In 1492, after some months of sailing the ocean blue, Christopher Columbus stuck a flag in the sand of a pristine beach in the Caribbean and claimed it in the same of Spain. After the Spaniards set up shop, what became the Island of Hispaniola — and is now the Dominican Republic — was a launching pad for the conquering his adopted country would oversee during the next few centuries. Included in those conquests: much of the Caribbean and the Americas.

The delightful irony in this is that while Columbus was doing his darndest to find spices for trade, over a 500-year span of political unrest resulting in free elections in 1966, the Dominicans developed a style of cooking that doesn’t rely on intense spiciness at all!

Amazing!

What did develop, from what I have read and then experienced in the dining wing of the seven-year-old and thriving "people’s market," La Bodega Latina, was some wicked down-home dining. Do not go expecting table service, do not go expecting to speak a lot of English (pointing and holding up numbers with my fingers served me quite well), do not go expecting to even eat on or with anything non-disposable. But most certainly expect something authentic.

I can say that not because of my extensive travels to the Dominican Republic — I have never been there — but because the smaller, newer, and cheaper an "exotic" cuisine is, the more likely it is to have retained the flavors of its originating country. It hasn’t had the time and exposure to be corrupted like so many Italian and Chinese restaurants have been in the past century (you think they chow down on all-you-can-eat MSG buffets in Changchun?). The restaurants aren’t priced for tourists but for local fellow immigrants, and their primary goal is clearly to bring the flavors of the old country to their new environment for the benefit of their transplanted countrymen rather than the cover of the local food section.

I just had to endure a bit of guffawing from a couple of tables as they watched me stare dumbly at owner Juan Gonzalez as he announced my total in Spanish. I slowly leaned over and looked at the register, and then dug into my wallet for an amazingly small amount of money.

Truthfully, I only had to go through the language barrier once, as the second time I dined there I was helped by a lovely young woman behind the counter who informed me that, whenever I asked what an item was, the food was "really good." But she didn’t say it in the way a disinterested waitress suggests an appetizer; no, it was more like you were at her house for dinner, and she was handing you a platter of empanadas after forking some onto her own plate. And the empanadas are really good, along with the tamales and the Jamaican-style turnovers — slightly spiced ground beef in a soft pastry crust.

My first lunch there I tried the lunch special, consisting of stewed chicken (stewed meat is termed "a la criolla," or "guisado") in a tomato-based sauce with olives, garlic, and onions, red beans and rice, and a fried plantain. Nothing is overpoweringly spicy, just well seasoned and everything offered is fall-off-the-bone tender. Hints of Caribbean spices come through, but the Spanish influence is clearly identifiable so that it has more in common with real-deal Mexican cuisine than other island cooking.

What adventurous diners should be most excited about, however, are those items that you just don’t get a chance to see in your typical American diners. I almost jumped out of my shoes looking into their display box when I saw what looked like eight-inch long, two-inch wide, and three-inch thick slabs of fried pork belly, with the ribs still attached. I immediately pointed. "What is that?" I asked.

"Fried pork . . . It’s really good!" she said, tongs at the ready. Ye Gods! I got a piece, with some lime wedges to cut its richness, and then had her scrambling about looking for more to-go containers as I pointed at a different preparation of ribs, empanadas, and finally a leg and thigh of Juan’s Fried Chicken. Fried chicken is not just a southern American treat; it’s considered by some to be one of the national dishes of the Dominican Republic. But instead of the buttermilk marinade that is common south of the Mason-Dixon, Dominican style dictates a more piquant marinade of lime juice and either soy sauce or Worcestershire. Juan’s — and remember, it’s a dangerous thing to name a dish after yourself — is, in a word, fantabulous. I haven’t wolfed down that much fried food — the crispy skin on the fried pork included — since, well, ever.

However, a word to those who have their heart set on a particular item: The menu is pretty extensive, but they do not always have everything available. What’s in the display case is what your choices are, so it might take a couple of trips to finally get that bowl of tripe you’ve been craving.

Andy King can be reached at dinnerwithandy@yahoo.com