New York

"Upscale Mexican" is an absurdly Gringo turn of phrase for which Williamsburgers long had no use. But the food-fashion has brought south-of-the-border to North Brooklyn, and with it Mesa Coyoacan. The large candlelit tables make families out of couples forced to sit together beneath papel picado flags and dozens of framed photographs. These "traditional" trappings complement the food which--as I've never eaten in Mexico--I'll skip deeming "authentic" and go simply with "awesome." Fresh margaritas made with chili-infused tequila, chunky guacamole, carne asada with cactus salad, and chicken enchiladas with mole sauce so good I nearly reached across the table to lick my friend's plate. From the chef's menu construction to the friendly Spanish-speaking staff, one gets the feeling that Mesa recognizes its audience yet aims to maintain some modicum of authenticity. In the end, it doesn't matter what you call it, 'cause with a mouthful of mole you don't need words.

Photo:  Molly Riordan