A swig of Mexico

Wearing a short, skinny top and low-rider pants wrapped in an apron, our server shouts over the din at Malo, a new Mexican restaurant from Cobras & Matadors’ Stephen Arroyo. “What do you want to drink?” she asks, snatching a pencil from her hair and scribbling furiously on her order pad. “Negra Modelo,” someone says. “What?” “Make that two.” Somebody else wants a mojito, and two of us are desperate for margaritas. She suggests Tequila Casadores, and we agree. Just in time, I remember to blurt out, “On the rocks!” in case the default is a blended margarita.

When my drink comes, it’s strong and good, not too sweet, with a cool snap of fresh lime, like the margaritas you’d get in Mexico. Less sugary than most, the mojito is packed with so much mint it looks like an aquarium. Chips, crisp and salted, still warm from the fryer, arrive with a pitcher of pinkish salsa. It’s cool and hot at the same time, made of “burnt” habanero blended with crema fresca.

Fried to order, the chips disappear in moments. We order more. And more and different salsas. The server’s favorite, chocolate with roasted arbol chile, is too smooth, too sweet. You’re better off with the finely chopped tomato and serrano chile version. Or some guacamole. I like my guacamole chunky, but this smooth version is actually very nice, shot through with the silvery taste of cilantro leaves.

We should have stopped there.

Arroyo, proprietor of Malo -- Spanish for “bad” -- seems to have the lock on inexpensive restaurants with a hipster vibe. He has perfect pitch for the atmosphere that a young, plugged-in crowd craves, but when it comes to the food, he can be somewhat tone-deaf. But maybe food isn’t the point.

Malo shares the same kinky, bare-bones aesthetic as Cobras & Matadors and Hillmont, two of his other restaurants. As always, Arroyo has found a great old building, this one brick, dating from the ‘20s, but part of its cool is that it rides under the radar, visible from the street only to those actually looking for it. I don’t remember a sign. I only found the place because I’d called for directions and knew it was just east of Fountain Avenue on Sunset Boulevard in the no man’s land between Los Feliz and Silver Lake. To drive-bys, it looks closed. All you can see are some vertical bars that look like a locked security gate.

But there is life behind that clever scrim. The vertical metal rods are actually a decorative screen. Walls are covered in shiny black subway tiles and flocked red wallpaper. A couple of ratty goat’s heads are mounted high on the wall along with flea market paintings of saints and sinners. One half of the space is the bar, one half is the dining room, and there’s a patio outside where I’ve never seen anyone sitting.

The place has been catching on since opening a couple of months ago. Tables are populated with a wild mix of mostly young people. Tattoos are at high tide, heads covered in knit caps. It’s a gathering of the local literati, music scenesters, the neighborhood crowd and anybody who fancies some inexpensive Mexican nosh all rolled into one lively company.

The soundtrack pounds. High-pitched laughs ricochet off the tiled walls. At the end of the room, every time a waiter opens the door to the kitchen, the dimness is seared with blistering white neon light. Overworked waiters have a tendency to disappear for long stretches. Before we’ve ordered. Even before we have menus. If you see one, it’s best to throw an order at him or her, taking a blind stab at the menu rather than waiting for a return visit. Service is amiable but overwhelmed.

Some things are pretty good. The pozole, for example, which comes in a two-handled, blue-speckled enamel pot with a garnish of sliced radishes floating on top. Mild-mannered and comforting, it’s a dish to hunker down with on a blustery winter evening. Ceviche mixta (mixed) is decent, if not exactly thrilling: a spunky tomato sauce laced with shrimp, bay scallops and octopus, not all of which is vibrantly fresh.

Small tacos dorados come with basic fillings, but when a waiter touted the ground beef, potato and pickle version, I was intrigued enough to try it. I’d rather have chile, onions and lots of cilantro in mine. The flavor volume is often turned down too low on many of the dishes. This seems like slightly updated Mexican food for people who don’t eat much real Mexican food. Who else would be the audience for the special one night -- carnitas flautas, fat as burritos, scribbled in a messy hand with crema fresca and filled with dried-out pork?

Malo’s concept, as with all of Arroyo’s restaurants, is right on the money in terms of what will appeal to a young crowd more interested in drinking and snacking than really eating. The basic idea is Mexican tapas with lots of small plates to share (you won’t see the huge overflowing plates of El Cholo or El Coyote). But somehow the kitchen, under executive chef Robert Luna, never quite works.

Chile verde is less green than most versions, but tasty enough. Chile rojo, though, tastes as if the pork shoulder were cooked only briefly in the red chile sauce, and is also quite tough. The fried whole fish is all head, not much body. Soft and tasteless, it’s awful. You’re better off sticking with the carne asada or thin pork chops in a thick tomato sauce, which may be the best dish on the menu. I didn’t mind the grilled chicken breast in a pasty chocolate mole, but how on earth could you find the taste of the promised rose petals under that mole? I guess it’s knowing it’s there that counts.

Beans and rice come on the side, and tortillas are wrapped inelegantly in foil. Plump brown pintos de la olla, beans cooked in an earthenware pot, are nice and juicy, less heavy than refried, and the fluffy, Spanish-style rice is tinged with tomato.

I haven’t been very lucky with any of the desserts, though if I had to pick one, I’d choose the capirotada, or Mexican bread pudding, which is dotted with raisins and crowned with a ball of vanilla ice cream. Once I had an oddball dessert: vanilla ice cream fried in frosty flakes. It tastes just as you’d imagine, and is not helped by the quality of the ice cream. Malo’s tres leches is basically angel food cake soaked in coconut milk, evaporated milk and cream. The frosting on it leads me to believe they just bought the huge wedge of cake and poured the milk over it at the last minute. It doesn’t begin to resemble a good tres leches.

If the kitchen took more pains to make the food look more appetizing, it might help. As it is, Malo seems to be trying hard to live up to its name. The saving grace is that even when your meal isn’t particularly satisfying, you haven’t spent enough to really complain. But Malo is a smart neighborhood stop for an excellent margarita, some freshly fried chips and salsa and a couple of other snacks. Just don’t count on dinner.

*

Malo

Rating: 1/2*

Location: 4326 Sunset Blvd. (half a block east of Fountain Avenue), Los Angeles;

(323) 664-1011.

Ambience: Hip and scruffy with a kinky decor of black subway tiles, taxidermy and religious paintings. The crowd is young and ready to drink and snack the night away in this new Mexican bar/restaurant.

Service: Amiable, but overworked and overwhelmed.

Price: Appetizers, $4 to $8; ceviches, $4 to $11; main dishes, $7 to $14; sides, $1.50 to $6; desserts, $5 to $7.

Best dishes: Salsa and chips, pozole, ceviche mixta, tacos dorados with ground beef and pickles, chile verde, pork chops, beans.

Wine list: Skip the wine. The glasses are as thick as bulletproof glass. Go for the excellent margaritas. Corkage $5.

Best table: One of the tables along the wall, as far away from the glare of the kitchen as possible.

Details: Open Monday through Thursday,

6 p.m. to midnight; Friday and Saturday,

6 p.m. to 2 a.m.; Sunday 6 to 10 p.m. Full bar. Valet parking $1.50.

Rating is based on food, service and ambience, with price taken into account in relation to quality. ****: Outstanding on every level. ***: Excellent. **: Very good. *: Good. No star: Poor to satisfactory.