I'm laying it out, my beliefs about chile rellenos:

A chile relleno is:
not a frittata
not a souffle.

Cheese is important, a key player.
But, like Kobe Bryant, it is more toothsome
when it cedes the spotlight.

Frying can only lead
to death.

Oozing is permitted, a sign of succulence.

So is spice, as heat means
courage.

Roast your chiles well.
As is true for all morsels,
toughness is never celebrated.

Some things show well in pieces:
Cake, pizza, toast, baklava.
But a chile must be kept whole.

Sauce:
Treat her as if she were a bully
and God will appear to you in a whirlwind only.
I hear this is a bad, bad sign.

Gracias, pero no.

A chile relleno of ultimate peace can reside anywhere and probably does: on paper plates out the back of a parked truck, in kitchens ruled by exacting gourmands, in that turquoise taqueria you pass on the highway at the edge of town when you're cruising for unfinished wood lawn ornaments. If a relleno resides inside, my reasoning goes, then I want to visit and eat. I don't care where it gets made or how. I just want it to bring the peace.

Which is why I've started my search at Muchas Gracias, the Northwest mexican fast food chain. If I'm going to find the relleno of the heavenly host, I've got to look past gaudy exteriors and the promise of cheap satisfaction into the heart of the relleno itself, the only place where I'll find the truth. And the truth here, at MG, is, sadly, of the bad news variety. OK. So, I didn't actually believe I'd find the messiah relleno here, but in life, as in relleno-hunting, one must learn to look in unlikely places if one wants to be amazed.

I wasn't amazed. This relleno came fast, glossed with a thin brick-red sauce, and accompanied by shiny yellow rice and a splat of sour cream. Like the El Toritos of the world, lord help them, MG blanketed my meal with a thick layer of melted orange cheese. The cheese mask is as good a clue as any that the relleno underneath is hiding from the eye of God. So, my advice to you is Never Trust a Cloaked Relleno. They do not come in peace nor do they seek to multiply it.

That said, once I arrived at the actual chile, I didn't feel completely dirty eating it. Fat and greasy, yes. Too much cheese both inside and outside, yes. Sauced belligerently, yes. But not altogether void of flavor. The chile itself had texture, but was not tough, pulling away nicely from its cap, and the eggy skin was neither fried to a crisp nor puffed like a frittata. Not terrible.

In sum: This is a relleno that enjoys a peaceful moment and can even, at times, seem a genuine purveyor of peace. However, it presents itself fully cloaked because it is ashamed of the war in its heart.

Recommendation: Relleno, do not be afraid of your heart. Attempting to mask its struggles will only cheapen the goodness at its core and will not lead to lasting peace.