The English translation for “zòcalo” is a large public square or plaza that serves as a venue for socializing. In the case of Old Town’s Zòcalo Grill, a spacious raised patio adorned with two fireplaces sets the stage for a mélange of Cal-Mex cuisine that makes a few wayward jaunts to the Mediterranean and tropics.

Zòcalo’s menu is long and colorful, and begins with an accommodating section of “abundant appetizers” suitable for splashing through mojitos, hand-shaken margaritas and other specialty libations. And the generously portioned starters include everything from house-made ceviche and creamy jalapeno scallops to open-faced quesadillas and cornmeal-crusted calamari – the kind of stuff that pays homage to Old Town’s faux fiesta culture.

To lap up a wider sample of the appetizers, my dining companion and I chose the Old Town Tapas, a substantial hodgepodge of nibbles that featured crisp and succulent honey-glazed “fire wings” speckled with blue cheese crumbles, a skewer of hoisin-glazed shrimp set over fresh watermelon salsa, mini bright-red peppers stuffed with goat cheese, and a few not-so-great crab risotto cakes that came off as too starchy. The winner in the lineup, I felt, was a plop of melt-in-your-mouth carnitas braised in honey and Guinness. It’s also available as an entrée, appearing fittingly under the menu’s “magnificent meats” category.

In addition, we prodded through the Trio of Bruschettas, each slice of toasted bread piled heavily with the various medleys: The tomato-basil was sweet and classic; the wild mushroom with Dijon lacked the earthy savor we expected; and the lobster-corn combo offered peppy fruitiness and showed up later as an entrée garnish.

From our fireside table, we forged ahead with flavorsome lobster bisque, which boasted a unique backdrop of lemon zest and is made without sherry – a tasteful break in tradition that held our interest. However, the Zòcalo garden salad was sadly basic, and was overdressed with lemon-thyme vinaigrette that was too tart for consumption.

Attesting to the general belief that a restaurant’s wine list reflects the caliber of its food, our main courses landed into the mediocre zone of the less notable, mass-produced labels offered here – your Callaways, Ravenswoods, Beringers and the like.

My companion’s Braised Lamb Shank Cozumel, though fork-tender, was treated with an upstaging mole rojo sauce laced with various chilies and a touch of cinnamon. But it was so sharp tasting and ambitiously cloaked that in a blind taste test I wouldn’t have been able to tell if it was lamb or beef. The accompanying “country fettuccine” was uninspiring. My companion had most of the meal boxed to go, and admitted the next day that it washed down much easier when paired with better wine from his home collection.

A glistening pink slab of Honey-Chipotle Glazed Salmon that I ordered didn’t taste as though the fish was grilled in its freshest form. The addition of a weak lemon beurre blanc married strangely to the honey and chipotle admixture. And the dense mound of lukewarm garlic mashed potatoes on the side acted more as a plate filler than a supporting cast member.

With a brick oven in partial view from the bar inside, we would’ve been remiss to pass up a pie from the “perfect pizzas” list. We opted for Chef Rigo Guiterrez’s “seasonal speciality,” a busy composition of flat-iron steak, toasted pine nuts, sun-dried tomatoes, pasilla chilies and ricotta. Adding to the culinary confusion and calorie count were wide squiggles of lime crèma floating blandly over the top. The embedded steak bits could barely speak their flavor amid this torrent of cream and other ingredients. A simpler Margherita pizza with tomatoes, basil and mozzarella would have been the better choice.

By the time dessert rolled around (a slightly dense, but perfectly torched crème brulee), we had experienced a lag in service. Our waitress was increasingly hard to find, and a silverware replacement I needed was plucked from an empty table next to us by the bus boy. The attractive atmosphere, refurbished from its former Brigantine days, appears more upscale than what’s in store. But this is, after all, the heart of Old Town, where fine dining tends to flop and happy hours with nouveau Mexican twists rule the day. And unlike most of the competing restaurants in the neighborhood, Zòcalo offers precious parking in the back.