In a strip mall resides a Colombian house serving sunshine by the plate

THE SIGN ON THE outside of the building says "Casa Vieja." Old house.

CHARLOTTE B. TEAGLE/AJC STAFF (ENLARGE)
Mojarra Colombiana (tilapia) arrives at the table in all its yummy splendor: Crunchy on the outside and tender within.
CHARLOTTE B. TEAGLE/AJC STAFF (ENLARGE)
You certainly can't go wrong with those frothy shakes.
CHARLOTTE B. TEAGLE/AJC STAFF (ENLARGE)
The bandeja paisa (beans, rice, grilled steak, chicharron, fried plantains and egg) is a sure bet.
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It is not an old house. It's in what looks to be a near-deserted strip mall, save for the bakery next door, a butcher and this little Colombian restaurant.

The front door opens to the center of a large space painted to look like a Colombian plaza. To the right, the red-and-white stripes of a barber's pole; to the left, a festive bar decked out in tile with a thatched roof. Tile-topped tables are lined in neat rows, with chairs painted red, yellow and blue — the colors of the Colombian flag.

It's lunchtime and the place is in full swing. It's hot outside yet comfortable inside, though the restaurant's crowd is more likely generated from what's coming from the kitchen than any means of getting away from the midday sun.

Almost every table is full, but we manage to slip into a booth by the door. A loud hum booms from the mixer at the bar. Moments later, two luscious-looking shakes — one guava, one blackberry — float on a tray to another table, their frosted glasses gleaming.

I've already ordered a Diet Coke, but the look of the shakes changes my mind.

Trying to convey that to my waitress proves futile: I speak very little Spanish; she speaks very little English. She finally puts up an index finger as if to say, "hang on a minute," and gets the owner, who brings us one of each.

The guava is an apricot-colored dream, full of sweetness and frothy milk. The blackberry tastes exactly like a bowl of fresh berries covered in sugar and cream, only sipable.

Other orders are conveyed more easily. If the waitress and I don't understand each other, we smile and point to the menu. The food is tantamount to ultimate peasant's fare, and purely Colombian. Large plates of bandeja paisa — a typical dish of beans and rice, grilled steak, chicharron, fried plantains and a fried egg — seem to fly from the kitchen. Large bowls of chicken soup (sancocho de gallina) appear on almost every table.

Sometimes there is pandebono, the popular Colombian bread made from cornstarch, yuca starch and cheese. The restaurant gets theirs from the bakery next door. Like most pandebono, if it is served fresh and warm, it has a delicate crumb and light texture, with a trace of cheese flavor. If it is not fresh, it becomes leaden and heavy. Casa Vieja's usually arrives somewhere in between.

But the chicharron is always a sure bet — the outside layer of fat is crackly and almost brittle, surrounding bits of chewy pork. A large strip of it comes with most of the meals, but also with arepas (Colombian and Venezuelan corn cakes) as entradas (appetizers).

Tostones also come with most orders. At many restaurants these smashed, fried patties of plantains would be an afterthought of a side dish, but at Casa Vieja they deserve a full, dead-on spotlight. The outside layer is crisp and crunchy, the inside starchy and mildly sweet, but not as sticky and heady as a ripe banana.

Often dishes center on seafood, since the country is flanked by the Pacific Ocean and the Caribbean Sea. A common fish is tropical mojarra — small and silver-skinned. It is so-named on many Colombian menus, but is often actually another fish — in this case, tilapia.

Casa Vieja batters the whole fish Colombian style and deep fries it, head and all. It arrives at the table in grand splendor, an absolute marvel of crunchy yumminess. A fork thrust into the crackly, deep-fried skin reveals white flesh steamy with heat, flaky and tender. A vinegary aji, smacking of onion and cilantro, multiplies the pleasure.

Most of the meats here are tender to the point of delicious insanity. Sobrebarriga (flank steak) is slow-cooked like brisket until it shreds with just a nudge of the fork, then it's grilled with mild seasonings to give it even more flavor. Ditto the humongous slab of pork ribs rubbed with an adobo seasoning that turns the meat a warm yellow. The bones literally pull from the meat as if it weren't there.

And bandeja paisa is well-seasoned and meant to fill you up, the best of the plate's offerings being the well-salted pinto beans, sticky, butter-laced rice and slices of fried plantains.

By the time you leave, you will be full. And not just with food. Something about the homey smells from the kitchen, the bright colors and the busy atmosphere will fill you up, too. So will the waitress' shy way of saying "gracias" as you head back out into the heat.

KEY TO RATINGS
Outstanding. Sets the standard for fine dining in the region.
Excellent. One of the best in the Atlanta area.
Very good. Merits a drive if you're looking for this kind of dining.
Good. A worthy addition to its neighborhood, but food may be hit or miss.
• Restaurants that do not meet these criteria may be rated Fair or Poor.