La Vida Poco

After the movie What the Bleep Do We Know?came to town, practically everyone I know started using the phrase paradigm shift to explain everything from breaking up with a lover to rearranging the living room furniture. "I needed to cleanse my living space after I had my paradigm shift," said one friend, who wouldn't know how to shift gears on a 1967 Volkswagen let alone explain quantum theory.

But what the bleep do I know about such high-minded things? When I finally did see the movie, I spent more time thinking about which of the overeducated "talking heads" might be fun to take to dinner than I did wondering why water molecules change shape if you put the words love or thank you on a water bottle.

My friend Jamie had patiently tried to alter my thought processes on the night we went to dinner at the two-month-old Poco's Latin American Grille, launching into such esoteric subjects as brain receptors, the collective unconsciousness, psychic phenomenon, his new love affair (he'd had a paradigm shift and stopped snubbing skinny people) and neuropeptides. But none of them was as fascinating to me as a salad of field greens splashed in a vinaigrette made with sweet chilies and golden saffron -- topped with wild-mushroom cheesecake.

Cheesecake on a salad! Now there's a theory I could really get into. And such a delicious combination of portabella and shiitake mushrooms, onions, peppers and cream cheese whipped together and baked into a luscious, savory wedge! The kind of dish that says "I love you -- now eat me" without undergoing a noticeable molecular change.

There are plenty of other changes to discover at the sensational new Poco's, which had a complete personality shift when its new owner, Hope Dillon, took over the tiny storefront restaurant from the Grille On Broadway's proprietor, actor and bon vivant Sean Cummings. Out, thankfully, went the brassy raspberry walls and the tangerine ceiling. Ditto the twinkly Christmas lights and the pink-tinted mashed potatoes.

Since September, Dillon has put her own stylish imprint on the décor (the ceiling is now taupe, the walls khaki) and given chef Lorenza "Poco" Guitterrez -- a native of Juarez, Mexico -- free rein to create a menu that's Latin American in flavor, not Mexican.

"That's the most common misconception about the restaurant," says Dillon. "It's not a Mexican restaurant. Latin American cooking was strongly influenced by the culinary traditions of Europe."

Another misconception is that Guitterrez, a longtime staple in this venue's closet-sized kitchen, is one of the restaurant's owners. She's not, Dillon says. Guitterrez actually wanted the place to be called "Ajo y Cebolla y Chile," after her three favorite cooking ingredients: garlic, onion and chilies.

The wry Dillon is a hands-on owner; she not only manages the place but also works as waitress, bartender, bus boy, pastry chef, sommelier and occasional dishwasher. She's also a radio personality (co-hosting Food Talk with wine expert Lisa Burgess on Sunday mornings on KCKN 1340) and an enthusiastic booster of the proposed midtown renaissance. When I ask if this particular stretch of Broadway still deserves the "dangerous neighborhood" accolade that Cummings playfully gave it in his ads (which pissed off the Broadway Westport Council), Dillon laughs.

"I grew up in South Boston," she says. "This neighborhood's sleepy compared to that."

Sleepy? Not judging from the steady stream of oddball characters -- old, young, white, black, stoned, sullen -- who pass by the plate-glass window at the front of the restaurant. It's a rogue's gallery of neighborhood locals, attracted either to the cheap Chinese joint nearby or the busy head shop up the street. The once-grand hotel around the block is now a hard-bitten apartment building with a long list posted on its glass door of all the people who are banned from entering. I checked to see if my name was there.

But across the street, the Uptown Theater is almost always booked, and the space right next to Poco's, formerly occupied by the glummest of gay bars, is being rehabbed as a new jazz club. Now if only some exciting new tenant would move into the vacant Sidney's Diner on the corner, this neighborhood really would experience a paradigm shift.

In the meantime, Poco's is doing its best to lure the fine-dining crowd into a tastefully appointed room, complete with white linen tablecloths and napkins, pretty china and an excellent wine list. But the real draw, as the venue's name indicates, is the stuff coming out of Guitterrez's kitchen. She has held over only a few beloved items from the Grille On Broadway menu, such as the barbecued oysters. Current offerings include ten generously portioned "small plates," among them tart fried green tomatoes encased in a crunchy cornmeal armor, and grilled flatbread with a truly great, soothing white-bean dip fragrant with garlic and onion.

The breads are among the few items not actually prepared in that minuscule kitchenette. Dillon imports them from the City Bakery but serves baskets of warm, yeasty slices with her own homemade banana jam (which my friend Bob practically licked out of the bowl) or little swirls of butter flavored with sun-dried tomatoes.