Taco Republic brings street-food chic closer to Main Street USA

Tacos are solid investments for a restaurant owner: cheap to make and popular with all ages. That means there’s a wide taco spectrum, one that runs from increasingly ambitious fast-food chains (Taco Bell, Taco Bueno) to more authentic and fashionable destinations. Well within that part of the range is the three-month-old Taco Republic, the latest culinary brainchild of Alan Gaylin’s Bread & Butter Concepts.

Mind you, Taco Republic isn’t fancy — part of its intended charm is the self-conscious lack of pretense in this latest restaurant to take up residence in a former service station. What’s fashionable about the place is that it pushes the urban street taco inside the suburban perimeter. The food here isn’t substantially different from the folded-tortilla creations that you can buy more cheaply at less-hyped places: the Tortilleria San Antonio in Kansas City, Kansas, for instance, or Taqueria El Torito on Independence Avenue. But the experience isn’t one you’d have at a traditional taqueria.

For one thing, you might wait for a table. I know people who have spent an hour idling so they could eat a cochinita pibil taco from a plastic basket within sight of Westwood. Taco Republic’s whitewashed brick walls, shiny concrete floors, and industrial fans mounted on the ceiling give the impression that the transition from empty mechanic shop to popular restaurant was a slow, organic process, but this is a carefully constructed stage set for customers who love the idea of authentic Mexican food but don’t want to drive too far into KCK to get it.

So Gaylin is on to something. And Taco Republic looks and feels like a prototype restaurant, an experience ready to be duplicated in Olathe or out toward the airport. Its vibe isn’t sexiness, but it does radiate a certain dry cool that helps offset its ersatz authenticity. This is not Tortilleria San Antonio (which is beloved by local restaurant workers because suburbanites don’t go there), but it’s not On the Border, either.

Which means the food is good, and the place emits a palpable gladness not to be seen at Chipotle.

Still, I wish the sauce on the grilled-chicken mole taco were more robust. Also, the pork-belly tocino taco I ate was overwhelmed by meat that was too smoky and chewy. But most of the other dishes I sampled here were delicious. I liked the two meatless choices: the “buena terra” canonizes bits of fried hearts of palm as an effective meat substitute, adorning them with avocado and fragrant cilantro. And the “hongos” taco matches sautéed mushrooms with a sassy jalapeño puree, chipotle slaw and queso fresco. (More imaginative vegetarian choices like these would make Taco Republic different indeed from the metro’s other taquerias.)

The beer-and-chile-braised beef brisket in the “tecate barbacoa” taco is satisfyingly succulent, and the “Old School” taco, made with ground beef, corn, potatoes and spinach, is worlds away from the greasy beef tacos you shamefacedly accept at a drive-thru.

The chips — salty and served in near-bushel quantities — taste better with the citrusy, tart verde than with the flat rojo. The smoky chipotle salsa delivers more fire than the usual such concoction; it lingers awhile.

The Chihuahua cheese fundido dip, served in a metal frying pan, turns rubbery too quickly but tastes great. There are three guacamoles, but the house version is light and silky and better than the other two, which are dotted with too many ingredients. The chipotle version’s subtle smoked peppers fail to harmonize with the chopped jicama and mango; the flavors and textures end up working against one another.

When Taco Republic’s dishes stay simple, they’re pretty good. A tortilla folded over a filling of sautéed tilapia, guacamole and a sprinkling of garlic sauce, for instance, works well. But the tamale here strays from the Mexican basics and is made unnecessarily complicated by stripping the corn-husk wrapper partly off the steamed masa filling to present it open-faced; worse, it’s over-sauced, with a salsa that drowns what should have a flavor needing no help. The salsa verde on the tamale I tried last week was so astringent with lime juice that I couldn’t finish it.

Similarly over-accessorized is the carne torta, a visually attractive grilled-tenderloin sandwich. A splash of chimichurri, that lovely Argentinian condiment of parsley, olive oil, cilantro and red pepper flakes, would be a perfectly satisfying complement. But the torta at Taco Republic doesn’t stop there, instead adding a slather of cilantro-lime aioli and garlicky pickled jalapeños. It’s a three-ring circus of flamboyant flavors on a bun, when all you need is a dash of street carnival.

Taco Republic’s theme park of Mexican food reaches Matterhorn heights with its Frito pie, a staple not of taco trucks but of Midwestern school-lunch menus. That’s not to say I didn’t order one right away. Made with either chicken chili or a brassy chorizo version, it’s delivered with a bag of Frito-Lay chips on the side and smothered with maybe one too many slices of jalapeño. It’s more satisfying as nostalgic novelty than as entrée, but it’s also way better than the mushy dish that used to get you through seventh period. Try it after you’re done with all the tacos.

Taco Republic aspires to slip the showmanship of chef Patrick Ryan’s Port Fonda into an understated neighborhood cantina. I’d like to eat at a place like that, but this isn’t it. The menu has too much contrivance, and there’s too little taste in the basket. To make his upscale version of inexpensive taquerias work, Gaylin should study those taquerias some more.