JOURNAL RESTAURANT CRITIC
• See the menu.

A hole in the wall called El Diablo, where at one of five small tables you'll be served innovative Latin cuisine -- Nuevo Latino, the kind that takes authentic ingredients and gives them a creative twist. It's served by chef/owner Ian McIntyre.

McIntyre, a 1997 graduate of the Culinary Institute of America, fuses New England ingredients with the style and flavors of Latin cuisine, particularly that of Mexico. Originally from Jamestown, he worked in Arizona before opening the restaurant with partner Cindy Smith in May.

A former omelet shop, the restaurant is decked out devilishly in red and black, from eerily luminescent red lights draped from the diner counter to sheer black drapes that separate the otherwise-cramped tables. Candles from the table give off such a contained, ghostly glow that it's hard to see what you're eating.

But McIntyre is plenty visible behind the counter working solo, putting together some of the funkiest food this side of the Mississippi.

And what a following -- from the glowing reviews of the grunge-clad waitresses who talk about "Ian" as if he were a pop idol to the line of people who wait patiently outside for a coveted table. When food is this good, word gets around.

Who this guy?

McIntyre makes his own flour tortillas, then fries them to a crackling, salty brown and serves them with fresh guacamole studded with chunks of tomato and avocado, as well as a salsa with big, juicy bits of tomato laced with cilantro and onion.

So innocently good that from the first crunchy bite, I kept thinking: Who is this guy?

He's a guy who takes tender, seasoned -- almost barbecued -- duck and wraps shreds of it into a flour tortilla quesadilla style, then juxtaposes it with the tangy softness of goat cheese and honeyed flavor of caramelized onions. The result is simply something very good to eat, especially when smeared in the clean, layered flavors of tomato and cilantro and hints of allspice in the salsa fresco on the plate.

Empanadas (a stuffed pastry) filled with chorizo and potatoes were something I was dying to try. But the waitress informed me that they were out of them. They were also out of the grilled vegetable burrito, the berry cobbler and -- of all things -- coffee. How can a restaurant run out of coffee? That's like running out of napkins or not having enough silverware.

The odd thing is that no one here -- staff or customers -- cares. They didn't come for the coffee.

They came for the cod -- wrapped, tamale-like, in a corn husk, steaming hot, flaky and perfect, swimming in a tomato-and-cream-laced sauce flecked with niblets of corn, mango and red peppers.

Beside it rests an arroz verde -- a "green" rice seasoned with poblano peppers, cilantro, jalepeno peppers and garlic. The dish is a wealth of rich, layered flavor packed into a tiny package.

Almost as notable were medallions of pork tenderloin, slightly charred from the grill and loaded with open-flame flavor. Served with a bright sauce of tomatillos (those tangy little husked green tomatoes) and pumpkin seeds, they're offset nicely by a spicy hash of squash, carrots and potatoes.

Desserts less authentic

With so many authentic flavors flying around, I was disappointed to find that the dessert course -- even though all the offerings are made in-house -- didn't keep with the authenticity of the rest of the menu. The vibrant flavors of Latin cuisine -- for desserts, things like pecans, cinnamon and orange -- so prevalent on the rest of the menu did not prevail here.

That didn't mean, though, that I disliked the dessert I tried -- far from it. With the restaurant out of berry cobbler, we opted for an espresso-flavored creme brulee. And although the sugar topping was far from glass-like -- even grainy -- the smooth, slightly egg-y, slightly creamy quality of the pudding made the dessert worth every bite.