Mariscos El Submarino - Clinton Hill

At Mariscos El Submarino, la salsa secreta is honesty. I’ve visited each of the Mexican seafood mini-chain’s four NYC locations (I haven’t made it to the New Jersey outpost yet) and found that same sense of authenticity at every one. It’s in the small menu, sans English translations; the warm, accommodating but never over-ingratiating service; and the food—assertive yet delicate, elegant yet unfussy.

The decor is straightforward: whitewashed walls adorned with hand-painted graphics. The restaurant isn’t advertising a cultural identity; it’s serving food steeped in one. The dishes are, in fact, the most vibrant things in the room: brick-red pools of aguachile, bright-green fans of avocado atop hillocks of ceviche and coral-hued piles of chargrilled shrimp. The latter, zarandeados a la parrilla, are a must-order: butterflied, marinated and flame-grilled, with the high heat transforming the shell into a shrimp-flavored textural element. It’s simple, deft cooking—just enough and not a touch more.

The menu is wall-to-wall flavor, with spice, char and citrus amplifying the proteins’ mild brininess. If you’re looking for overstuffed burritos or braised meats, you won’t find them here. Just two items on the entire menu contain no seafood of any kind: the regular guacamole (the house special, topped with octopus chicharrones, is better) and a steak taco that, while delicious, I ordered mostly out of curiosity. There’s beer and a short list of cocktails, all of which pair well with the food and help cool your palate when things get spicy. Just note that the menu doesn’t indicate heat levels, so if spice is a concern, check with your server before ordering.

You’ll eat an absolutely delicious meal at Submarino. You might also find yourself itching to return and work your way through more of the menu. At these reasonable price points, that’s entirely achievable. It’s the perfect spot for a celebration with friends, a casual date or a solo meal with nothing but grilled shrimp, cold beer and time to spare.

This place isn’t hiding store-bought tortillas or name-brand hot sauces, and there’s nary an ornamental adjective on the menu. The meal feels worthwhile and satisfying because of its candor—true to the seaside eateries found along Mexico’s Pacific coast, with no authenticity-signaling or back-of-menu manifestos required.