Restaurants

I find it a tad bit disconcerting to open a menu and see “onion rings” on the first page, when its cover promised fine Mexican cooking—like buying a ticket to see Killer Mike in concert and discovering Justin Bieber is the opening act.

Other anomalies dot El Torito’s glossy list, as well. But the spot on Scottsbluff’s 27th Street strip is something of an anomaly in itself.

The Panhandle’s “metro area” hosts a number of mom and pop Mexican joints serving as authentic street style tacos, menudo or Milanese as you’re likely to find on this side of the border. The town also supports a number of Americanized franchises with well deserved reputations.

El Torito falls somewhere in between.

The place lacks the reliability of a brand name and falls short of truly ethnic standards. Yeah, the grey-brown canned refried beans, neon cheese sauce and dull rice might remind you of a national chain—a notion reinforced by the restaurant’s festive paint scheme. Sure, they open at 7 a.m. for those looking for huevos rancheros or other simple breakfast dishes, similar to any little neighborhood Mexican place.

But El Torito’s tamales suffer from listless masa. In place of grounded, earthy savor, a pale and insipid mash surrounds the meat filling.

This near Christmas, even pseudo-Mexican kitchens should do better.

Their signature fajita—sharing the restaurant’s name—mixes beef, chicken and shrimp, along with black-singed slices of bell pepper, sauteed onions and grilled tomato. Apart from the shellfish, each sliver of meat carries a welcome bittersweet char. And the vegetables are hefty and emboldened by their time on the grill.

Judged merely on the thing that matters most (flavor, naturally), it is a worthy dish.

Unlike fajitas delivered with such sizzling, steaming gusto at brand name restaurants, however, my serving arrived without sound or fury, just a platter of cooling ingredients. And, of course, fajitas hardly belong in the pantheon of traditional Mexican dishes, having been named and popularized by kitchens in Texas back in the 1970s.

Remember that promise of fine Mexican authenticity? Oh, yeah—they lost me at the onion rings.

El Torito seems to exist in that purgatory between American distortion of ethnic cuisine and real down to earth, hand made Mexican. It’s in a unique, though not necessarily enviable space--Justin Bieber, stripped of marketing.

That should be disconcerting to any diner.

El Torito

511 W. 27th St.

Scottsbluff

308-633-2814

Hours: Mon.-Sat. 7 a.m.-9 p.m.