Where’s the snook whisperer? Making mariscos in a magical Inglewood backyard restaurant

Amid the lush outdoor setting of 106 Seafood Underground, Sergio Peñuelas stands front and center in a semi-open-air kitchen housed in a small structure near the restaurant’s entrance. He moves between a small counter and the stove, sculpting pyramids of ceviche one minute and then tossing shrimp in garlicky butter the next.

He leaves only to attend the charcoal-fueled grill a few feet outside the kitchen to prepare the restaurant’s destination dish, pescado zarandeado.

Peñuelas uses róbalo — a pearly, firm-fleshed fish also known as snook and caught in Pacific waters — splayed before cooking so that it resembles a bifurcated reflection of itself. He brushes over a mixture of mayonnaise, spices and sauces. The swirl turns pinkish-orange but seeps down invisibly after the fish lands on the grill, secured in a wire basket.

Repetition and intuition guide his timing. When finished, the snook’s surface looks not unlike a handsomely charred T-bone, scored and singed and blackened in all the right places.

Pescado zarandeado from chef Sergio Peñuelas at 106 Seafood Underground.

(Mariah Tauger / Los Angeles Times)

(Mariah Tauger/Los Angeles Times)

(Mariah Tauger/Los Angeles Times)

Before a server rushes the fish to the table, Peñuelas slides it onto an oval platter big enough for a holiday turkey. He adds garnishes of sliced cucumbers and tomatoes and also a potent handful of caramelized onions that are stained coppery purple from what tastes like Maggi seasoning reinforced with an extra glug of soy sauce.

Pescado zarandeado is an ecosystem of tastes and textures: jagged, soft, sweet and smoky, with hidden, meat-filled gullies that demand excavation. Among groups of families, I notice women who carry the air of matriarchs are often bestowed the prized head, its sockets brimming with the richest morsels.

When I’m sated with the fish’s primary range of flavors, I reach for tortillas and start building tacos.

Angelenos already intimate with the delights of pescado zarandeado might know the Nayarit, Mexico, specialty best from Coni’Seafood in Inglewood. Peñuelas, a native of coastal Sinaloa, worked at the restaurant in the late 1990s and 2000s alongside owner Vicente “Chente” Cossio. The restaurant was then known as Mariscos Chente; the name changed in 2011 as his daughter, Connie Cossio, took ownership and carried on the menu of ceviches, seafood tacos and myriad sauteed shrimp dishes.

Chef-owner Sergio Peñuelas of 106 Seafood Underground.

(Mariah Tauger / Los Angeles Times)

Peñuelas’ virtuosity with grilling fish earned him the nickname “Snook Whisperer” among Los Angeles food obsessives. In 2017 Jonathan Gold tracked his influence across the metro area as the chef moved from kitchen to kitchen (including at one point a return to Coni’Seafood). In 2019, Peñuelas stopped wandering: He set up an under-the-radar restaurant in the backyard of his home in the Lennox section of Inglewood.

Three years in, 106 Seafood Underground is no longer anything near a secret. Google lists the address. You may have to scour several nearby blocks to find a parking spot. You’ll know you’ve wandered up the right driveway when you see the handwritten sign that says, “No outside alcohol/no se permite traer alcohol. Thank you.” It speaks to the evolution of the business — and to the loyalty of Peñuelas’ regulars who have been turning up since the restaurant’s more extemporaneous beginnings.

Snook on the grill at 106 Seafood Underground.

(Mariah Tauger / Los Angeles Times)

Marinero ceviche and camarones borrachos from 106 Seafood Underground.

(Mariah Tauger / Los Angeles Times)

I swung by in early 2020 on a day that 106 was advertised as open but ended up being closed. (It happens occasionally, particularly on weekdays; keep an eye on the restaurant’s Instagram account.) The transformation of the space in the cruel two years since then calls forth a word I rarely use as a writer: magical.

The wooden slats that line the outdoor kitchen, once painted black, now brighten the surroundings with beachy stripes of red, orange, green and blue. Between nature and nurture, the foliage has thickened overhead and around the yard’s perimeter. Synthetic turf covers part of the ground; the rest is tiled patio or dirt. It’s the kind of verdant scene in which you’re tempted to find a smartphone app to help you name all the plants. Most of the tables take cover under umbrellas, trees or a tarp.

Even on weekends when people occupy every seat, this is a place to breathe and retreat from the world.

Diners who know the menu at Coni’Seafood will recognize the gist of many dishes. Diced mango, as exact in form as a series of pixels, covers a mound of shrimp ceviche also dotted with chopped cucumber and tomato. The heap rumbles with lemon and Worcestershire sauce. Peñuelas also crafts a novel ceviche scattered with green apple; its tart marinade, blaring lime, is particularly refreshing on a warm afternoon.

Many of the shrimp-based creations come with the creatures’ bodily shells removed but their heads intact. Reaching antennae and beady eyes stick out in a military-straight line from aguachile; they’ve been set along the edge of a rectangular plate, bathing in a shimmering, sharply acidic pool of citrus and green chile. They stare at one another in a wild, garlicky jumble flamed in tequila — the deservedly much-loved borrachos — or sauteed with aggressive amounts of coarse black pepper and lemon. If you prefer the fully peeled options, look for shrimp in creamy chipotle sauce or stuffed in tacos tossed in dialed-back hot sauce.

A colorful marlin on a wall at 106 Seafood Underground, left, and the restaurant’s marlin tacos.

(Mariah Tauger / Los Angeles Times)

Inside the kitchen at 106 Seafood Underground.

(Mariah Tauger / Los Angeles Times)

I more prefer the tacos filled with flaked pieces of smoked marlin, their flour tortillas crisped and sealed with stretchy white cheese. If your table of three or four is ordering a ceviche or two, borrachos, some marlin tacos and the pescado zarandeado, that might already be too much food. This is probably a good place to mention that the restaurant doesn’t list prices on its menu. The last time I ordered the massive snook it was $50, which felt more than fair. Servers readily field any related questions.

If you’re with a good crew, sipping a Pacifico straight or in a crimson michelada, you might while away some hours until the fish is gone. You could lace a snook taco with the last stray sliver of avocado plucked from a ceviche or experiment with how many strands of salty caramelized onions are just enough. You look up and squint at the sunshine through the leaves of a ficus.

Right then a roaring Delta jet streaks through the sky, descending for landing at LAX. It blots out every ounce of tranquility for a few seconds, and then just as quickly the calm returns.

Chef-owner Sergio Peñuelas surveys the scene and speaks to customers at 106 Seafood Underground.

(Mariah Tauger / Los Angeles Times)