“Relax, gringo, it’s all good.”
So says Hablo Taco’s jazzy website. I love the images that mirror the menu and interior design. They feature a striking silhouette of a mariachi trio playing amidst tall, tree-like saguaro desert cacti with their branches raised like arms about to break into a dance. It evokes all that is authentic and wonderful about our southern neighbors.
Inside, the decor has a tray ceiling with a huge wagon wheel with eight spokes from which hangs an enormous wrought-iron chandelier. The distressed wooden tables set a tone that’s broken by a decidedly un-Mexican soundtrack with everything from Jackson Browne to Icona Pop. Unfortunately, the food is no more authentic than the music. And when the region has at least three terrific examples of casual Mexican fare bursting with flavor (Casa Tina, Red Mesa Mercado and El Gallo Grande), the lackluster offerings, delivered by friendly servers, really stand out for their mediocrity.
Perhaps it’s because so much attention has been spent on the tequila service clearly driving the crowd, which, by the way, is having a boisterous, happy time along the outside seating area, as well as the interior and exterior glowing-nuclear-green corrugated bars that go on for what seems like a city block. The authenticity of the food doesn’t matter if it’s just a vehicle to keep you upright in order to drink more. A dining companion quips, “It’s Mexican food for the concrete jungle.” The menu graphics and messaging are as spot on and exciting as the food is dull.
Sangria is listed as “a refreshing mix of red wine, rum, peach liquor, fresh fruit and a splash of Sprite,” but it tastes mostly of wine. The fruit and sweetness are missing.
The Three Amigos appetizer gives your table the chance to sample a trio of staples alongside a huge basket of corn chips. The fresh guacamole is ultra-creamy avocado, but the jalapeño, onion, lime, cilantro and tomato barely register, so the dip is one-dimensional. The queso blanco seems processed, but there is a nice bit of spice. The salsa is unexciting with a slightly acrid finish; it lacks tomatoey freshness with vivid cilantro to make it pop on the palate. However, if your goal is knocking back tequila shots, who cares?
The menu features Mexican street corn. Picture yourself on a stroll south of the border. You come across a farmer preparing his freshest sweet corn. Imagine the delicious mix of sensations: It’s piping hot, with juicy freshness. The kernels have been lightly charred, which adds another dimension of flavor. The vendor then quickly rolls the ear in creamy queso and hands it to you for an amazing triumph of taste.
That is not this ear of corn.
Our cobs are burnt in places and barely lukewarm, which renders the queso gloppy. What should be a triumph of ethnic street food ends up as a full-service restaurant Dud with a capital “D.” It’s an instructive lesson in the fine line between charred and burnt, and also how our taste perceptions change when what should be hot food is eaten way below the optimal temperature.
Unfortunately, the fish taco is also lukewarm, and despite being listed as “blackened mahi mahi, jicama slaw, mango salsa, cilantro and chipotle crema drizzle,” the overall result has little flavor. The fish itself is bland; any spice comes from the slaw. The tantalizing flavors are nowhere to be found.
Only slightly better is the grilled avocado. Two creamy halves are char-grilled and obliterated with a huge pile of (under-)seasoned ground beef, habanero salsa, sour cream and queso fresco. It’s then drizzled with ranchero sauce and served beside (not over as the menu notes) a mound of Mexican rice that’s studded with puffy corn chips. Nothing has any zing.
The Mexican cornbread is really sweet corn pudding. It’s soft and gooey with nice corn flavor, and the item needs to be eaten with a spoon. Any resemblance to “bread” is merely coincidental; it’s almost a savory dessert.
Speaking of dessert, Hablo Taco offers fried ice cream and a churro platter with chocolate sauce. My table opts for the latter. Eight churros arrive looking more like onion rings, and, indeed, since they have no cinnamon or sugar, they are more savory than sweet until they receive a dip in whipped cream and chocolate. At least they are hot.
I can only assume the goal is indeed “gringo” food to pair with alcohol because nothing has the zesty oomph associated with genuine Mexican cuisine. So go for the terrific selection of tequila, and eat just enough to drive home sober.
