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This venue is closed.

The royal blue and kidney bean red walls of this relatively subdued Mexican spot are bare save for a large framed mirror that reflects the action at the bar and three pub tables up front. The only discernable flare are colorful tricolour bingo cards tacked below two stocked shelves of tequila and a dia de los muertos-skeleton mobile dangling from the ceiling fan. Puerile execution extends to the food. Fried artichoke hearts and rolled corn taquitos filled with chicken and refried beans taste like an after-school snack from the toaster oven. Though a rotating special of broiled sea bass served in a sweet salsa de crema is tender and flaky, bland breaded fish and shaved iceberg lettuce folded in a near raw tortilla makes a poor fish taco. To spice it up, there are more than thirty hot sauces, on which staff wax lyrical like picante sommeliers. — Rob Fischer