Editorial Review

Centrico's years on the block have aged it like a fine tequila: with grace and taste, but you're too trashed to ever know the difference. No, really—the drinks are still as legendary and strong as opening night 2005. Mean margaritas. Marinated Mexican flesh (braised pork shank, grilled adobo sirloin steak) done up for the whole haute-street-cuisine thing, except you're paying five times what you would for the authentic stuff. Authenticity, though, is only so much: you're not going to find squid, white soy, ginger, and jalapeño ceviche on the Red Hook ballfields. Price ain't so, so bad. Just kind of. Room is big, with Bobby Flay-chic decorations and rowdy suits ruling the day. When you're that blasted, though, there are far worse things. Like puking said ceviche up.