A tiny Mexican kitchen brings big beach energy to the Bayview

The city is expensive, but your next meal doesn’t have to be. In our column The $25 Diner, we hunt down the best restaurants where you can eat like royalty for a song.

Sco’s, a thumbprint of a cevicheria, reminds me of something you might stumble upon in a quietly hip Mexican beach town — just casually sitting there, on a block with no other restaurants, being all cute and familial. 

The space is only an open window, a counter and a couple of stools. On an adjacent roll-up garage door, there’s a riotously colorful seascape painted by a cool muralist called Drigo. A neon sign in the form of a shrimp hangs above the awning. Folk art decorates the kitchen, which barely has room for one cook to turn in a circle. Clearly, this is someone’s pint-size dream. 

That person, it turns out, is Hugo Barajas, who opened Sco’s (short for “mariscos,” or seafood) July 4 on a restaurant-less block of the Bayview.

Barajas is not a restaurant guy. He’s a general contractor from a family of contractors with roots in the neighborhood. In fact, Sco’s is squeezed smack in the middle of a family hug: Barajas grew up in the baby-blue house next door, where his parents still live; his grandparents and “auntie” live on the other side of Yosemite Avenue; and he, along with his partner and kids, lives across the street.

When he took over what had been a cafe, Barajas inherited an impressive, modern metal parklet with bright-orange shade sails. Built almost like stadium seating, it has succulents planted around it. It’s a nice place to sit and watch the neighborhood play out, the weed wafting down from someone’s window. “Back in the early 2000s, the neighborhood was really bad,” he recalls. “But this block was chill. We were always playing on the street.”

Barajas may have grown up here, but he was inspired by the trips he has taken to Mexico. Yes, there are bagels and coffee for the morning, but you’re here for the ceviches and micheladas from Sinaloa, the state from which his family hails.

The preparations are classic: Split a bracing and chunky aguachile ($17) made up of whole shrimp bathed in a cold, spicy limey-tomatillo sauce and tossed with cucumbers, slices of onions and a fan of avocado, or get your own shrimp ceviche tostada ($10). The fish ceviche isn’t cheap ($19) but is made with sushi-grade ahi tuna, cubed neatly and tossed with cucumber, tomato and sweet salutations of mango. There’s also perfect guacamole ($10), mashed to order.

But it’s the micheladas ($9) that are the showoffs. Barajas was inspired by a town called Laguna Colorada, where they’re made in this style: Select a Mexican beer such as Pacifico or Modelo, and the neck of the bottle is brushed with chamoy, a sticky paste made with tamarind and mango, then sprinkled with a dusting of powdered candy and chile. Some of the beer is poured out, and a mixture of Worcestershire, soy sauce and lime is added back in. For the final touch, the mouth of the bottle is topped with a chewy piece of tamarind candy disguised as a shrimp. It’s a tart, sweet, salty, fizzy buzz that tastes like vacation.

On a recent visit, while I was alternating between chips loaded with ceviche and sips of michelada, Barajas’ cousin and friend showed up to have a drink. A couple of kids, likely related, played on the sidewalk out front. Barajas’ little vision was working: I was getting beach vibes, even though it was foggy and 65 degrees — this city’s perpetual idea of summer — and we were a long way from the playas of Sinaloa.

The Standard suggests:
Shrimp ceviche tostada ($10)
Michelada ($9)
Total bill: $19