When I interviewed James Beard semifinalist Amado Lopez for this article, I was intrigued by—and supportive of—his concept: to offer haute cuisine at an affordable price. My wife Heather and I are both obsessed with The Bear, so I took her to Amado’s Berkley taqueria, Casa Amado, for our anniversary dinner.
I called ahead: did they take reservations? No, I was told; just come on in.
As we approached the attractive façade, I had a mental picture of a quaint, chic, L.A.-style bistro. But inside, all I saw at first was a small ordering area. It felt less like a celebratory dinner and more like… takeout. I worried about how the night would go.
Upstairs, we found the dining space: open seating, no waiters, just food runners bringing trays straight from the kitchen. While we pondered the menu, I reflected back on my conversation with Amado. What struck me most wasn’t his resume: Michelin kitchens, Charlie Trotter, Culinary Institute of America. It was his reason for leaving it all behind.
“I didn’t want to cook for the two percent,” he told me. “I wanted someone to walk in with $25 and walk out full and happy.”
Still, given the relatively humble setting, and unsure of options for me (keto diet) and Heather (vegan), we started to discuss just getting an appetizer and heading out.
But just then, Emilia Juocys, Casa Amado’s co-owner and general manager, walked over and said, “Are you Marshall?”
And that was that. We stayed.
And thank goodness we did.
Amado grew up in rural Zacatecas, on a small family farm: no fridge, no gas stove, just wood fire and generations of tradition. “It was the kind of place,” he shared, “where if someone’s car disappeared, you knew who had it by the time it reached the end of the street.”
His grandmother Sara woke every morning before dawn to boil corn over coals, carry the nixtamal to the local mill balanced on her head, and return home to hand-press tortillas on a flat comal.
The first time Amado tasted fresh cilantro, as a toddler, he said it was like “colors exploded in my brain.” That moment, he said, changed his life. It still informs how he cooks.
“Buy the best ingredients you can afford,” he shared, “and cook everything from scratch. That’s my recipe.”
Heather ordered a vegetarian creation named after a friend of Amado’s, the Seema Taco: cactus: bell pepper slaw, pickled onions, arugula, roasted chile sauce, and griddled cheese (she held the cheese). It arrived in a cardboard boat—nothing fancy. But she started eating. And her whole face changed.
I got a three-taco combo, served shell-less to keep it keto. The steak was slow-braised. The shrimp was seared and well-spiced. And the mushrooms, smoked with chipotle and paired with arugula, were maybe the tastiest of all. Everything hit with the kind of flavor you usually only get in high-end restaurants. And yet here it was in a $12 combo in paper boats, in a dining room that doubles as an upstairs hallway.
“This is haute cuisine for the masses,” I told Heather. She nodded.
Amado worked in kitchens where chefs hurl pans and insults. Heck, he used to hurl them too. But everything changed when he worked for Rick Bayless, where the culture was calm, collaborative, even tender.
“That place taught me to breathe again,” he told me.
Today, he runs Casa Amado with that same grounded ethos. No yelling. No turnover. Every cook is trained patiently, respectfully—just like he now parents his four kids.
“Being a dad helps,” he said. “Some people need directness. Others need gentleness. Either way, they need consistency and care.”
That theme—of warmth, inheritance, and making do—runs through everything Amado serves.. That includes the vegan Sonoran Dog Heather ordered: a charred bun piled with pickled onion, jalapeño, and chile sauce.
Just like the rest of the dishes, there was no fancy plating. But somehow, everything about every bite tasted fancy. And fresh. So fresh.
“I’m definitely coming back. And I’m bringing Westley,” Heather said midway through her meal, talking about our son. “He’s going to love it.”
This from someone who, when we got there, had been ready to leave.
By the end of the night, Heather had finished her vegan feast—complete with homemade chips, refried beans, and guacamole—and was glowing. I scraped every last bite of taco filling from the cardboard boats.
We didn’t miss the white tablecloths. Not even for a second.
And I understood Amado’s mission even more clearly: not to be impressive, but to be real. To feed people in a way that sticks, that matters.
“Great food doesn’t need to be dressed up,” he told me. “It just needs to be made with love. That’s what people remember.”
He’s right. We’ll remember it.
Casa Amado (casaamado.com) is at 2705 Coolidge in Berkley
“I didn’t want to cook for the two percent. I wanted someone to walk in with $25 and walk out full and happy…buy the best ingredients, and cook everything from scratch. That’s my recipe.”