Hernandez may have time to make a mangonada, piling mango pieces over ice and lime juice into a cup rimmed with chamoy and Tajín. She is a Queens native whose family comes from the state of Guerrero he grew up in Michoacán, but his parents are Sinaloan and fed him the aguachiles and other dishes that are the backbone of his menu. Mariscos El Submarino is owned by Amy Hernandez, who takes orders at the counter, and her husband, Alonso Guzman, who makes all the food. The most impressive tostada, though, is a towering construction of shrimp ceviche, fish ceviche and aguachile mixto under a thatch of shredded cabbage dressed with chipotle adobo. The ceviches are also available in tostada form. A solo diner at El Submarino would probably do better getting the smaller helping of aguachile that is mounded over a tostada and placed on a tray, so the sauce has room to spread out. Don’t turn your back on it.Ī molcajete-size portion of aguachile with a stack of tostadas is most efficiently tackled by two or more people. There is a relatively mild green aguachile, a red one that is quite a bit spicier, and then there is the mango habanero, drowning in a deep lake of mango juice that looks innocuous.
And while the ceviches at Mariscos El Submarino are very fresh and good, they do not compel attention quite as fiercely as its aguachiles, both the standard chopped-shrimp version and the mixto, with ribbons of fish and slices of octopus.
Ceviche in Mexico descends from ceviche in Peru, but aguachile is homegrown. In a typical aguachile, chiles are blended with other aromatics and water to make a thin sauce that is introduced to raw seafood just before serving. This lasts until the moment it becomes howlingly clear that, although the aguachile negro at Mariscos El Submarino may not be as punishing as the goong chae nam pla at certain local Isan restaurants, it is nevertheless one of the spiciest bowls of raw shrimp in New York City.Īguachile is an innovation of the coastal Mexican states of Nayarit and Sinaloa. The shrimp closely resembles Woody Woodpecker, down to its three-fingered hands, unusual among both birds and crustaceans.įor a long minute, the soy sauce seems to be the whole story, or at least the main story. On the same wall is another cartoon, this one of a shrimp popping out of a life preserver. The logo appears on the awning, in the front window and again in the dining room, which is bright white with accents in Fanta blue and orange.
Going incognito doesn’t seem to have prevented the submarine from picking up a passenger, a pink octopus, whose legs dangle from an open hatch. So it may be a need to stand out from the fray that led Mariscos El Submarino to take as its logo a cartoon of a yellow submarine grinning brightly beneath a long, curved black mustache that looks as if it came with a Halloween costume. It would be easy for a business to get lost in this part of Jackson Heights, where the sidewalks are crowded with vendors selling embroidery, homemade bread and tropical-fruit nieves, and the home-audio stores are always demonstrating how their smallest speakers sound at top volume. Serious is not the word that springs immediately to mind when you arrive at Mariscos El Submarino, a seafood restaurant on Roosevelt Avenue in Queens.
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