Destination-quality Norteño fare
For salsa aficionados — a large and opinionated tribe in our city — there is no finer moment at Saltillo Mexican Kitchen than the one in which four ceramic cups arrive at the table, filled with potions in red, green, orange and a bright-flecked deep purple.
From mildest to hottest, a server walks diners down the salsa path. Tart mildish tomatillo salsa with a cilantro edge on the left. Next comes cooked red salsa tinged with serrano chile and given a distinctively rounded umami boost with chicken stock. Then a wild bouncy mince of red onion marinated in lime and lemon juices, with a subtle twinge of habanero chile
for bite. Last in the quartet is burnished-gold habanero with its characteristic sunny, blooming burn.
Scooped up with sturdy tortilla chips fried inhouse, these potions not only make an exciting kick-off to dinner at Saltillo, they go on to brighten and customize the entire meal — from the mesquitegrilled beef cuts that are specialties of the house, to more casual dishes such as a torta, a burger or the deftly fried cubes of fresh white cheese served as an appetizer.
Those cubos de queso frito, bronze-filmed without and squeaky-spongy within, are a brilliant new idea from Saltillo’s owner, chef and resident mesquite grill master Carlos Abedrop. I was a big fan of the Saltillo native’s La Casa del Caballo steakhouse on Westheimer, and when it closed I hoped against hope he would resurface in Houston. Now, at Saltillo, he has — bringing a looser, more affordable Norteño concept to Bellaire, a neighborhood in serious need of more good restaurants.
The locals already have gravitated to the narrow strip-center space, its rich cocoa-colored walls hung with the slightly surreal horse paintings that made Casa del Caballo such a florid dreamscape. Saltillo is much lower-key, the tables unclad, the earthtoned room more intimate, the slender bar at the back of the space an invitation for regulars to hang out at happy hour and beyond. Latin guitar fills the air, or retro jazz; occasionally an anomaly (“My Boy Lollipop”?) slips in like a rogue puppy.
The mesquite grill that gave Casa del Caballo’s steaks the sweet-sharp flavor of northern Mexico and South Texas remains at the heart of Abedrop’s new operation, as do the distinctive beef cuts you won’t find elsewhere in town. A mammoth whole rib-eye cap — tapa de lomo — still serves a half-dozen people for $190, including the meticulous sides that give steak dinners such character. That tapa de lomo is my idea of a celebratory meal, whether the occasion be a birthday, a promotion or a good weekend at the casino.
On the humbler end of the beef spectrum is the specially trimmed shoulder-clod cut called cañita de diezmillo, lean and dense and deeply charged with beef flavor. I was glad to see it on Saltillo’s menu as part of a Tampiqueña plate, sculpted into its characteristic torpedo shape and cooked to precisely the medium-rare condition I had specified. Consumed with dabs of the various salsas, along with a bite of deep-dusky mole enchilada here and elemental quesadilla there, the cañita came off like an old friend who suddenly reappears with an entertaining new wardrobe.
About that enchilada: Devotees of the red-chilesauced beauties served by the platterful at Casa del Caballo will rejoice to find a whole range of smaller-portioned specimens at Saltillo. Like the salsas, the enchiladas demand a connoisseur’s respect.
Each of three enchilada sauces displays its own virtues: the not-too-sweet mole with its dark, nutty, warmly spiced bite; the briskly tart tomatillo with its cilantro zing; the red with its earthy, sunburnt chorus of dried chiles.
Yet it’s the textures that make Saltillo’s enchiladas stand out from the Houston crowd. Each corn tortilla is partially fried before the sauce goes on, so that each enchilada has its own unique range of softness and crunch. The treatment is Mexican rather than Tex-Mex, and that makes it memorable.
Saltillo likewise has expanded on Caballo’s beef-centric repertoire to include a host of chicken dishes along with a couple of fish dishes. There’s a new grouper in green sauce, for instance, the grouper sparklingly fresh and firm of flake, its blanket of mint-green purée a low-key blend of poblano pepper and cilantro.
The whopping USDA Prime bone-in cowboy rib-eye I remember fondly from Caballo is present and well-accounted for here, smoky-flavored and precisely grilled, juicy and resilient, its 18-ounce sweep enough to feed two normal diners or a single beef beast for $48. It comes with immaculate grilled peppers and zucchini, just barely kissed with smoke; pinto beans of an astonishing creaminess and subtle pork flavor; and chunks of potato that appear to have been under-fried but aren’t. Instead, they are ever so delicately crisped, a happy surprise.
Mention must be made of the rambunctious Mexican shrimp cocktail, its big shrimp cut up into pearly hunks and bathed in sweet-spicy chili sauce. It costs $17, which seems fair given the shellfish quality and the fact that there’s enough for two diners. (Although I could eat the whole thing myself, and have.)
Honor likewise is due to the house margaritas, and to young bartender Travis Ortiz. On my first visit, when I ordered the cocktail, he asked me a question I wish I heard more often in this city: “Would you like it on the tart side or the sweet side?”
“Tart,” I told him. “Shaken, straight up. Salt.” I was rewarded by a perfectly mixed margarita made with the house allagave tequila, Morales, and served in a flared martini glass. On subsequent visits, versions made with Herradura silver and Mescalia mezcal proved just as precise and just as suited to my particular palate. That is what I call fine bar service.
Abedrop’s sizable, pricey Caballo-era wine list has been supplanted by a serviceable small list of more affordable bottles, featuring some sensible South American and Spanish choices over fancy French reds. Desserts are homey and even unusual, from a flourless pecan cake to a nifty ice-cream cake made with a base of pan dulce. And yes, Señora Abedrop’s crackling glazed pecans, a true Norteño treat, are still served as a sweet complimentary finish.
What’s not to like? Not much. The track lighting has shed way too much glare on a couple of occasions; it just needs turning down a bit. A wedge salad I adored at Caballo seems to have lost the oomph in its clever buttermilk-avocado dressing. That’s the sum of my complaints over four visits.
I even like the stripmall setting on a corner of Bissonnet where it runs into Chimney Rock. The parking lot smells tantalizingly of smoke and beef because the small band of stores is home to dueling steakhouses: one Norteño, one Kosher. (Genesis by name.) Puro Houston.