El Camino Real

'So, you guys wanna do a round of shots?" asked our perky, apple-cheeked waitress out of nowhere at El Camino Real.

I turned around for a moment, thinking she was asking the table behind us. I looked back in the direction of the bar, where a Friday-night throng of hat-backward twentysomethings were screaming "Woo-hoo!!" in their best, margarita-soaked spring-break hollers.

But no. She was talking to us, all right, me and a handful of other dads from the block on a guys' night out. Don't get me wrong: We're a fun-lovin' posse when we're loose on the town. But it's been more than a decade since I hung at a bar where a server who looked barely old enough to serve was priming the party with rounds of rotgut.

God, did I suddenly feel old. Or maybe, even more startling, was the sensation that Northern Liberties - the province of urban fringe-sters, beer wonks, and Bohemian artistes - was speedily getting younger. It was telling enough a few years ago when this space debuted on Liberties Walk as Deuce, whose polished lounge look and Snickertinis edged a bit too close to the pop cocktail trendiness of Old City. But El Camino, at this moment, seemed to have regressed right past that martini-land down to the binge-bar college vibe of South Street.

I doubt whether El Camino Real is actually striving for such a kiddie crowd, especially with a kitchen that has ambitions to tackle two of the more serious themes straddling our Southern border: real barbecue and Tex-Mex cooking.

But there is an unmistakably younger feeling here compared with the tapas wine-bar sophistication of Owen Kamihira's Bar Ferdinand just across the pedestrian walk. Kamihira, who took over the Deuce space at developer Bart Blatstein's request, wanted a concept with straightforward energy and a more familiar theme.

And he's done that with this Southwestern-styled room - wormwood pine tables, carved longhorns, and serape-wrapped booths - and a menu built on burritos and ribs. It doesn't seem to matter whether any of the better beers are in stock (three we asked for on my second visit were "out"). Or if the margaritas are especially good - they aren't; ours had a prefab taste despite the claims of fresh lime. This cantina has the mass appeal of a hopping Cancun beach party.

El Camino Real's credibility as a legitimate restaurant, though, ultimately hinges on how well it elevates those familiar menu themes into unfamiliar realms of quality. And it's a tall task. As if turning out serious barbecue wasn't already challenging enough, rehabilitating Tex-Mex food, its reputation razed long ago by chains like Chi-Chi's and Taco Bell, is an ultimate challenge.

Young Jennifer Zavala is a promising candidate for the job. Relatives come from Chichen Itza, and the self-taught chef (who was also once a tour cook for Ozzy Osbourne's heavy-metal Ozzfest) has drawn on family recipes from her Mexican roots for some of the restaurant's best flavors, including the soft flour tortillas handmade to order for the mini-burritos. She has also taken inspiration from a scouting trip to Texas and Juarez with Kamihira to explore the flavors they wanted to re-create.

She has nailed a few good ones, especially tucked inside those Northern-Mex-style small burritos, including the velvety-soft lengua, the red-sauced beef colorado, the caramelized onion-laced potato and cactus filling, and (my favorite) the tender smoked chicken with crunchy bits of bacon, chipotle crema, and fruity morsels of plantain. The final two I sampled in the relative quietude of Camino's lunch (only "relative," since the soundtrack blaring cowgirl yodels and the Clash sent two silver-haired would-be diners scrambling back through the exit after just five minutes at their table).

They wouldn't have made it inside during the din at dinner, the raucous pace of which also seemed to unsettle the kitchen, where culinary ambitions were too often sacrificed to sloppy execution. The homemade chips were so greasy, I could see a reflection. The guacamole had the dull olive gloss of avocados mashed too long before dinner. The nachos were ordinary. The desserts? Fried buñuelos as heavy as leaden dough. Gelatinous cobbler. "Seasonal" shaved ice featuring watermelon and pineapple. (Stick with the pecan pie.)

There were a number of promising dishes gone wrong. The cheese-stuffed enchiladas, supposedly baked to order, were so dried out from the heat that their crusts buckled up around the edges like an orphan forgotten in the oven too long. Still, the flavor of the chile-stewed gravy was spot-on earthy with roasted ancho and guajillo peppers, tomatoes, and Coke (a.k.a. "Mexican demiglace"), a reminder that this chef has the right ideas even when the execution doesn't hit. Similarly, I loved the taste of the meaty Texas chile, with its habanero kick and sassy cinnamon-cumin kiss. It's a shame it wasn't adequately reheated.

The kitchen's instincts with the smoker aren't yet nearly as natural - with one exception. The beef ribs, brontosaurus big and clinging to a twisty char of spice-crusted flesh and fat, are almost a reason in themselves to visit. So many of the other "Texas" items, though, wore a cloud of apple-mesquite smoke and a crust of spice rub without the proper balance of basic seasoning beneath – salt or acidity – that is essential to unlocking the meat's deeper power. In some cases, as with the beef rib, a dip in the tangy sweet sauce was all the complement it needed. But the brisket, pork ribs, and pig "wings" fell flat, and were missing a crucial piece of their flavor puzzle. The grilled smoked pork chops were simply dry and overcooked.

Oddly, for a place that would logically be all about the beef, some of the most memorable dishes were vegetarian. The "veggie wings" made of locally produced Ray's seitan, marinated in spice rub, then deep-fried, were positively addictive - crispy, flavorful, and meatier than the meats. A giant pan-fried poblano pepper stuffed with blended seitan, mushrooms, plantains, and Mexican cheese was infinitely more interesting than the flaccid, one-dimensionally cheesy chile rellenos that are so typical on Americanized Mexican menus.

Besting an old cliche with a new twist like that is as satisfying to diners as it is to the cook. And it's encouraging to know that El Camino Real is capable of pulling it off. If only it happened more often, we might have actually turned those hats backward and taken our waitress up on her offer - by her third trip to the table hawking shots - and finally thrown back a toast.