| rev:text
| - Cinco is more like a Dos on the rating scale for me.
The idea that a Mexican restaurant had gotten a foothold in drowsy, whitebread Upper St. Clair held promise. Cinco's extensive menu included detailed descriptions of dishes I'd never before heard of. If only things hadn't degraded so much throughout the course of our dinner.
A trio of Sopes (a.k.a. gorditas) with ground beef (one can also go meatless or with chicken) opened the meal. The small, handmade disc-shaped tortillas were topped with refried beans, lettuce, queso fresco, diced tomatoes, and sour cream, and were a picture of attractive plating, but frankly their flavor was non-descript in spite of their components.
The tortilla chips were also housemade and agreeably recalled kettle-cooked potato chips. Unfortunately, the guacamole came off like a mossy, sub-par hummus, and the accompanying salsa was a soupy failure akin to doctored spaghetti sauce from a can.
Served in a cast-iron skillet, La Parilla was my chosen entree, and while its combination of grilled pork, chicken, onions, peppers, mushrooms, and chorizo was moderately appetizing, the rice was dreadfully drab. The flour tortillas were moist and sticky the way I prefer them, but more of that tragic guacamole was included along with mess hall-level beans. Essentially, I had fajitas, which I usually don't get excited about once the attention-getting sizzle fizzles.
Our server seemed like a genuinely nice young fellow, but his service was off-base the entire time. We waited too long for everything from beverages and appetizers to our main courses and tab.
What? Ya think we felt like hanging around for dessert at this point?
And speaking of checks, we saw a number of them laying around uncollected for up to 30 minutes at a time. While business was brisk, Cinco wasn't getting slammed either, and the restaurant appeared to be so amply staffed, some employees could be seen socializing, sitting around, or munching on food at the bar. Even the hostess had to dismount her stool and finish chewing and swallowing her snack before she could greet us.
Another reviewer mentioned "awkward seating," and I shall concur. We were seated at a small table for two against a wall, and my left elbow kept hitting that wall each time I tried to raise a utensil. Making things even more artless for us as well as our server was the fact at our table barely held all of our dishes.
One more caveat concerns the dim lighting. No restaurant needs to be this gloomy, particularly a Mexican restaurant, especially when the exterior of the building (I suspect this used to be a bar) is so colorful.
Those transplanted malcontents who are thrilled to proclaim that Pittsburgh has no quality Mexican dining options will have themselves a wooly mammoth of a time ripping Cinco apart. I can read their snarky reviews ('Graffiti?' As Bourdain once put it?) already.
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