Too often, chilaquiles play like Mexican junk food, a mere excuse to pile 17 ingredients on a plate. Or worse, they're little more than breakfast nachos — eggs and meat dumped on a pile of crispy corn chips. What makes the chilaquiles at El Horseshoe sing is their perfect simplicity. The kitchen toasts raw, day-old tortillas in oil to order, adds a bright red or green salsa, mixes in some melty cheese, then tops it all with a little crumbled cotija. The result is a dish that captures and puts the focus on the essence of chilaquiles — the unique squishy-crisp texture that results when you simmer crunchy chips in fresh salsa for just the right amount of time. Topping them with an egg sure won't hurt, but these chilaquiles have a subtle elegance that doesn't want for a thing.