Authentic Mexican meets Landsdowne
La Verdad
Fenway / Boston
Editor's note: Alison Arnett recently retired from the Globe. Dining Out will feature a rotation of guest reviewers until the paper names a new restaurant critic.
At Tequila Rain on Lansdowne Street, you can drink Slush Puppie-style margaritas in flavors such as mango and blue raspberry while eating what tastes like Tex-Mex airplane food. Set right beside it, a new taqueria from chef Ken Oringer and impresario Patrick Lyons scoffs. Tequila Rain is a genuine nightclub, yet as a Mexican restaurant it's as ersatz as they come. Oringer and Lyons's spot stakes its turf with its name: La Verdad.
But is Lansdowne Street a place for the truth? As we eat outside at La Verdad one night, passersby include a woman in a skintight, glittery minidress; a rotund, middle-aged man wearing a Varitek jersey; several staggeringly drunk revelers; and a preteen girl posing next to a silver bus adorned with a larger-than-life image of pop star Fergie. People come here to escape reality, so how will a Mexican restaurant aimed at authenticity fare?
Well, it depends on the night.
Sometimes the food is spot on. The skirt steak comes perfectly medium rare, as ordered, with a crusty char on the edges; it's served with a creamy pouf of black beans, elegant spears of grilled scallion, and a tidy pile of guacamole with a decorative sprinkle of cotija cheese on top. But sometimes the steak is medium and greasy, accompanied by a dank blob of crusted-over beans and a few measly stumps of scallion, no decorative cheese. Only the guacamole is the same, a simple, unadorned version, there to remind you of the former glory of this dish.
One night the chile verde is an elixir: tangy, a little spicy, and studded with hominy cooked to such silky texture it's impossible to stop eating it. Another night, the tang and spice are there, but the posole kernels are hard at the center and a thin layer of grease floats to the top of the bowl. Again, close enough to make you long for what you know could have been.
Sometimes the place is hopping. When the Sox are in town, all the tables are taken, offering refuge to those who would avoid the inebriated coeds found outside: gray-haired drinking buddies in polo shirts; young professionals; a pack of loud, tipsy med students screaming jokes about fellowships and pediatric illness. The bar at the center of the dimly lit, dark red room features its share of slightly less inebriated coeds. (The somewhat stingy $8 margaritas help keep them that way. Made with agave nectar, they've never seen the inside of a slush machine.) When the Sox aren't in town, there are empty seats, but a stream of concertgoers and a loud soundtrack keep the shrineful of Day of the Dead figurines from feeling like they live in a ghost town.
Sometimes the service is good. The waitress is funny and friendly and shows up when you want her to. More often the service is off, if still friendly. A busboy stacks dirty dishes atop the leftovers you planned to take home; a waitress's explanation of the difference between the game day menu and the regular menu makes "Ulysses" seem straightforward (for the record, the regular menu offers more dishes, though the bar menu includes wings). But in this arena, La Verdad has made great strides since its April opening, when it was nearly impossible to get a drink from a bartender, much less some food, and never mind a table.
The most consistent thing at this taqueria is the tacos, which come in 12 varieties, from tongue to lobster. They're not always perfect, but they are easily the tastiest thing going on Lansdowne Street (and that includes you, Miss Glittery Minidress). The tongue taco, for example, contains dense, deeply smoky bits of meat, offset by a bit of bright lime. Carne asada features chewy chunks of grilled skirt steak with the concentrated flavor of a demi-glace. Caramelized onions complement the steak but don't overwhelm it. And the fish in the pescado tacos is lightly battered and cleanly fried, though its delicate flavor is sometimes drowned out by the avocado wedged next to it in the tortilla.
The menu's description of the lobster taco sings: sauteed lobster with garlic, scallion, candied lemon, cilantro, chile, and corn puree. Who wouldn't want to eat that? But on several occasions, the lobster is overcooked, and there's no sign of candied lemon. The $5 surcharge to include a lobster taco on your plate of three isn't worth it -- you're better off spending the money on a side of grilled corn, which comes with the same price tag. It's the addictive version from Oringer's South End Spanish spot, Toro, smothered in crumbly, melty white cheese and sprinkled with chili powder.
One reason the tacos are so satisfying, even when the fillings are uneven, is the tortillas. They taste homemade, and they are -- according to executive chef Brian Roche, three people on staff are dedicated solely to making them. If only there were more: One tortilla per taco isn't enough to hold the fillings, which you find yourself awkwardly nibbling off the top. (On other dough fronts, the sweet, cinnamony churros are also excellent when they're hot enough -- they're drizzled with dulce de leche and served with a small pot of thick dipping chocolate.)
La Verdad is an excellent addition to Lansdowne Street, a place, finally, where food is food, not merely a base for booze. Though it does offer more than 50 tequilas -- get a shot with a chaser of the incredible sangrita, a spicy, citrusy tomato juice that would be fantastic in Bloody Marys. Its greatest innovation is its takeout counter at the front entrance. I have often wondered when Anna's Taqueria would open a Lansdowne branch, but La Verdad's tacos are better.
But by non-Lansdowne standards, too often the dishes don't live up to their promise. Authentic Mexican is one of the biggest gaps in the Boston food scene (just ask your friends from California), and La Verdad could have gone a long way toward closing it. But amid the post-ball crush, young clubbers on the make, and music fans rushing to catch the opening act, there's just no way food can be the center of attention.