The weekend brunch menu at Arguello, Traci Des Jardins’ laid-back spot in the Presidio, features chilaquiles that are made with a smoky, sweet and spicy salsa negra and topped with a fried farm egg; pop the yolk and mix it with the accompanying crema to make an ultra-luxurious sauce. On a sunny Saturday, enjoy a pile of these chips patio-side for an especially triumphant start to the weekend.

At $22, Cala’s chilaquiles are the most expensive you’ll ever eat. But this dish, which is only available during Sunday brunch service, is worth trying nonetheless—especially when you get to enjoy them in Gabriela Cámara’s worldly environs. It’s not much more than delicate totopos, shredded chicken, verde salsa, and a sunny-side-up egg garnished with cilantro and crema, but like the restaurant itself, the dish feels elevated in an understated way.

Head to El Buen Comer, La Cocina alum Isabel Caudillo’s Bernal Heights spot, for the Mexico City native’s take on home-style Mexican food. There, you can order chicken- or egg-topped chilaquiles made with crispy corn tortillas that are pressed there by hand and smothered in your choice of either red chile de árbol tomato sauce or green tomatillo salsa. 

For saucy chips with a side of old-school Mission, head to Gallardo’s, a family operation on a less-trafficked corner of Folsom Street.  Enjoy a platter of classic chilaquiles—tortilla bits simmered in a mild red sauce with onions, tomatoes, pepper, and cheese, and a side of rice, beans and tortillas—alongside both the new and the longtime residents of the neighborhood.

Chilaquiles, it turns out, taste great even when they don’t contain any meat, eggs, or dairy. Whether you’re herbivorous or simply in the mood to eat plant-based, you’ll find an excellent pile of sauced chips on the brunch menu (served weekends from 11 a.m.-3 p.m.) True to Gracias fashion, the tortillas are handmade, non-GMO, organic, and fried in rice bran oil before being tossed with a roasted red tomato salsa, onions, cilantro, radishes, and a cashew-based “cheese” that you’ll want to slather all over everything, including the accompanying refried black beans.

Padrecito’s fruit- and flower-garnished pancakes may get all the ’grams, but it’s the weekend brunch chilaquiles that we come here for.  Braised pork belly, Brussels sprouts and salsa amarilla add layers of flavor and complexity, and soft-scrambled eggs give this dish a uniquely velvety texture. (A note for obsessives: There are two other versions on Padrecito’s dinner menu.)

These are the holy grail of chilaquiles—brave the line at the back of the Saturday Ferry Building farmers market, and you’ll find out why. The reward is a heaving paper plate of creamy soft-scrambled eggs (organic and local, of course), deeply savory refried pinto beans, and mess of chilaquiles. The chilaquiles themselves vary from week to week: sometimes it’s the milder tomato-chipotle El Cardenal; it might be the spicier Merida; on occasion it’s a green version with tomatillos. Regardless, the chips are always well-coated and tender on the outside, still crispy on the inside, and showered with cotija, cilantro, white onion, avocado and sour cream. Little-known secret: If you just want a taste, you can also request a half order.

Whether you feel the itch for chilaquiles at 8 a.m. or 9:30 p.m., this Van Ness eatery will be there for you, and with three different options to boot. The regular plate is a go-to at under $10, but there’s also the Chilaquiles Remo, which comes with sautéed chicken, and the less-common Chilaquiles Veronica with chorizo, vinegary nopales (prickly pear cactus pads) and fresh Mexican-style sour cream. 

The Little Chihuahua gets lots of local love for its fried plantain and black bean burritos, but the chilaquiles here are just as good, and unlike a lot of other spots, they come with two eggs cooked any way you like ‘em. The sauce, a smoky chile cream sauce, is richer than most, so expect a food coma to creep in after your meal.