accessAtlanta

IT'S DIFFICULT to be taken seriously when you have garnered a reputation for the opposite. Sometimes drastic measures have to be taken to prove your earnestness. Call it the actresses' challenge: Liz Taylor, Nicole Kidman and Charlize Theron all had to get down-and-dirty ugly before Oscar whispered their names on the list of nominees.

Luckily Sala, the Mexican restaurant in Virginia-Highland, didn't have to get out the prosthetic nose and gain 30 pounds to finally prove its mettle. It just hired a new chef, Jeff Smedstad. The restaurant, a part of Fifth Group that also owns Ecco, La Tavola Trattoria and South City Kitchen, has claimed culinary authenticity for years, but is better known for its margaritas than its mole.

Becky Stein/SPECIAL (ENLARGE)
Street tacos make new chef Jeff Smedstad's menu shine. They include the papas (potatoes) wrapped in corn tortilla, and the wood-roasted pork in arbol salsa.
Becky Stein/SPECIAL (ENLARGE)
Puerco en cascabel (above) and the flan clasico (below) help spruce up the revamped Mexican vibe at Sala in Virginia-Highland. Photos by BECKY STEIN / Special
Becky Stein/SPECIAL (ENLARGE)
MOST POPULAR STORIES Police: Jeffrey Donovan arrested, suspected of DUI Report: Abdul's return to 'American Idol' doubtful Beastie Boy Adam Yauch has 'very treatable' cancer Fallon's '7th Floor West' is a silly, soapy treat Chris Brown apologizes for Rihanna beating
EMAIL THIS PRINT THIS MOST POPULAR

Before you start connecting the dots between the origins of a name like Smedstad (which is Norwegian) and the fact that it's about as Mexican as a croissant, hold your jalapeños. Arizona-born, this guy has spent a lot of time south of the border, including a stint of study with Suzanna Trillings of Seasons of the Heart cooking school in Mexico's cultural mecca, Oaxaca. He was chef-owner of acclaimed Los Sombreros in Scottsdale for 13 years. After selling the restaurant and taking some time off, Smedstad set his sights on a change, and Atlanta was it.

While not a complete face-lift, the restaurant has undergone some beautifying changes designed by the Johnson Studio, most notably a stunning fire-red wall highlighted underneath by a modern banquette and a still-expanding bar (the final touches are still in the works) with large railroad tie-like blocks of rough-sewn cypress.

Poised to be the Rick Bayless of the South, or at least Atlanta, Smedstad's best dishes are what in Mexico would be called antojitos — street foods and snacks. His queso fundido is cheesy madness, without too much grease from house-made chorizo and a veiled smokiness to its otherwise straightforward flavor; he uses a blend of Chihuahua and Monterey jack cheeses scrambled with sautéed poblano peppers, onions and tomatoes tossed into the mix.

Mexican-style shrimp cocktail gets a little too fanciful and tastes bland — even with huge shrimp and avocado. But taquitos — one of Mexico's quintessential street foods — are filled with pato (duck) slow roasted and sweetly savory. There is something heavenly about the musky, corn-blessed combination of crunchy masa tortillas and duck, surrounded by fresh guacamole and sprinkled with queso anejo.

Yet it is Smedstad's street tacos (tacos de la calle) that make his menu. Each one — from the succulent wood-roasted pork drenched in spicy arbol salsa and crowned with fresh, feathery leaves of cilantro to the papas (potatoes) wrapped in a tiny corn tortilla with anejo cheese and spicy guac — is an all-access bite of the streets and markets of Mexico.

Smedstad's view is panoramic, with little attention to any one region, and he loses focus with larger plates such as camarones con mole verde, where the shrimp are too large and leathery for such a peasant's dish, and are overwhelmed by the fiery flavor of an excellent tomatillo-and-pumpkin seed mole, smooth and seethingly hot, with toasted pumpkin seeds for crunch. And though the flavor of wood-roasted pork in a cascabel pepper-and-tomatillo sauce is a gutsy triumph, the pork is too fatty for the dish to be completely satisfying.

Desserts are an unfortunate part of Mexican dining in the United States; other than the occasionally well-made flan or tres leches cake, most restaurants here rarely serve anything that closely resembles what you might eat in Mexico. Often American chefs will mistakenly combine a common or indigenous Mexican ingredient or flavor (say, lime, orange, chocolate or coconut) with a technique or dish from elsewhere. Smedstad is guilty of this, and consequently has mixed success on his dessert menu.

What works: a creme brûlée laced with lime, smooth and prefect with a hard sugar shell; and rich, eggy flan scattered with candied pumpkin seeds. I so want to love the corn cake, served in its own tiny skillet and drizzled with cajeta (caramel sauce), but it's just a bit too dry. And the chocolate cake panders to the notion that a) there must be something chocolate on the dessert menu and b) it's usually a boring slice of dense cake filled with mousse.

If you're wondering about the margaritas, no worries. There is still an ample list of well-made, lime-and-tequila soused yummies from which to choose. It's just that now there's more to go with them than chips and salsa.