Imagine this: Power-suit-wearing executives congregate around a table in a chichi conference room in Manhattan's Soho district. The big shot at the head of the room clanks his Perrier-filled crystal glass and asks the group: "Where should we open our sixth Dos Caminos location, ladies and gentlemen?" In deep contemplation, they rub their chins with manicured fingertips until one proudly yelps, "I've got it! That old hotel in South Florida shaped like a ship!"
Candace West
Cazuela De Queso Fundido: served with grilled chorizo and fingerling potatoes on the side.
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Dos Caminos
1140 Seabreeze Blvd., Fort Lauderdale. Call 954-524-5551, or
click here.
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When the Mexican eatery announced the new venue at the old Sheraton Yankee Clipper, it seemed a curious choice. Other locations for the trendy minichain include swanky areas of Manhattan and a five-star luxury hotel, the Palazzo, in Las Vegas. Although the hotel recently completed a multimillion-dollar renovation and a name change to Sheraton Fort Lauderdale Beach Hotel, it's not exactly a hot spot for dining or nightlife. Take the campy Wreck Bar. Despite the refurbishment, the historical, nautical-themed dive remains adjacent to the modern lobby, like Grandma's doily on a sexy chaise lounge.
To get to Dos Caminos, guests awkwardly walk through a sparkling-white hotel lobby to the bar and lounge area dotted with quasi-folksy skeleton-themed décor, a nod to the Mexican holiday Day of the Dead. Quite a contrast of ambiance next to the lobby bookshelves, Tic-Tac-Toe sets, and an internet café — but then again, the English translation of Dos Caminos is two paths.
On a weekday evening, the bar was bustling with smiling diners enjoying cocktails. Surrounded by high-top wooden tables adorned with tall, tapered candles, three of us ordered from the expansive cocktail menu. My favorite was my friend Reed's calle fresca — a mango- and cucumber-infused 'rita on the rocks ($11). When Charles ordered a Jai Alai IPA beer, the bartender asked, "What's that?" "It's one of the beers listed here on the menu," Charles explained to her. True, the restaurant just opened January 27, but I would soon be surprised to see so many staff members appear on the verge of a panic attack when asked a question about the offerings.
Following the hostess to our table, we rounded the corner of the lounge into an extremely long and narrow dining area that resembled a hallway, with a row of tables on one side and a row of booths along the other. The room extends to the outdoor patio, where tables face traffic on A1A, and was lit by a soft glow from gold sconces against warm red walls. As we slowly marched across the concrete floor, Ashley joked, "It's like walking the mile of a Mexican jail!"
Soon after we were seated, our nervous waitress accidentally knocked over one of our cocktails. After she replaced it, I asked her to walk us through the menu. Confused, she hesitantly responded to my request with a guacamole sales spiel.
Diners who have visited Dos Caminos' other locations gush over the guacamole as if it were made by a culinary demigod with a golden mortar and pestle. And the way servers sell it, you would think a prize is awarded for the highest guac sales each night. At other branches, a big to-do is made of the tableside preparation, but here, that service isn't offered, because servers would block the narrow aisle. The guac is quite good — made from fresh avocado blended with lime, cilantro, studded with chopped onion, diced tomato, and flecks of spicy jalapeño.
Tasty as it may be, it's difficult to justify paying $24 for a four-person portion ($12 for a smaller version). But it does come with warm, crisp, and salty tortilla chips and a trio of salsas. The spiciest is the habanero — so fiery, Reed jolted back violently in his seat and squalled, "Woo! That's hot!" We looked over with concern and encouraged him to extinguish the burn with the mild tomatillo salsa verde.
From the bocaditos (starters) menu, we ordered the ceviche trio ($16), of which a favorite was the citrus-marinated shrimp, layered with sweet flavors of coconut and mango, spiced with the zing of habanero pepper. But even better was the cazuela de queso fundido ($12) — a hot skillet oozing with three melted cheeses (Muenster, drunken goat, and Chihuahua). My God, the cheesy goodness bubbling in that cast-iron plate is a hug for your mouth. Even better, it's served with grilled slices of chorizo and fork-tender fingerling potatoes. If I ever end up on death row, I'm getting this as my last meal.
We may have overdone it on the starters and should have waved the white flag of satiety, but the dinner menu beckoned. Ashley chose the carnitas tacos ($14) — homemade corn tortillas filled with roasted pork and spicy serrano chili salsa and topped with Cotija cheese ("Mexico's Parmesan"), which added a salty bite. Aged Cotija grates smoothly and is similar in consistency and use to Parmigiano-Reggiano, thus earning its nickname.
Reed and I selected tacos en cazuela — specialty meat fillings served in mini cast-iron pots with a side of warm corn tortillas. I also tried the cochinita pibil ($18), tender pork braised in a pickled red-onion sauce. The pickled onion offered both bitter and sweet taste to the shredded pork traced with earthy achiote. Reed added the carne parrillada ($21), a mound of well-seasoned, juicy sirloin strips, smoked bacon, and poblano chilies topped with guacamole and crumbled Cotija.
