Bites Nearby: Casa de Pico

Bites Nearby doesn't just stay in Santee. A hop, skip and a jump up the 125 will get you to at Grossmont Center faster than you can say Chimichanga.

When not arguing Free Will vs. Determinism, Irresistible Forces vs. Immovable Objects, or Frisky Gatos vs. Cuddly Chihuahuas, occasionally I've been roped into the biggest, trickiest debate of all: Authentic Mexican Food vs. Americanized Mexican Food.

After exhaustive study and comparison, my conclusion is: Who cares?

As long as the food's hot, the salsa's hotter and the margarita's served in a glass so big it oughtta have a diving board, I'm pretty sure this is one debate that everybody wins (except for whoever's nearby when somebody does a margarita cannonball). When Mexican food is good, it's grande, no matter what the pedigree.

Casa de Pico's food isn't Americanized, per se, but it is definitely the popularized product of an American tourist market. The restaurant began in 1972, built at the site of a 1939 hotel in Old Town.

For 33 years owner Diane Powers guided the restaurant, as part of the Bazaar Del Mundo enclave of shops, establishing it as one of San Diego's most popular and recognizable tourist destinations.

In terms of fancy cuisine, Casa de Pico might not have been the favorite for locals who have sampled the hundreds of  Mexican restaurants in town. But it was the ideal place to take your out-of-town relatives thanks to the outdoor patio full of colored umbrellas, assortment of giant margaritas, strolling mariachi musicians, and a gargantuan menu loaded with every Mexican standard you've ever heard of, and plenty of "combinacions" as well.

In 2005, a group of Buffalo, NY, investors named Delaware North came in, looked at the bustling operation, and said, "Let's change it!"

They outbid Powers for the lease, convinced the state that they'd recreate the success of Colonial Williamsburg, VA—where kids go on field trips to learn about American history, quilt patterns, and gingham skirts—and changed Bazaar Del Mundo (which means "world market") to Plaza de Pasado (which means "place of the past"). Goodbye, umbrellas. Hello, accurately rendered wooden posts.

As marketing, it ranked with New Coke or Tombstone Pizza. Few families wanted to follow up a day at SeaWorld with an ejumacatin' dining experience in Dusty Blanketville. Thanks to this miscalculation, along with the kind of managerial finesse only possible from 2,500 miles away, by 2009 Delaware North was bleeding money like a sack of salsa with a split in it.

So they gave up and transfered the operation to Chula Vista businessman Chuck Ross. The operation's new name: "Fiesta del Reyes," which roughly translates to Party Like You Own the Place—Or At Least Have Taken Over the Lease.

So where does that leave Casa de Pico? In La Mesa, of course.

After a legal battle, in 2005 Diane Powers left Old Town literally in the dust—the too-genuine, tourist-repelling dust. Powers found a suitably large, Old Towny location at Grossmont Center, next to BJ's Restaurant and Brewhouse.

The verdict? It's a winner. The place has that festive, Old Town feel—that is, the original Old Town—but with better parking.

The snazzy, expansive interior also is an improvement over the original location. The main dining floor is divided into sections that are nonetheless all visible to each other, meaning tables feel simultaneously intimate and spacious—and not too loud, even with large groups chomping on nachos like alligators eating lightbulbs.

The outer patio (complete with fountain, though the water wasn't running during my chilly autumn visit—68 degrees, brrr!) can't compete with the labyrinthine Old Town counterpart, but it's still a charming way to enjoy the evening sky.

The whole place has decorative flair with an emphasis on color and vivacity: A bright peacock mural adorns the entrance wall, luminous horse statues abound, and the poster-blue exit doors are topped with whimsical, clownish masks, which I assume are based on the business team at Delaware North.

Nearby, rosy-cheeked female food servers wear classic ruffled dresses, a diligent tortilla maker plies her flour-power trade behind tile and brass-lined glass, and the roving mariachi band of dapper older gentlemen seem to have stepped out the background of a Clint Eastwood western.

(One complaint: The busser didn't keep water glasses full, likely because we were seated in the far corner, embarrassingly taking photos of our food for this review.)

Much of the restaurant's staff is Latino and have long-term loyalty to Casa de Pico: Our young waitress was a 15-year veteran. She loves her job, she said, but also lamented that while La Mesa has been welcoming, the year-round, tourist-based tips in Old Town are impossible to top.

Which is ironic because technically "Casa de Pico" means "House of Tips," though the real story is that the name came to owner Diane Powers in a dream.

Casa de Pico itself feels not like Mexico, but like a happy dream of Mexico. By all means, the dream gets better after imbibing a sweetened dose of medicine by the name of "tequila."

I tried the Cadillac ($10.75 for a small that looks like a large), which combines Triple Sec, orange juice and 1800 Reposada, with a shotglass of Grand Marnier on the side. Good thing I asked the waitress what to do, because I almost downed the shot. Nope—it's poured in and stirred, adding the final touch of class to an already delicious drink.

Our group of four tried several of the restaurant's popular dishes. Mine was the Saturday special, named the San German ($16.95), which I had to try because it's served in a hollowed-out pineapple half.

What's inside? Oh, just some close-your-eyes-it's-so-good shrimp seasoned in garlic butter and brandy, and swirled in a creamy white-wine sauce atop a bed of rice. With chunks of pineapple here and there. I loved that they cut off the shrimp tails—makes my shoveling, er, eating that much easier.

We also had to go for the La Special de Juan ($13.25), a satisfying carne asada dish that also includes a tostado, refried beans, and an enchilada with guacamole. The portion sizes on these foods are just enough to fill you up, but not leave you dragging a bag of to-go boxes on your way out. (Unless you've overdone the chips-and-salsa beforehand—and incidentally, the salsa's good, but if you're a purist, consider asking for something hotter.)

One particularly good value was the Pollo Fundido, normally $10.95 but $8.95 on a recent special. This might as well be a chimichanga, since its flour tortilla wrap is deep-fried and crispy, but instead of enchilada sauce, the whole thing's covered in melted cheese. The insides teem with hot chicken and rice.

My friend described the whole thing as "wonderful," though it sounded like "mmmndrflll" because he was still chewing. You'll probably want to spend the rest of the next day climbing up and down Cowles Mountain to burn this one off.

Also on the more frugal side were the Guacamole Enchiladas ($10.95, plus $2 for beef or chicken), which mix the green stuff with the orange stuff (cheddar cheese) and the reddish-brown stuff (enchilada sauce), and thanks to the refried beans and rice, will get you stuffed. (Actually, my friend commended the dish for not being too heavy.)

Speaking of which, the desserts are voluminous, and best divided among as many friends possible—like, busloads of friends. Case in point is the Fried Ice Cream ($5.75), served in a large margarita glass. You know how sometimes when you're sharing dessert with people, and the same spoons are touching the food, so people tend to hang back and let others have the last bites? Not here.

It brought out the rabid animals in each of us, and I swear at one point I thought my friend would stab me with his spoon. The combination of vanilla ice cream, cinammon-spiced crunchy tortilla, hot fudge and whipped cream were instantly addictive. Thanks, Casa de Pico.