My good friend and frequent dining companion Bill Resnik is one of the most altruistic and selfless people I have the privilege of knowing. Every year he grows out his naturally white beard so he can portray Santa Claus at hospitals and nursing homes throughout the metropolitan area. Because he stands 6’5″ most of his friends look like elves standing next to him and there’s probably not a chimney he can slide down, but when he dons his padded red and white Santa suit, he IS Santa. With his characteristic light-hearted and whimsical approach, he keeps children of all ages and dispositions spellbound, their wide-eyed wonder reflecting the magic of the season.

The rest of the year when he’s not playing Santa, Bill joins me in performing another type of public service. That’s what we call it when we visit a restaurant about which very little information is available (not even on Urbanspoon). Boldly going where no other critic has gone, we’ve discovered some gems over the years—restaurants which remain among our favorites–but we’ve also had more than our share of disappointments, most of which aren’t chronicled on this blog (if you can’t say something nice….). Public service can be painful!

The spirit of adventure in visiting heretofore undiscovered restaurants is usually accompanied by a bit of trepidation, uncertainty and doubt. Fortunately we’ve learned not to judge a restaurant by its street-facing façade or we might not have visited La Sirenita, a Mexican restaurant which opened in December, 2011, but eleven months later had still not been added to Urbanspoon. Considering some restaurants have Urbanspoon listings even before they’re open for business, we wondered if that was a portend of (mediocre) things to come.

La Sirenita, which translates from Spanish to “the little mermaid” is almost directly across the street from the Mexican Consulate on Fourth Street. Its immediate next door neighbor to the north is La Familiar, a Duke City institution founded some thirty years ago. To its south is the defunct 4 Aces Grill. As might be expected from its name, the specialty of the house is Mexican seafood or mariscos. La Sirenita is housed in a sprawling one-room complex with a seating capacity of eighty. Seating is more utilitarian than it is comfortable. Save for a few framed photographs of Zacatecan architecture and scenery, there’s not much to look at.

You could almost say that about the menu, too, because it’s relatively austere, offering only about thirty items with maybe a third of those being breakfast entrees. Even the mariscos offerings are limited to a handful. A large menu does not, however, a great restaurant make and sometimes a small menu packs a lot of great food. We were optimistic that was the case when the complimentary salsa and chips were ferried to our table. The salsa is thin and fiery with a discernible hint of cucumber powder whose influence made the salsa’s flavor profile much more interesting. It’s a very good salsa, one made for dipping because it’s too thin for scooping. The chips are low in salt, fresh and crisp.

One of the few mariscos items on the menu is tostadas de ceviche, a favorite (if not obsession) of Bill’s. The ceviche is available in three varieties: pescado (fish), mariscos (seafood) or mixto (a combination of fish and seafood). The ceviche mixto is somewhat different than we’ve found in other mariscos restaurants. Unlike the pescado and pulpo (octopus) which are redolent with lime, cilantro and cucumber, the shrimp are not catalyzed in the citrus juices which make ceviche so good. The shrimp are also pink which means they’ve been boiled and they’re whole, not chopped. Additional sliced limes were not provided should we have wanted a squeeze or two for more citrus flavor.

Empanadas are among the pleasant surprises on the menu and not solely because they’re offered as entrees, not as appetizers. Available in three varieties—cheese, chicken and desebrada (shredded beef)—these empanadas are like those grandma used to bake (if your grandma was a great cook). The empanadas are hand-made and freshly baked so they arrive at your table steaming hot. Even though covered with lettuce and crema fresca, wisps of fragrant steam will escape as your fork cuts into the fresh bread cover. The empanadas are generously stuffed with high-quality ingredients and no annoying fillers. You’ll want to ask for one of each type. The chicken (my favorite) is moist and tender–mostly white meat. The melted Mexican white cheese is thick and melty, but not gooey and messy. The desebrada is moist, tender tendrils of well-seasoned shredded beef.

Another surprisingly good entrée is the chile relleno. A large poblano is overstuffed with cheese, chopped tomatoes, cilantro and crema fresca. The poblano has no piquancy, but if that’s what you crave, the relleno is served with an almost luminescent green salsa which you can spoon over the relleno. With or without the kryptonite-colored salsa, the chile relleno is delicious. As with most entrees at La Sirenita, the chile relleno is served with beans and rice, both of which are quite good.

Public service can be delicious! Bill and I are always elated when we visit an undiscovered gem. La Sirenita is one such gem, a restaurant we’ll visit again.

La Sirenita
1601 Fourth Street, N.W.
Albuquerque, New Mexico
(505) 264-8229
LATEST VISIT: 26 November 2012
# OF VISITS: 1
RATING: *
COST: $ – $$
BEST BET: Horchata, Salsa and Chips, Empanadas, Chile Relleno

Before the advent of political correctness, the unchecked use of controversial stereotypes was rampant throughout America.  Starting in the 1930s, for example,  ethnic caricatures in the guise of tchotchkes (salt shakers, cookie jars, plant pots and the like) could be seen in households throughout the fruited plain. Neon-spangled roadside five-and-tens  dotting the motorways and byways were primary culprits in the sale of kitschy, tacky knickknacks propagating such stereotypes as mammies, cigar-store Indians and the Mexican peasant taking a siesta while reclining against a saguaro.  The sleeping Mexican, often called Pancho, was particularly prominent throughout the Southwest.  Generally attired in huaraches, pantaloons, a sash which doubled as a belt, a massive sombrero that hid his face and a colorful sarape, that image perpetuated the stereotype of the lazy Mexican.

While politically conscious Americans of all ethnicities found the sleeping Mexican offensive, in the border towns and in the barrios, the image was often used in front yards by families of Mexican descent as a symbol of home.  According to Maribel Alvarez, an associate professor at the University of Arizona, Mexican workers viewed the sleeping Mexican not as a laughable stereotype or curio, but as a symbol of honor–a hard-working Mexican resting because he got up early for a long, noble day of hard work. That’s a “glass half full” perspective which speaks volumes about the optimism and self worth of the Mexican people.

The dichotomy of perspectives is always an interesting study in human dynamics, often pointing out that opinions are wide and varied, often with degrees of right and wrongness.   This is  clearly brought out in my avocation as a restaurant critic.  Every restaurant I review seems to the favorite of some readers while other readers don’t think quite as highly about that same restaurant (to put it mildly in some cases).  Enthusiastic readers recently recommended I visit El Sarape which they heralded as the “best Mexican restaurant in Albuquerque.”  That’s quite a bold statement considering the Duke City is home to Los Equipales, El Norteño, El Zarrandeado and a host of other excellent purveyors of Mexican cuisine.

The fact that El Sarape is approaching two decades (first opening in 1997) in a tough restaurant market with a fickle dining public which gravitates toward the pretty new kid on the block eateries may be indicative of its quality.  The fact that there have been until 2012 two other El Sarape restaurants–one on Isleta and one in Los Lunas (closed in 2012)–is certainly indicative of its popularity.  The fact that the restaurant rose from the ashes like a Phoenix speaks volumes about its staying power.  A fire on June 16, 2009 destroyed the original El Sarape which was attached to the Royal Motel, one of several structures on East Central razed under the city’s nuisance abatement laws.

We visited the scion of the original, just a few blocks east of its original location in a timeworn edifice which previously housed other Mexican restaurants (Villa Del Mar, for one). El Sarape’s menu showcases the foods of Mexico’s northern region with which Albuquerque diners are quite familiar.  It also specializes in mariscos (seafood) from Mexico’s two coastal regions.  The menu also has a smattering of New Mexican favorites such as chile rellenos. No sooner are you seated than a bowl of salsa and basket of chips are brought to your table.  The salsa is of medium piquancy with fresh and lively flavors.  The chips are light, crispy and thankfully only lightly salted.

Appetizers include tostadas de ceviche, often a difference-maker among Mexican restaurants of similar quality.  At El Sarape, a crisp tostada is topped with a smear of guacamole then piled on are lettuce, tomatoes, jalapeños, onions, shredded white cheese and your choice of camarones (shrimp) or pescado (fish).  The ceviche doesn’t have the citrus overload some Mexican restaurants offer.  In fact, you may have to squeeze a few limes (provided) to bring out the citrus qualities which characterize ceviche.  The shrimp are fresh and plentiful, a nice foil for the unctuousness of the guacamole and the piquancy of the chopped jalapeños.

The menu offers three quesadilla options including Quesadilla Variadas in which griddled flour tortillas envelop ham, chorizo and queso with guacamole, sour cream and beans on the side.  Left on the griddle a bit too long, the quesadillas were almost cracker-like in their texture with prominent pinto pony-like char throughout.  An accommodating waitress quickly remedied the situation, bringing us a not quite as charred quesadilla.  It made all the difference.  The Quesadilla Variadas is quite good with a nice interplay of highly contrasted pork products (ham and chorizo) against the melted white cheese.  The beans are also good.

As with many Mexican restaurants offering mariscos, El Sarape has one dish whose sheer size had to have strained the fishermens’ nets.  That would be the Charola de Mariscos, literally seafood platter.  Served in a platter large enough to accommodate the Thanksgiving turkey, this decorative and delicious disc features fried calamari, breaded fish sticks, a half-dozen raw oysters and sauteed shrimp all encircling a pleasantly piquant housemade sauce.  As with all nets cast into the sea, you’re bound to find something you’d throw back.  For us it was the fried calamari which was breaded much too thickly.  The sauteed shrimp (butter and garlic with dried chile peppers) was the best of the lot though peeling shrimp which has been swimming in butter can be a messy proposition.  The housemade sauce made everything better.

Whether or not El Sarape is, as some enthusiastic readers touted, the best Mexican restaurant in Albuquerque is, like the sleeping Mexican stereotype, a matter of perspective.  Some readers will probably not like it quite as much as others do. For me, the fun is in the sense of adventure in trying new and different restaurants and discovering some good and some not quite as good in all of them.

El Sarape
5025 Central Ave NE
Albuquerque, New Mexico
505-266-1907
LATEST VISIT: 5 May 2012
# OF VISITS: 1
RATING: *
COST: $$
BEST BET:
Charola de Mariscos, Quesadilla Variadas, Salsa and Chips, Tostada de Ceviche

“Forget what you thought you knew about Mexican food!” That should be a cardinal rule for unacculturated diners when traveling to Mexico–or visiting Mariscos Altamar–for the first time. Many of the dishes some Americans commonly believe typify Mexican cooking are either not Mexican at all (chimichangas and fajitas, for example), or are prepared using inauthentic techniques and ingredients (such as “nachos” crafted from melted Velveeta heaped over a dish of corn chips, a recipe I’ve actually seen on a cookbook published by a charity for which I almost withdrew support based on such recipes).

Because Mexico spans several climatic zones and a diverse topography, its cuisine varies from region to region.  The favorite foods of the Mexican coast may not even be available further inland.  Inland foods may not be as commonly served on the coasts.  Ah, those coasts!  Mexico’s beautiful and varied coastal waters are not only pristine in their azure purity, they yield an abundant and unsurpassed assortment of deliciously prepared delicacies from the sea.

When Hector Hernandez moved to Albuquerque from Ronald Reagan country (Orange County, California), it didn’t take him long to determine that the Duke City restaurant scene lacked traditional Mexican seafood (mariscos) restaurants–the type you might find in Guanajuato or Mazatlan, Mexico.  He filled that niche market with Mariscos Altamar (literally seafood from the high seas), originally situated in the Volcano Plaza, a nondescript strip mall.

With only 18 tables, the strip mall location just wasn’t big enough to hold the oceans of flavorful seafood prepared in his restaurant and in 2005, Mariscos Altamar relocated to a much larger, more modern and more attractive and accommodating edifice.  Throngs of diners, about a third of the men wearing Cowboy hats and snakeskin belt buckles and boots, are easily accommodated in the well-lighted, spacious and comfortable restaurant though at peak times, lines may snake out the door.  It’s especially popular on the weekend lunch hour when the soothing musical stylings of a crooning guitarist fill the dining room with music and even more boisterous when mariachis sing on weekend evenings.

Colorful murals of the bounty of the sea festoon the walls.  Under glass in each table are hand-drawn prints of the trappings of Aztec life–molcajetes for grinding corn, platters of fish, and more.  Even the menu is colorful–as in vivid plastic menus complete with photographs of the entrees with descriptions in both English and Spanish.  You’ll be well attended by a very accommodating wait staff almost as fluid in English as they are in Spanish.  Some, such as Margarita (pictured far below) are so friendly and helpful that you might be tempted to ask them to join you at your table.

Two types of salsa are brought to your table shortly after you’re seated.  A watery red salsa is replete with flavor but not very piquant while a green chile salsa might open your nasal passages with its hearty hot bouquet.  The chips are crispy, fresh and altogether nearly impossible to stop eating.  Both chips and salsa are faithfully replenished.

The flautitas combo platter is a popular appetizer that features small flour tortillas filled with chicken or shredded beef, rolled and fried to a golden brown hue.  Served with guacamole and sour cream, they are great for sharing.  Save room for Marisco’s cocktails, all served in their juices with pico de gallo and avocado.  The best of the appetizer array might be Tostada de Ceviche, a deep-fried corn tortilla topped with a layer of guacamole then piled high with shrimp, fish and snow crab.  It’s garnished with sliced, fresh avocados.  Drizzle on some lime, close your eyes and you’ll swear you’re sitting on a pearlescent sandy beach.

Another excellent appetizer is the restaurant’s queso fundido, a dish of melted cheese…or more specifically two kinds of melted cheese.  Mariscos Altamar uses a white and yellow Cheddar cheese blend which you can have “natural” or with chorizo.  Hot oozing cheese goes so well with corn or flour tortillas.  It’s always a fun and delicious adventure to scoop up cheese which will stretch from the bowl all the way to your mouth.

A worthy successor to the ceviche is Mariscos Altamar’s specialty plate, a prodigious platter featuring four kinds of seafood: fish, shrimp, octopus and snow crab sautéed with pico de gallo and served with your choice of corn or flour tortillas, guacamole and rice.  The tortillas are served warm and stand ready to be stuffed like a taco with your well-seasoned seafood bounty.  Squeeze some lime and maybe add a bit of salsa on the seafood tacos you’ve just crafted and with a little imagination you’re in Mazatlan.

Not even in Mazatlan might you find Ostiones flamedos (flamed oysters)–at least in the manner prepared at Marisccos Altamar.  This seems to be a specialty of the house, but if there is any actual flaming done, it must be back in the kitchen because an order of a half or full dozen on the half-shell arrives at your table with nary a hint that they’ve been subjected to an intense flame.  These oysters are sauteed with butter and topped with a melted cheese, but even at that, they arrive at your table more lukewarm than hot.  Perhaps the “flaming” has to do with the spicy sauce somewhat reminiscent of the sauce used in oyster shooters, but not quite as incendiary.

AskMen.com calls oysters “the cliche of all aphrodisiac foods” for their high zinc content (zinc controls progesterone levels, which have a positive effect on the libido).  I’m inclined to believe that attribution is for oysters at their essence of purity–slippery, on the half-shell and served over crushed ice.  Served warm and especially with gooey, melted cheese obfuscates the natural sea-saltiness some aficionados say make them “taste like the sea.”

A more traditional way to eat oysters Mexican style is in triumvirate with shrimp and octopus as part of a Campechano Cocktail.  This seafood cocktail, a pescatorian feast sure to please, is served in a huge glass with onion, tomato, cilantro, avocado and sundry spices.  It’s a cold cocktail served with slices of lime, crackers and a couple bottles of flavorful fire in the form of Cholula Mexican hot sauce.  You can add as little or as much of this liquid fire as you’d like.

For something served hot and soothing, there’s nothing like Mexican soup, as much a comfort food in the land of Montezuma as it is in the United States. The caldo siete mares (literally seven seas soup) features seven types of seafood (including fish, clams, crab and squid) and is served in a swimming pool-sized bowl.  At many other restaurants this is a dish in dire need of desalinization, but at Mariscos Altamar, it’s salted just right.  It’s also hearty and filling.  Arriving at your table steaming hot, the caldo siete mares is wonderful year-round, but is especially satisfying on cold days.

Pescatorian delights include mojarra served several different ways.  Mojarra, a prominent fish on mariscos menus throughout Latin American, is a name given various species of fish, including tilapia.  At Mariscos Altamar, the mojarra is served whole–head to tail–and is deeply (maybe overly so) fried.  The garlic mojarra with mushrooms is crisp and a bit dry on the outside, but penetrate that gruff exterior with a fork and you’re rewarded with a firm-fleshed white fish complemented very well by the garlic-mushroom topping (which would be even better using freshly chopped garlic instead of minced garlic out of a jar).  This dish is served with French fries (accompanied by cold ketchup) and rice.

Landlubbers need not feel as if they’ve been left on the dock of the bay.  Meaty options abound for carnivores of all dispositions as well as do Mexican menu standards such as enchiladas, tacos, chile rellenos and burritos (none of which are adorned with Velveeta).  The menu includes a section dedicated solely to steaks and no pedestrian slabs are these.  They include the charbroiled and marinated Tampiquena Steak; the Steak A La Duranguense, a grilled top sirloin topped with a roasted Anaheim chile; Steak Milanesa, a steak breaded in a house specialty mix and even a traditional grilled New York steak, albeit one served with mushroom sauce.

The least “adventurous” steak is the Carne Asada (pictured above), a simple steak garnished with guacamole and pico de gallo.  Simple, in this case, doesn’t mean flavorless nor does the thinness of this slab of beef signify a penurious portion.  This is a very tasty, surprisingly tender steak.  Even though it is perhaps not even a half-inch thick, this slab spreads out to about ten ounces of meat.

All steak plates are served with rice, beans and your choice of tortillas (corn or flour).  The accommodating wait staff will even let you substitute a baked potato for rice and beans if you ask nicely.   You’ll want to ask.  With apologies to the Irish, no one bakes a potato like a Mexican and Mariscos Altamar does it better than just about anybody.  These are not puny, wrinkly potatoes.  They’re about half the size of a football, baked to absolute perfection and just dripping in real butter.

One of the restaurant’s most popular and unique desserts is akin to a cheesecake chimichanga.  Creamy cheesecake (we had  banana caramel) is wrapped in a pastry tortilla which is then fried until flaky and golden then dusted with cinnamon and sugar.  It’s served with strawberry and vanilla ice cream and is as rich and refreshing as any dessert we’ve had at any Mexican restaurant.

A visit to Mariscos Altamar is much less expensive than a trip to the Mexican coast, but with a bit of imagination, you can imagine yourself lounging at a little seaside cabaña with your toes in the powdery sand as you consume a pile of shrimp or an oversized cocktail. Mariscos Altamar will have that effect on you.

Mariscos Altamar
1517 Coors, N.W.
Albuquerque, New Mexico
(505) 831-1496
Web Site
LATEST VISIT: 23 March 2012
# OF VISITS: 8
RATING: 19
COST: $$
BEST BET: Shrimp Soup, Ceviche, Marisco’s Specialty Plate, Cheesecake, Flan, Camarones Costa Azul, Garlic Mojarra with Mushrooms,

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