Dining Out

No Passport Necessary

Head to Mexico via Cocina Poblana

    In 1979, the English post-punk band Gang of Four released its debut single, “At Home He’s a Tourist.” That’s exactly how I’ve felt when eating at Cocina Poblana. But that’s not a bad thing: Foreign surroundings have a way of heightening all the senses. Indeed, I’ve eaten some of my most memorable meals as a tourist—grilled steaks of that morning’s catch from the local waters on the ferry wharf of tiny Isla Holbox off the northern tip of the Yucatan peninsula, and do-it-yourself spring rolls with skewers of barbecued pork at a tiny outdoor Vietnamese restaurant in Nong Khai, Thailand, on the border with Laos.
    Dining at the newest Cocina Poblana—the first location opened on Fillmore Street in San Francisco in 2005, the second in Emeryville a year later—has been memorable, as well. In part, it’s the setting. Despite native birthright, 30 years of continuous residence and hundreds of visits to the jazz club at Yoshi’s, I feel less like an Oaklander in Jack London Square than just about anywhere else in town. Sitting in Cocina Poblana’s outdoor section on a warm spring evening, sipping Tamarindo and 1800 Blue margaritas (both $8), Robin and I observed families and teens strolling into the “square” area from the direction of the Jack London Cinemas towards Ben & Jerry’s and along Embarcadero towards Barnes & Noble. We watched Amtrak’s California Zephyr roll slowly by and felt like we’d just gotten off that train ourselves.
    Cocina Poblana’s space, previously occupied by a pizzeria, has a tourist-welcoming look and vibe, with sleek postindustrial touches in the vibrant interior—exposed ceiling ducts, fabric-upholstered booths and a sweeping curve of chain-link curtain separating the spacious dining area from the lounge-style tequila bar with its blue neon sign—and traditional accents, notably the painted animal sculptures. It has a neighborhood feel only in the sense that the immediate neighborhood is the kind you’re less likely to live in (although that’s obviously changing with the burgeoning loft population) than visit for a business meeting or a special occasion.
    One dinner, one Sunday brunch and one to-go lunch were hardly enough to explore the ambitious array of offerings: The menu dinner alone includes 13 appetizers, four salads and more than three dozen main platillos, including a variety of seafood dishes (prawns, mahi-mahi, ahi tuna and scallops) and four vegetarian options, and more than 15 items are available at brunch. I chose wisely when the cravings that get the better of me anytime I see the words “Niman” and “pork” on the same menu drove me to the carnitas Don Pedro ($17, or $22 with a giant beer). The juicy clump of tender pulled pork shoulder showed as few signs of herbs or spices as the black beans spread across he broad white plate, but I found I could add delightful spark by combining bites with the accompanying fiery mix of pickled onions, tomatoes and jalapenos. I would gladly order it again.
    Robin plowed through the huarache Azteca ($19), a mass of sautéed shrimp, Mexican cheese, grilled cactus, rajas con crema (poblano chilies, onions and heavy cream) and refried black beans, all piled onto a basket-like handmade tortilla. If my dinner represented one extreme of chef-founder Lito Saldaña’s takes on the cuisines of Jalisco and Puebla, starkly separate flavors ranging from bland to explosive, hers evidenced the other, an intense blur almost impossible to parse.
    Given that we’d started with complimentary chips with three salsas, plus the impressive tres ceviches appetizer ($15)—three glass cones brimming with lime juice–“cooked” ahi tuna and shrimp, and crisp, mint-laced julienne mango, papaya, jicima and cucumber—and that our meals included handmade corn tortillas that arrived warm from the griddle, there was no chance of finishing it all.
    Our sense of being overwhelmed was compounded by the fact that the main courses arrived only moments after the starters and margaritas. We attributed this to our cheery waiter’s use of a handheld computer that relayed the order to the kitchen, where everything was processed immediately. When we returned a week later for Sunday brunch, we learned that these PDAs do not guarantee efficiency. In fact, we began to wonder if an alternate translation of Cocina Poblana might be “discombobulated.”
    We arrived to a half-empty restaurant but were told it would be 15 minutes before we’d be seated, so we cruised the farmers market. When we came back, we overheard someone who appeared to be the shift manager apologizing profusely for something or other to a table of four. We would witness at least five more such incidents during our stay, which was extended by a half-hour wait for our food, and marred by our server’s delivery of the wrong dishes—once to me and three times to Robin; twice he placed the same steak in front of her and was befuddled when she tried to explain that she’d ordered Mama Luisa’s Special (two eggs, omelet style, in a corn sope [thick tortilla] with chorizo, pinto beans and ranchera sauce, $10.25), not Mama Elena’s Special. When the correct dish, highlighted by crispy chunks of flavorful Mexican sausage, finally arrived, my huevos poblanas (poached eggs in a sope with creamy poblana chili sauce, $10.25) had been in front of me for almost 10 minutes. And when a woman at the table next to us sent something back because it was undercooked, I knew it couldn’t have been huevos poblanas since my eggs were the equivalent of hard-boiled.
    “Everybody’s crazy today,” our exasperated server confided, his point underscored by the sense that the entire staff was rushing around the still half-empty restaurant and getting nowhere fast.
    Cocina Poblana’s inconsistencies seem to ripple out from the kitchen. One afternoon I arrived back at the office with my quickly prepared to-go lunch order of mole poblana ($15) only to discover that there were no tortillas to sop up the spicy (if one-dimensional) mole after I’d ravenously polished off a moist, plump chicken leg and a shockingly scrawny thigh. The restaurant aims high (a state easily achieved by exploring the boggling tequila menu with its 250 or so options) and prices its fare accordingly. But while succeeding at creating a festive, upscale, special-occasion alternative to standard tacos, burritos and enchiladas, it will have to smooth out the ride if it wants visitors to book return trips.

THE DETAILS

    COCINA POBLANA. Mexican. Serves lunch 10 a.m.–3 p.m. Mon.–Fri., 10 a.m.–4:30 p.m. Sat.-Sun.; brunch 10 a.m.–3 p.m. Sat.-Sun; espresso drinks and pastries 8 a.m.–10 a.m. Sat.-Sun.; and dinner 5 p.m.–10 p.m. Mon.–Fri., 4:30 p.m.–10 p.m. Sat.-Sun. 499 Embarcadero West, (510) 451-4700, www.cocinapoblana.com. Credit cards, full bar, reservations, wheelchaie accessable, $$-$$$.

—By Derk Richardson

—Photography by Lori Eanes