The building is fantastically renovated: with dark rock, shiny glass doors, and beautiful luxurious chandeliers casting an expensive glow over the dining room. The waiters wear small clip-on-looking bow ties which remind me of when I was six and I could actually get away with it.

The jacob-the-Jewler-esque wall hangings and lineup of fancy cars outside say “this is going to be a dining experience”, but in truth I think they, not unlike the wine list, are meant to be a joke.

You've probably passed it. The new Casa de Mariscos or Acha as it's newly and affectionately known as in honor of the founder/owner guy. The establishment carries with it a long history tracing back to their old location on Avenida Balboa, as THE place for seafood in Panama. In a nation known for its abundance of fish, I was excited to try what could possibly have been the best seafood meal in Panama.

The menu offers a variety of options, all of which are perhaps in the top 5% most expensive category for Panama. Things like steamed sea bass for $25 and filets for $40. The waiter delivered the bread—a toasty baguette just out of the oven—along with several airplane-style packets of frozen butter. What is this? He doesn't deliver them with his fingers: he delivers them to the plate using a small spoon, balancing the butter tublet as if he was in an egg race. Frozen butter?

I asked for some olives and the waiter happily obliged. He then came back two minutes later, sheepishly, and apologized profusely but there were no olives in the entire building. He went on and on as if it was part of some 12-step recovery program. OK dude, you don't have any olives: chill out.

The wine list is pretty extensive but does not cite any of the years. How do you plan on convincing me to buy a $200 bottle of wine without knowing its age? Now granted, once you tell me the year, I'll probably falsely nod as if I'm familiar with it, pointing out that 1967 was indeed a very special year. But when the waiter is explaining the wines, what I'm really thinking about is how to get the life-size Marlin papier-māché back to my bedroom. The excuse for the deficiency in dates was that for each wine, the inventory is constantly changing but I didn't buy it. Or the $200 bottle.

The $6 price tag on the ceviche had gotten me excited, waiting in anticipation for some sort of innovative and inspiring pickled fish creation. It arrived in the traditional ice cream parfait glass and looked not unlike the everyday ceviche I can get on the street in Chorillo or at the baseball game. The fish was tender and was spiked with small flecks of hot pepper, but the small bag of saltines just put me over the top. If you're gonna charge like The French Laundry, lose the packaged crackers will ya?

The jamon Serrano was very good, perhaps the best I've had in Panama, and it complimented the peppery Rioja nicely. I got a peek that large leg of ham off which they carve the slices off and envisioned that too sitting in my apartment, under my rule. If I were to raid any restaurant in Panama, it might be this one.

The entrees came with white rice: very boring. I ordered the baccalao so I knew what I was getting myself into, but the fish was so salty I couldn't finish it all. The tomato sauce was very good and nice to dip my bread in, but the salt factor really took me aback. The breaded shrimp entrée resembled something I could get at Popeyes: they were even served with a small bowl of what looked to be jarred tarter sauce. If you cannot tell, I was not terribly impressed.

I can understand if the restaurant is a landmark in Panama, and if it's been in families' tradition to go there for lazy Sunday evening dinners and talk about obnoxious aunts until midnight. But as a tourist, I think the place is semi hum drum. The trendy black lines and bright green orchids by the windows are gorgeous. And in all fairness, maybe the chef had a bad night when I was there. The service was certainly good, and I could never finish my water glass without the water boy filling it right back up. Good job water boy!

About half of the tables are new and sleek, matching perfectly with the new design of the restaurant. The other half though, I'm guessing, came from the old restaurant—a restaurant characterized by that aged drift wood effect so common to seafood joints in Maine. There appeared to be some sort of trendy birthday party event on up stairs but I was not cool enough to be invited. The closest I could get was the entrance where I stole a small breath mint and tripped on a loose carpet.

Overall, Casa de Mariscos was very mediocre. It's not fair to judge a place on one experience so I'll certainly go back again and give it another try. But for the high prices and fancy ambiance, I found the dining experience and the food to be an injustice. I am a very stupid restaurant critic and the other two people in my party enjoyed the meal. But they don't have a website so they cannot voice their opinion.

Casa de Mariscos: 2.5 stars

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