Mexican Standoff

Alto Plaza Wrestles with Uncertainty

By Warren Rojas / Photography by Kate Bohler

I have, to date, held my tongue about Alto Plaza because approximately every six months during their short but volatile existence they have appeared to undergo sweeping changes, and I kept hoping the metaphorical dust would eventually settle.

True to form, they’re currently mired in yet another operational reboot: The curious but clearly conceptually-flawed, fine dining experiment reserved for patrons of the private elevator ride-enabled third floor was formally closed to the public this spring. Hector Galvez, Alto Plaza’s newly minted co-owner and director of operations, says they’re hoping to unveil an entirely new hospitality experience in the next few months.

Their latest Hail Mary? Tapas.

Ay, caramaba …

Just to be clear: I was intrigued by the original plan for Alto Plaza.

I didn’t fully understand who they were hoping to court with a widely disparate dining program foisting Nuevo Latino cuisine (fried plantains flanked by chipotle-mayo aioli, modified Cuban sandwiches, bacon-wrapped, jalapeno-stuffed shrimp) upon the thrift-seekers seated downstairs, while image-conscious guests choosing to ascend to the eponymous AP room were treated to Continental standards (lobster Thermidor, premium steaks slathered in compound butters, chicken Marsala), cigar-filled humidors and unobtrusive jazz combos.

But I appreciated the effort and looked forward to trying something—anything different—in what was, at that time, Centreville’s chain-dining controlled landscape.

But that was then. This is now.

With the AP room and adjoining View lounge on indefinite hiatus—Galvez assures me the third floor remains available for private parties—the downstairs carte has become the alpha and omega of dining options. All elements of Nuevo Latino have been scrubbed from the menu, leaving behind a framework of predominantly Mexican cuisine supplemented by a handful of safety dishes (steak-and-cheese wraps, French-style pork chops with Idaho spuds, crab cake-filet combos, jambalaya pasta).

According to Galvez, chef Christopher Guevara draws inspiration from across Latin America, hailing assorted Peruvian (ceviche), Argentinean (chimichurri-drizzled carne asada) and Central American (fajitas) dishes as some of their most consistently sought after offerings. They may have committed to the South of the Border-themed program in spirit, but their insistence on clinging to proven, fast-casual touchstones like fried calamari, filet mignon tips and flourless chocolate waffles buried beneath vanilla ice cream suggests they’re still hedging their bets.

For what soon would become painfully obvious reasons.

Chicken taquitos look halfway decent, but head swiftly downhill from there. The filling amounts to finely shredded slop which doesn’t taste very much like chicken, cheese or any of the promised Southwestern spices. Add in the fact that each bite of the overcooked tortilla releases jagged shards of stiffened dough into your esophagus, and you’ve got the makings of a truly torturous affair.

A skillet brimming with bubbling queso fundido is a much more cohesive starter, weaving together crumbled chorizo (injects slat and cumin into every bite) and rice smothered beneath a canopy of intoxicatingly rich Chihuahua cheese.

I’ll be honest: The only reason I didn’t immediately throw back the train wreck that turned out to be a portion of terribly conflicted saltado de mariscos was morbid curiosity. First off, I watched as the server halted the food runner from delivering both an appetizer and the aforementioned saltado to my table simultaneously, electing to assuage the ordering oversight by scooping the appetizer off the tray and attempting to surreptitiously return the entrée to the kitchen, effectively damning the seafood medley to a damning turn beneath the unforgiving heat lamps. Secondly, once it was returned I was fascinated by the kitchen’s chosen accompaniment: refried beans.

Don’t get me wrong. The lard-laden mash was delicious. But the charred frijoles had no business being anywhere near an acid-plagued experiment wherein the already scant seafood supply—shrimp were OK, the bay scallops much too few and far between—are held hostage by grossly mismanaged tomatoes.

A similarly perplexing steak-and-enchilada-pairing ultimately worked out its gustatory differences, but keeping the flavors straight did require my full attention. The twin medallions of steak could certainly hold their own, each cut of tender beef perfectly appointed a crown of fried onions and satisfying mushroom cream sauce at its base. Enter the exceptionally cheesy enchilada, whose oozing core threatened to overwhelm many of the featured players. In the end, the mushrooms were able to overcome the deluge of dairy, but the crispy green onions, which looked promising, seemed to get lost in the wake of all the heavier hitters.

There’s more molten cheese waiting beneath a handsome strip of carne asada, but this beef seems much better suited for the task. The cooked-to-order flank steak arrives topped with twin slices of sugary, fried plantains and draws support from a grilled jalapeno (gracias), onions and green peppers, soupy beans (cooked down with smoked sausage, onions and tomatoes), zesty salsa and warm flour tortillas.

When I went to wash away my sorrows, all I got was more heartbreak.

Gone are flashy tributes like The View Manhattan—a combustible mixture of Knob Creek bourbon, bitters and flaming orange oil—now replaced by pre-mixed, frozen margaritas and derivative adult coolers (fruity bellinis, caipirinhas, martinis and mojitos).

To wit, Galvez touts the bar as one of their solidly consistent performers.

“It’s neighborhood … but we definitely get a fair amount from outside as well,” he estimates of the mix of regulars and curiosity seekers who routinely file into the self-styled “cantina” on weekend nights.

One would hope that showing your face with any regularity, and probably tossing some fat tips around, guarantees a heightened service experience. Because this consummate outsider was left waiting (and wanting) by staff for no apparent reason. During one visit, the barkeep blatantly continued shooting the bull with a fellow co-worker and tending to his side work for a full five minutes after watching me slide onto my stool—even though I was the only guest seated at the bar at that time. Another fellow made nice with the ice water and initial greeting but then wandered away for interminable stretches of time, making us wait for our silverware, drinks and food while he casually refilled bar mixers at a satellite service station.

While exiting the premises after yet another head-scratching meal, I overheard a couple of incoming AP virgins trying to fully comprehend the sheer enormity of their latest find:

Gentleman 1: “This building just sits here by itself?”
Gentleman 2: “I know. It’s weird, right?”
Fellas, you don’t know the half of it …

—–

Alto Plaza
5800 Old Centreville Road, Centreville; 703-266-8811; www.altoplaza.net

Hours: Open for lunch Monday through Saturday, dinner daily, brunch Sunday.
Prices: Average entree: $13 to $20 ($$).

 

(June 2011)