There's nothing that fills a craving for Latin American or Mexican food quite like that food itself. That's why I was thrilled to learn recently of a Rhode Island chef with a Scottish name, trained in the French method at the Culinary Institute of America, who is making a go of it creating such dishes.

Ian McIntyre is cooking seven nights a week in a tiny place just off Broadway. That's Newport, not New York. Though you might easily be fooled, since the food at El Diablo's more than lives up to the reputation it has built in just five months. When we arrived on a recent mid-week night, McIntyre was just finishing the chopping of a very large bowl of salsa fresca, tomatoes and onions with just enough heat and herbs to light up your taste buds.

We were seated near his workstation, which included a portion of the countertop running along one side of this former omelet shop. There were only four places set at the counter, though there are 11 stools, and there are approximately 22 more seats at the six tables. One can only assume the stools are pressed into use when the other seats fill up on weekends. (Call ahead for reservations and be aware that El Diablo's is BYOB.)

The decor is a playful, Halloweeny twist on the devil theme: shiny, red walls; floor-to-ceiling black organdy drapes that billow a bit between tables; red lights overhead and a string of them below the counter; ornate gold sconces that hold vases of fresh flowers, and small salt and pepper shakers. During the evening we were there, the waitress wore red and black.

As we pored over the refreshingly small menu, she approached with some specials. In addition to the roasted tomato-cumin soup, McIntyre had a black bean soup and, augmenting the seven entrees, three more beef, pork, and chicken dishes. Bill was in the mood for the special pork tenderloin ($16), and though tempted by the corn-wrapped cod and the red chile mahi-mahi, I stayed simpler with the grilled vegetable burrito ($9). We stuck with the roasted tomato soup ($4) and chose the shrimp cakes ($6) from the other starters.

The cumin very correctly got star billing in the soup, its muskiness a nice complement to the smoky pureed tomatoes. A bit of fresh tomatoes and parsley gave the soup extra texture and color. There was a similar dance of color on the platter of shrimp cakes. Surrounded by an orange red-pepper sauce and dollops of green cilantro oil, the delicately spiced cakes were topped with more salsa and the shrimp were properly cooked.

Other starters were two salads, two tortilla-based snacks, and two wrapped creations, one a duck quesadilla and the other a spinach and mushroom empanada. I watched McIntyre assemble the spinach with grilled jicama and portobello before topping it with crumbled bleu cheese and a balsamic-jalapeno vinaigrette. He has a deft hand in combining flavors and not overdoing the fiery ingredient, so I'd trust the dressing. I also noticed him deep-frying tortilla triangles to become crispy corn chips and warming fresh tortillas on the grill to be served with guacamole.

McIntyre's also a mean man with the garnishing sauces, swirling and dolloping to his heart's content: caramel under the desserts, cilantro and/or red pepper sauces over the entrees, every S-curve adding a pinch of extra flavor and a flourish of style. The thick tomatillo-roasted pumpkin seed sauce under Bill's pork tenderloin was as scrumptiously smoky as even he could desire. And he raved about the pork itself, accompanied by a "vegetable hash" of sweet red pepper, sweet potato, summer squash, and eggplant.

My burrito was a large flour tortilla filled with these same veggies, along with herbed goat cheese. It was wrapped and tucked and then cut diagonally, so the pieces formed two long triangles perched atop a nice black bean salsa. The red and green swirls went respectively under and over and the whole was a delicious treat.

Desserts are house-made, with a choice during our visit of blueberry-peach cobbler, a flourless chocolate torte, and a maple-pumpkin crème brûlée (each $6). Bill leaned toward the cobbler, I toward the crème, and we passed them back and forth. Because of the flavors in the crème, it was reminiscent of both Latin flan and pumpkin pie, and we loved it. The cobbler might more correctly be termed a "crisp," with its brown-sugar topping, but it was wonderfully oven-warmed, with the fruits juicing just a little.

It was truly amazing to have a ringside seat to McIntyre's devilish tricks, making it clear once again that a chef's talent is in his or her timing as much as in their combining of ingredients. And we were lucky enough to reap the benefits of that.

Issue Date: October 11 - 17, 2002