Q. In which Latin country were meatballs in spicy red sauce first ladled into an edible, deep-fried tortilla hat?
A. Don’t ask me; I can’t begin to imagine (unless there is in fact a country called Taco Bell).
And don’t bother to ask the woman who served me this dish at the pan-Latin tapas restaurant Barro Cantina.
Suffice it to say, she was not the talkiest waitress in the world, which is refreshing until you have a couple of questions. Like why the heck, at 7 p.m., isn’t there any more Barbacoa en Barro or the Chile del Dia, a fresh chile filled with cheese or picadillo or guisado, which my friend Gay, who grew up in Texas, was looking forward to? And are edible dishes that could also serve as headwear authentic?
And while I’m at it, she didn’t remember to bring plates for sharing. Or silverware. And they play the music too loud at Barro Cantina, whose tiny dining room was crowded with an inordinate number of people drinking Sangria and wearing black turtlenecks–the place looked like a Cold War spy convention, frankly. And who drinks Sangria? It should be outlawed. Hey, you kids, get out of my yard!
Maybe I’m just cranky because of the holidays.
Which is probably why I’m just now getting around to mentioning that the food is pretty good at Barro Cantina; they serve entree-size dishes, but I never tried one because there are so many tapas to choose from. I liked the different textures and flavors–most dishes I tried were at the very least interesting and earthy. Once I got past the deep-fried shell thing, I really enjoyed those meatballs (or albondigas in chipotle sauce), a special of the day served on perfectly cooked rice. Gay and I were both happy with the Fundido del Monte, several kinds of cheese melted in a little cast-iron pan and topped with strips of tequila laced cactus, which we rolled up in warm flour tortillas, and the Camarones Envueltos, big fat shrimp wrapped in bacon, and the Picaditas Surtidas, three little rounds of doughy masa alternately topped with guacamole, requeson cheese (which is like ricotta), and baked sweet plantains.
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On an earlier night (when, again, I swear, it seemed that everyone was wearing a black turtleneck and drinking Sangria), I’d ordered the Vuelve a la Vida, a mixture of lime marinated shrimp, calamari, and scallops, which was described on the menu as a “delicious seafood cocktail” but was not. It was OK, but the addition of pineapple seemed to be meant to cover up the absence of absolute freshness. I loved the chicken and potato croquettes with chipotle aioli, though, and had the best flan I’ve ever tasted, possibly because I usually don’t like flan, and this coconut version was thicker and creamier than others I’d tasted–like a cross between a heavy pot du creme and a custard.
I asked another waitress (who was wearing a black turtleneck!) what made this flan so different, and she turned out to be not a waitress but Maria Huerta, the very pretty, 28-year-old daughter-half of this mother-daughter operation. Her mother is Guadalupe Castellanos, who raised Huerta in the restaurant business (they still own Salvadoro’s Barro, a strictly Mexican spot, on Lake Street). Huerta revealed that the flan contained cream cheese, very slenderizing, and also that she is in the process of writing a Kosher Mexican cookbook, which I found particularly interesting. Not that I’m trying to keep a Kosher kitchen, but neither is Huerta. The project was inspired by her mother and Jewish step-father’s 5-year-old son, who seems to me to be a very lucky kid where food is concerned. Everybody has to eat, but how many Kosher Mexican recipes have you come across? Cookbook agents take note.
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Barro Cantina is at 163 W. North Ave.; 312-266-2484. Open Saturdays for lunch and dinner; Sundays through Fridays for dinner only. Tapas $4.95-$8.50. Entrees $12.95-$15.95.