotlán — and Quesabirria Jalisco still sells out daily. The restaurant posts its ever-changing hours and closing times on its Instagram and other socials.
Quesabirria Jalisco served me the birria tacos I had dreamed of when I first encountered them as a viral trend on TikTok: spicy, but balanced. A rich umami flavor with a cheesy crunch. Very, very filling. I favor the beef with all the fixings: onions, cilantro, lime, a light dash of green guacamole habanero salsa or orange “bussin sauce,” and finally, dipped in the consommé. Orozco’s consommé is a more traditional brown stock than the typical nuclear red you sometimes encounter.
A taco is dipped in consommé at Quesabirria Jalisco on West 18th Street in Chicago on March 20, 2024. (Terrence Antonio James/Chicago Tribune)
William George and Brittany Anderson are repeat customers who also favor the beef birria. Stick with what the restaurant is known for, Anderson told me.
“Outside of the food tasting really good, it’s the consistency of service,” George said. “He’s always extremely nice.” They follow Orozco’s social media to make sure they get there before he sells out. “That’s how I knew they were really good.“
Word of mouth is key to Orozco’s business. Lis Mendoza is an early and consistent customer and supporter. She proudly claims her Mexican and Pilsen roots.
“I’ve been following him since he started in the food truck on 26th Street to here,” Mendoza said, sitting in a booth with friends and family. “He’s inviting. He’s more than just the owner. He’s also your friend, he’s your uncle, he’s your cousin.“
I met Renaja Davis and Stephon Robinson waiting outside about 15 minutes before Quesabirria Jalisco opened for service one day. It was their first visit to the restaurant. They did not know the restaurant served halal meat, but were happy to hear it.
“I like that there’s no pork at all,” Davis said. “It just doesn’t mix with me and my body.”
“I don’t eat pork a lot,” Robinson said. “I didn’t know (it was halal), but to know is even better for me.”
Tacos are prepared on the griddle at Quesabirria Jalisco on West 18th Street in Chicago on March 20, 2024. (Terrence Antonio James/Chicago Tribune)
Mexican food can be thorny for anyone who studiously avoids eating pork. You might find lard folded into tortillas, chorizo hidden in beans or pork bones in the mole. However, menus and cooking techniques change as audiences ask questions and request modifications for dietary reasons.
In the historically Mexican neighborhood of Pilsen, it’s not hard to find vegetarian food. Some family restaurants offer robust vegan menus. But a Mexican birria shop that’s halal and not run by a Muslim: There’s only one place in this neighborhood that offers that.
No pork. No alcohol. Halal meat. The rules that led Quesabirria Jalisco to success.
“When (our cultures) meet each other, greatness happens,” Orozco said. He related the story of how Lebanese migrants to Mexico transmogrified shawarma into al pastor with pork and pineapple.
Initially, choosing not to serve pork was a “big hit in the pocket” for Orozco, but it’s now normal. Some customers still express disbelief that he would give up on classics like carnitas or al pastor, both as a restauranteur and as a Mexican.
“To be honest, working around Ayman so long, I gave up pork,” Orozco said. “When I eat it, I get sick.” However, in his personal life, he still enjoys drinking beer.
Ventura Orozco wears a hat that says ‘halal’ on it at his restaurant, Quesabirria Jalisco, on West 18th Street in Chicago on March 20, 2024. The hat celebrates his use of halal beef at the restaurant. (Terrence Antonio James/Chicago Tribune)
Customers George, Anderson, Robinson, Davis and Mendoza are not Muslim; but they all say they appreciate that Orozco is making space for dietary restrictions. Some customers are Black or Jewish with a cultural avoidance of pork, while others are vegetarians. Some are simply taco lovers, or Mexican customers looking for the best birria. And some are Muslims.
Sometimes supply of halal meat runs low and Orozco is careful to inform customers if he has to serve nonhalal meat. Though he does not have official certification from the Halal Food Standards Alliance of America, Orozco says he keeps everything separate and invites skeptical customers into his refrigeration area where he proudly shows off his boxes of halal meat.
Around dinner one night, customers Sufian Ramadan and Haziq Khan had a kind of brotherly meet-cute. In line, they started talking to each other and began laughing as they realized their similarities. Both were first-time customers. Both were Muslims excited to try zabiha halal birria tacos. Both had been sent to the store by a hungry wife who had discovered Quesabirria Jalisco on TikTok, where Orozco is very active.
“I’m in love actually,” said Ramadan. He was ordering a 24-pack of tacos to take to his co-workers and some extras for his wife. “I don’t mind the wait and I usually hate waiting.” When his order came out, Orozco announced, with mock exasperation, that the order of “100 tacos” was ready. Ramadan asked for my help and we loaded them into his car. These kinds of connections come naturally in a place like Quesabirria Jalisco.
Sergio Galván, left, and Ariel Ortiz dine at Quesabirria Jalisco on West 18th Street in Chicago on March 20, 2024. Galván learned of the restaurant from a relative who saw the eatery mentioned on social media. This was their second visit and they traveled from the North Side of the city. (Terrence Antonio James/Chicago Tribune)
Orozco has worn many hats that make him well-suited to customer service and quesabirria evangelism. He was born and raised in Oak Lawn and the Back of the Yards neighborhood, before spending many years in Puerto Vallarta, Mexico, as a tour guide. He returned to Chicago for family reasons, planning to do tourism work for the city. He’s also worked as an SEO specialist and proto-influencer. The restaurant came as a fluke, when a website he had set up promoting tourism and Mexican food in Chicago began receiving inquiries about quesabirria tacos.
Orozco claims to have introduced quesabirria (beefy birria quesadillas served with consommé) to Chicago. Though red birria tacos have rapidly become popular in the last five years from TikTok and Instagram, Orozco argues that quesabirria is distinct from birria. He learned this while getting a family recipe from his aunt, who owned a restaurant called La Quesabirria in Zapopan in Jalisco, Mexico.
She explained to him: “Mijo, birria is not the name of an animal. It’s a style of how you cook the meat.” The traditional birria most people know is birria de chivo, or goat. That’s what is famously served at Birrerria Reyes de Ocotlán. But Orozco says quesabirria is the term for a beef birria made with melted cheese in a tortilla. His are larger and filled with more meat than the smaller quesadillas his aunt taught him to make.
Proper quesabirria tacos are time intensive — even at best, customers have to wait a minimum of 10-15 minutes. You can watch a livestream of his service on his social media pages.
When I mentioned my issues with previous birria tacos, Orozco explained that most restaurants fail to make a proper quesabirria for three reasons: their recipe comes from the internet, rather than family; they use consommé or corn oil to fry their tortillas instead of guajillo oil; or they dump it on an existing menu without considering the extra effort needed for quesabirria.
“There’s no way you can make burritos and tortas and still have time to make this taco,” Orozco said.
Customers walk out of Quesabirria Jalisco on West 18th Street in Chicago on March 20, 2024. (Terrence Antonio James/Chicago Tribune)
Orozco credits his staff for making it possible, like Merary Roman, who joined him when he was in the Cermak parking lot. In the kitchen behind Orozco, his nephews oversee a dozen tortillas dipped in guajillo oil sizzle away on the stove. There’s a giant pot of stewed beef and a smaller vessel of consommé. Orozco mostly handles customer service while his staff keeps the grills and stovetops running.
Quesabirria Jalisco’s secret weapon, according to Orozco, is an incredible juicy halal chuck roast. The beef is chopped and beaten to promote tenderness and cooked in a stockpot of water with aromatics, special seasonings, and charred and blended guajillo peppers.
When it’s time to prepare the tacos, the grill station master swipes a stack of corn tortillas through red guajillo oil as fluidly as shuffling a deck of cards. The guajillo oil is infused separately from the beefy consommé to accommodate dietary restrictions and vegetarians. The tortillas are paired up, with cheese on one to bind them. Two tortillas are then stacked on top of each other to make one taco. Then, meat and more cheese are added. Then, the waiting.
“The cheese never lies, my friend,” Orozco said. “Once the cheese that is the closest to the edges starts melting away, that’s when you know the tortillas are ready.” They flip it. Cheese oozes out a second time: The taco is ready. “And that’s where you get your crunch,” with about five minutes minimum on each side of the tortilla.
“You have to go to a specialist that specializes in this taco or you’re gonna get a Fugazi version of this taco,” Orozco said, laughing.
Orozco said a second location is coming. On 18th Street, he still uses the thrifted décor he bought when he first opened. He still remembers how he got off his feet when he was homeless.
“I want to thank the city of Chicago,” he said. The groceries for his first quesabirria order were bought using his Link card/food stamps. “My beautiful city of Chicago supported me in my desperate times of need.”
Quesabirria Jalisco, 1314 W. 18th St., 773-771-2123, visit-chicago.com/birria-tacos-consome-quesabirria/
