In the X-Men comics, the character Mystique is both wily and resourceful. She can clone into any mutant she touches but will operate with greatly reduced powers. That doesn't seem to stop her from terrorizing others.
Daniel del Prado's restaurants hardly induce dread, but the speed at which he opens restaurants may. In the span of about a year, he opened three restaurants and two bar concepts, in addition to the four-ish he already owns. Another will open next year.
Comparing Macanda, which del Prado opened in July with business partner Aaron Switz, to a Marvel franchise isn't far-fetched when you think of the endless spinoffs and prequels, many of which can feel joyless and fatigued. When del Prado's first restaurant, Martina, opened five years ago, he gently pushed Minnesotans to inventive, accessible fare not seen before in the Twin Cities, like potato churros, chef-y empanadas, and a clever beef tongue bruschetta riffing on vitello tonnato, in transportive environs in the right neighborhood. The cooking was serious.
But with several more openings and creativity fraying, del Prado's ideas are starting to feel incestuous. For its alleged vision — the literary magical realism of the fictional village in Gabriel Garcia Márquez's "One Hundred Years of Solitude," and a phantom paean to Latin America — not much of Macanda feels novel. Instead, it relies too heavily on the best practices of its predecessors, but without the fanfare. The most obvious reference is his three-year-old Colita.
"Our tortillas are way better," joked a server there on a recent visit, which is funny until the joke is on you. The tortillas are made in house at both locations, but the ones at Colita are thicker and hold their own; at Macanda, they are lukewarm, limp and fragile.
That may be why the shrimp tacos there feel familiar, though not endearingly. They are less crisp, less lively — with the kind of spice that persists like Hot Cheetos. I fished through the slaw only to find scant pieces of shrimp within. And while the mushroom tacos are satisfying enough, the Fresno chiles are cut with the finesse of a middle-schooler in shop class.
You'll find hamachi aguachile with Fresno jam at both places but learn that the one at Colita tastes more alive, while the one at Macanda, dotted with cubes of charred pineapple, over-cures in its marinade.
You'll notice that there are scallops, too, a stunner with grill marks as wide as tire tracks, an appealing wedge of butternut squash by its side, and black barley cooked until it holds a fregola-like chew. But the scallops are rubbery.
