Sometimes, a gringa just wants to have a little fun. A nice, brief vacation that doesn’t involve flying to Latin America or going through immigration, but rather venturing to a dodgy neighborhood and brushing the dust off of that high school Spanish. Tierra Colombiana is a one-building resort, like Cancun or Puerto Vallarta, surrounded by areas that people tell you to avoid. Only it boasts no pool or beach, though they do serve every type of margarita or mojito you could ever hope for – and strong ones. Like a resort, when you’re finished stuffing yourself with Tierra Colombiana’s enormous portions, you can dance it off upstairs at their adjoining nightclub.

This getaway is on the 45th block of North 5th street — past men riding four-wheelers in the middle of two lanes, past countless other Latino restaurants, Chinese food take-outs (“that one is the best!”), and far past the point I would allow myself to venture alone. But I had a tour guide – a Colombian himself – to show me the neighborhood, to dissect the menu, and perhaps most importantly, to escort me from the Rite Aid parking lot across the street up to the doors of Tierra Colombiana at ten thirty on a Friday night.

Upon entering, I was whisked away. Not only by the salsa and merengue music, the thatched roof bar, the Spanish language and pulsing Latino energy, but by the smell of paellas, cazuellas, and tamales. I had left Philadelphia, though I can’t say for sure what country I had landed in. While Tierra Colombiana prides itself on serving Colombian and Cuban foods, the Paella Valenciana and the Argentine Skirt steak may blur the food lines of each pais. I admit that even for a girl with Latin fever who had spent numerous months in numerous Spanish-speaking countries, the menu is downright overwhelming.

It’s clear that most diners come to Tierra Colombiana knowing exactly what they want, as our waitress came over every two minutes, literally, assuming we had decided. But when a menu has 15 sections, I’m going to take a little time. And there’s also the graphically-illustrated drink list (because Latinos don’t know what a mojito looks like), and the table tent advertising Fat Joe’s upcoming concert at the upstairs Tierra club. But Fat Joe didn’t look overwhelmed.

Cuba, for example, has its own appetizer, seafood, and specialties sections. So does Colombia. While they share meat, chicken, and non-alcoholic drinks lists, the menu is still one of the largest I have ever seen. Really, twenty-one smoothies? While I gawked at the sheer number, my Colombian spat out names of fruits I’d never heard of. Lulo? Sounds a bit like culo. A minute later, Jugo de lulo en leche arrived at our table.

This light-green batido is the last thing I would have ordered. The baby food orange Lulo has a green tomato-like flesh. It’s gringo interpretation, when mixed with milk? Green Skittle.

It became evident that the Colombian sections offer a few more dishes each than their Cuban counterparts. When I pointed this out, my Colombian laughed. “There are five main regions in Colombia, and the food in each of those regions is so different. This is like, nothing.”

Nothing?

“Yeah, most of the big dishes from both Colombia and Cuba are on here, but it’s like how Italian restaurants can’t represent all of Italy. You simply can’t.”

And so I let him handle the mammoth menu, deciding instead to relax with my house Margarita and soak up this foreign world. As I perused the large, pale-green painted dining room through its white brick archways, I slipped into the Southern hemisphere. I didn’t hear. I just looked.

At eleven o’clock, diners were still arriving. Families drank Pepsi and polished off their flan as toddlers squirmed in grandpop’s arms. Latino and the occasional mixed couple slowly finished bottles of wine and arroz con pollo cubano. A group of four guys sporting skin-tight-shirts and overworked hair sat, immediately ordered, and were slicing and chewing before I snapped out of my outsider-sampling-the-inside session. I stared, mouth gaping.

“What is that?”

“That’s the Argentine skirt steak.”

I smiled at my Colombian and the waitress, “We’ll have one of those, too.”

As I waited in anticipation for the skirt steak, known to be one of their best-selling items, a Colombian Tamale arrived. Upon unwrapping the tamale’s plantain leaf wrapper, I found carrots, peas, pork, chicken, beef, and potatoes all stewed in masa, in this case a corn-flour and water mixture. Each flavorful and moist bite tasted like chicken noodle soup in solid form.

One by one, our table was bombarded with appetizers. The empanadas, all hot and fried, boasted seasoned, shredded chicken in one, ground beef and potato in another, and rich, tender crabmeat in a third. I finished my Margarita, and a dish reminiscent of Continental’s shoestring fries appeared — yucca fries with a garlic dipping sauce.

When our skirt steak and salad arrived, however, everything changed. The resort restaurant was suddenly transformed into a very serious culinary experience. The side portion, at $9, was as big enough to split and be sold for $30. A forkful of skirt steak, chimichurri sauce, and avocado was one of the most unbelievably intense, yet accessible mouthfuls of food I have ever consumed. Remembering a far different but similarly blissful meal at Amis, this skirt steak was the p-word — perfect.

A week later I found myself sitting in Tierra’s younger cousin at 11th and Pine: Mixto. The eight-year-old counterpart offers a two-floor wood-adorned dining room and a more gentrified clientele. While everything on Mixto’s menu is also offered on Tierra Colombiana’s, each item is approximately 1.3 times as expensive and about 1.5 times smaller. The skirt steak, for example, came as a topping for salads. Same price, but about a third in size of its North Philly relative.

Mixto may be more accessible, literally and figuratively, but for me, accessibility takes away from the experience. Yes, you can practice your Spanish at both places, but there’s something about leaving your comfort zone for a unique meal that can’t quite be relived in the comforts of an Antique Row.

If Tierra Colombiana is a Caribbean beach resort, then Mixto is its counterpart in Miami — similar vibe, more expensive, and not as much of an escape. But if you meet me at either, I’ll still be talking about the skirt steak.

Emily Callaghan is managing editor of Table Matters and a graduate of Drexel University. Her work has appeared in Philadelpia Magazine, The Philadelphia Inquirer and TheSmartSet.com.

Article photograph from restaurant website, "Eat Drink Philly" photograph from suvodeb, via Flickr (Creative Commons), "Philly" photograph from camardella, via Flickr (Creative Commons).