Like many who have lined up at Chipotle during their lunch break, I know that barbacoa is a thing you can get over rice, in a burrito, or in a taco. (Guac is extra.) Everything else—everything really important and memorable—I learned at South Philly Barbacoa.

The tiny space just off Passyunk Avenue is as colorful inside as the mural out front, brightened with floral oilcloths on the tables. Chef Cristina Martinez makes tortas during the week, but her specialty is barbacoa: slow-cooked lamb served only Friday, Saturday, and Sunday.

Barbacoaaaa. Alex Lau

At 9 a.m. on a weekend a few months ago, I shuffled past families passing handmade tortillas and night-shift workers unwinding with tacos and BYO Coronas. Near the fresh-squeezed juice stood Martinez and her husband, Ben Miller, who make SPB feel like an extension of their home. Not chatting with them would be like going to someone’s house for dinner without greeting the host. They’re not just restaurateurs but also community organizers, encouraging Philadelphia chefs to acknowledge the contributions of undocumented restaurant staff. But they don’t need a megaphone; they have barbacoa.

SPB brings in 20 lambs a week, butchers them, marinates them, then cooks them overnight in enormous custom-built steamers, the meat’s juices dripping down to form a deep savory broth bolstered with garbanzos and rice. The steaming barbacoa is chopped to order, so tender it looks ready to melt.

As I was eating my second taco, the consommé arrived. I couldn’t put the barbacoa down, so I held it in my left hand as I spooned up the broth with my right. Sure: Happiness can’t be bought. But two unimaginably delicious tacos and a bowl of consommé can, and the bill is $12.