The Woodland Hills restaurant dethroning Porto’s famous potato balls

The propulsive sounds of syncopated percussion and fast piano rhythms pulse from a tiny speaker perched just outside the door to Taínos L.A. in Woodland Hills. The stripes of the Puerto Rican flag billow in the wind. Inside, a neon pink sign on the wall casts the room in a reddish glow. It reads: “No Me Quiero Ir de Aquí,” which translates to “I don’t want to leave here.” It‘s also the name of Bad Bunny’s 2025 concert residency in San Juan, Puerto Rico.

“Puerto Rican culture is having a moment, thanks to Bad Bunny,” says Taínos L.A. owner Odessa Rodriguez.

She’s probably right. The artist’s 2026 Super Bowl halftime show was the most watched in the event’s televised history. But I have a hunch that her crowded dining room has more to do with the mofongo, pernil and rellenos de papa coming out of the kitchen.

If you’ve been to an office potluck, baptism or graduation party in Los Angeles, you’re likely familiar with the rellenos de papa at Porto’s Bakery. The mini-chain’s picadillo-stuffed, fried mashed potato balls have served as the gold standard for rellenos de papa in Los Angeles for decades. Until now.

The rellenos de papa at Taínos L.A.

The halo of mashed potato that forms the exterior of the potato balls at Taínos L.A. is remarkably light, fluffy and borders on cheesy. The potatoes melt into a center of coarse ground beef, deeply savory with a subtle sweetness, and complex with the grassy, herbal brightness of culantro. The balls are coated in panko breadcrumbs, then fried until the golden shell just holds together, and collapses with the first bite.

Rellenos de papa are one of the foods Rodriguez missed most from her home in Puerto Rico. Los Angeles has many Latin American enclaves, but the city still lacks a concentrated hub for Puerto Ricans, prompting the former event planner to create her own. She connected with her uncle Edwin Torres, who worked for decades as a chef in Puerto Rico, and the two launched a pop-up restaurant out of a ghost kitchen. They called it Taínos L.A., after the indigenous people of the Caribbean.

Earlier this year, they opened Taínos L.A. out of a small restaurant space on Ventura Boulevard, about two miles south of the Topanga Mall.

The menu is designed to trigger an ache of nostalgia for Puerto Rican home cooking. Besides the potato balls, there are empanadillas, served as giant half-moon pockets filled with either ground beef, shredded chicken or shrimp. The dough is thinner, and crisper than an Argentine empanada, with an amber, wonton-like crust riddled with bubbles. Torres presents them with two condiments. The first is pique, a sharp, vinegary hot sauce that throbs with the heat of Thai chiles. The second is mayoketchup, a classic Puerto Rican sauce made primarily of ketchup and mayonnaise with a kick of garlic.

The empanadillas filled with seasoned ground beef.

“People from the city cook one way, people from the south another,” says Rodriguez of the regionality of Puerto Rican cuisine. While Torres grew up in Ponce, a city on Puerto Rico’s southern coast, he spent years cooking in San Juan, making this Puerto Rican food distilled through the lens of his specific route to California.

In San Juan, he developed what might be his most important recipe: mofongo, the unofficial national dish of Puerto Rico. The mashed green plantains are found all over the island, the Dominican Republic and Cuba. Torres’ mofongo is more mash than mush, aggressive with garlic and hot with black pepper. Served in a tightly packed mound, it has a chunky texture that oscillates between lumpy, crumbly and smooth. Torres prepares it in a pilón with chicharron he lard-fries himself. There are plenty of pork cracklings scattered throughout the mofongo, but each little prized pop of crunch and salt feels like a reward.

Torres also serves the mofongo smothered in plump, sweet shrimp slick with garlic oil in homage to the northeastern coastal city of Loiza, where you’ll find countless restaurants and beach shacks selling garlic shrimp over mofongo or tostones.

Mofongo with shrimp and garlic in an homage to Loiza in Puerto Rico. Owner Odessa Rodriguez displays her nephew’s wrestling belts over the kitchen entrance. A neon sign that reads “No Me Quiero Ir de Aquí,” casts the dining room at Taínos L.A. in a reddish glow. (Jess Torres/For The Times)

The starchy mash also happens to be the favorite fuel of Rodriguez’s nephew, Kyle Diesel. The boxer is ranked as the No. 1 heavyweight in Puerto Rico and second in the United States. Rodriguez has his boxing belts affixed to a wall near the rear of the restaurant.

“He eats a lot of mofongo,” she says. “That’s why he hits really hard.”

I won’t be tying on boxing gloves anytime soon, but the mofongo does taste like the sort of thing that might channel superhuman strength.

Then there’s the arroz con gandules, a mound of rice and pigeon peas I’d happily eat as a meal.

“Customers always come in to order the arroz con gandules,” says Rodriguez. “They are testing us.”

I don’t know whether it will taste like your Puerto Rican grandmother’s arroz con gandules, but Torres’ version satisfies on a core level for anyone who grew up eating rice and beans. Each grain of yellow-tinged rice is caramelized and perfectly al dente, infused with the sweet-peppery, herbaceous flavors of sofrito. The gandules hold their shape, with a bite that’s a bit firmer than a black bean, and a pleasantly farinaceous center.

A spread of dishes that includes the pollo guisado. Churrasco grilled steak and yautia, which is related to taro. (Jess Torres / For The Times)

It’s the accompanying starch of choice for hulking slabs of pernil. Torres seasons the pork with lots of black pepper and garlic, and cooks it low and slow for around five hours. The rendered fat creates a sweet and sticky crust, while the meat takes on a rich, silky quality that’s so tender, it nearly melts. If you’re looking for the glass-like layer of crispy skin you’re likely to find on pernil, it’s absent here. Rodriguez explained that with the specific cut of pork she’s sourcing, it wasn’t an option. I promise you won’t miss the cuerito.

Turns out, the neon sign on the wall — and Bad Bunny— were right. With a second order of rellenos de papa on the way, I don’t want to leave here.

Taínos L.A. in Woodland Hills.