El Tecolote Offspring Needs to Spend More Time on Details

A literal breath of freshness accompanied the opening, four years ago, of Mission Valley’s El Tecolote, the Mexican restaurant that nobly eschews all the phony and mostly commercial preparations that so many of the county’s so-called Mexican eateries feature.

Operated by the Singer family, transplanted here en masse from Mexico City (rather than by corporations based in Scottsdale, Torrance and, in one bizarre situation, Minnesota), El Tecolote promptly set about introducing traditional and typical foods that were almost unknown here, including vegetable tortas (deep-fried patties, often made from cauliflower); beef tongue braised in the style of Veracruz; a mole sauce confected on the premises, rather than poured from a can, and thus tasting quite different from what usually is encountered in these parts, and other likable dishes.

The frontispiece of the menu explains that canned and preprepared items are rigorously avoided in favor of home-prepared items, a claim that seems proven by every bite. Even something so otherwise ordinary as the guacamole, for example, is notable for its fresh, homemade flavor and texture, simply because it is so different from the slimy canned goo that too many restaurants serve. (The shocking truth is that many of the San Diegans who eat Mexican food only at restaurants probably have not tasted anything but canned guacamole, and, even worse, probably are unaware of the fact.)

More recently, the Singers opened a branch in University City that features the same menu and the same generally high quality of cooking as the Friars Road location. The new place, larger and somewhat boxy, is decidedly less cozy than the original location, and it could use some of the excessive decor and dim lighting of its progenitor. The feel is rather drearily suburban, perhaps owing partly to the premises--a neighborhood shopping center.

The menu and cooking, however, often match the quality of the original, although some details seem to go unnoticed, which is unsettling. When one sees the simplicity that attends the preparation of some of the happiest dishes, one marvels that other places would expend time and effort opening cans and defrosting boxes.

For example, one evening’s chicken soup--meals include the choice of soup or salad--looked and tasted exactly like that apocryphal chicken soup that every mother and grandmother supposedly used to whip up in the twinkling of an eye. This one consisted simply of much meaty, tenderly stewed chicken, served in its own light but flavorful broth, and made Mexican by a sprinkling of chopped cilantro and onion. (The salad served as an alternative was quite plain but was composed of good, fresh ingredients, including neatly peeled slices of avocado.)

Vegetables play a vastly more important role here than they do at most Mexican places (usually, a chile relleno is the only vegetable dish offered), appearing as entrees and, quite unexpectedly, in sauces. The cauliflower tortas, first stuffed with mild cheese, are anointed with a moderately spicy red sauce and covered with further dressings of cheese. Calabacitas rellenas, or zucchinis filled with cheese, receive a similar treatment, but are also plunged in batter and deep-fried. It is interesting to note how spiritually allied these are to the crumb-dusted stuffed zucchini that often grace Provencal luncheon tables.

A sauce that unexpectedly but quite happily incorporated both sliced zucchini and tender green peas was the tomatillo sauce that moistened a serving of chile verde, or pork cubes braised in this somewhat piquant mixture. The vegetables served to cut the heat of the dish (perhaps too much, if truth be told), but they did lend it a fine flavor. In this case, the plate originally appeared with an embarrassing paucity of meat, which pointed to a lapse of attentiveness on the part of the kitchen; when mentioned, the deficiency was speedily made up.

The same pork probably started out being prepared as carnitas, the classic dish of succulent, long-cooked pork cubes that at El Tecolote are first marinated, and then slowly boiled in lard. The meat seemed properly cooked, but the garnish of limes, cilantro sprigs, radishes and such that one expects on the side was lacking, another sign that this new eatery pays a little less attention to detail than its parent. Good, hot tortillas accompanied the serving, implying the logical and enjoyable step of rolling the meat into neat, cylindrical sandwiches. (But where were the little woven, napkin-lined baskets in which the tortillas always arrived at the Friars Road location? The pallid plastic servers lent nothing to the table.)

The third plate sampled, the carne asada Tampiquena, was El Tecolote’s deluxe version of the classic grill of thin strips of marinated steak. The tender, nicely spicy meat was garnished with mild green chiles simmered in a sour-cream-based sauce (a bite of chile is de rigueur with a bite of meat), fresh guacamole and adequate beans and rice. The rice, tending alarmingly toward a crimson shade, showed the too-enthusiastic employment of paprika.

The entree list also offers mole poblano (chicken braised in the lusciously dark, chocolate-tinged sauce of story and song) and the related enchiladas de mole, which at times seem a nicer and more convenient way of enjoying this dish; eggs scrambled with chorizo sausage; tortitas de res, or onion-and-parsley-flavored hamburger patties that are battered, deep-fried and drenched in tomatillo sauce; breaded steak, and chilaquiles, the ever popular, home-style dish of fried tortilla strips, first simmered in tomato sauce and then covered with shredded chicken, melted cheese and sour cream.

The appetizer list offers few surprises but does include an entirely honorable rendition of queso fundido con chorizo, or mild cheese baked with a sprinkling of spicy crumbled sausage, in this case baked on its serving plate so that it arrives at table still ragingly hot. For a change of pace, the cheese-laced mashed potato patty can make an interesting starter, and, of course, the omnipresent chips and salsa of the Mexican restaurant industry are served here, too.

EL TECOLOTE.

3202 Governor Drive, San Diego.

455-1017.

Same menu served all day, 11 a.m.-9 p.m. Tuesday through Thursday, until 10 p.m. weekends. On Sunday, 4-9 p.m.

Credit cards accepted.

Dinner for two with a glass of wine each, tax and tip, $20 to $35.