This isn't actually my very first visit to El Rey, in the tatted-up bones of the old Midtown Diner IV, a faded Chestnut Street throwback near 20th Street. (The comfy, redone booths, the soft arch of the windows that look out onto a brick wall, the exposed fake beams, the South Philly-esque "Italian" dropped ceilings, still summon the diner's meat loaf-and-potatoes roots.)
And it isn't my first bite, either: the roasted red snapper just days before was meaty and moist, basted with a lively chile mayo, a nod to the Veracruz side of the menu. (It's split between the traditional specialties of Puebla, east of Mexico City, and its coastal neighbor Veracruz.) The queso fundido, a crock o' gooey Chihuahua cheese with a spritz of mushrooms, on the other hand, was less promising.
Still, after a fragrant tortilla soup, poured at table; a gutsy pickled cactus salad (with toasty pumpkin seed and lush avocado); a balanced ceviche of cobia (it compares vaguely to Chilean sea bass) with olive, caper and tomato; and a toothsome skirt-steak taco, I was tilting - to my surprise - toward a big thumb's up.
There were missteps at this latest Stephen Starr production, offered as the more "authentic" cousin to El Vez, Starr's updated Mexican spot at 13th and Sansom: 1. Luchador poster art. Got enough of the masked Mexican wrestler motif at Jose Garces' kitschy Distrito. 2. The noise! Well, one night was Cinco de Mayo. What was I thinking? 3. The sugared churros weren't anything to write home about. 4. The waitstaff robotically asking how is your (yet unsipped) margarita? How is the lamb taco? How is the this? How is the that?
