By Paul Reidinger

AT THE CORNER of 12th and Howard stands an establishment I long visited as Soma Café but now, under new ownership, seems to be called Soma Coffee. (The previous owners, whom I knew slightly, sailed away on a boat four years ago and ended up in Connecticut.) The change does not trouble me; I have always been more interested in the "Soma" part of the name anyway, since it isn't clear to me that the neighborhood is SoMa. It could be the farthest corner of the northeast Mission, or a southerly adjunct to the Civic Center. It is a kind of rift zone in which neighborhood plates with surer identities tectonically contend.

In any case the neighborhood, whatever its correct name, has visibly changed in the past few years, beginning with the residential high-rise, 140 South Van Ness Ave., that sprouted (with courtyard) across the street from the Midas Muffler shop, in a parking lot where once stood Berliner Imbiss, the little shack that peddled currywursts to the car-repair guys. And across the street from Soma Coffee/Café, we now find Tamal, which opened not quite four months ago in a windowy, airy corner space that most recently housed a pedestrian deli.

Although the area is clearly on the way up, socioeconomically speaking (the BMW dealer is just steps in one direction, the Audi-Volvo shop just steps in the other), there is still a backwater feel to the surroundings. In large part this is because of the reconfiguration, a few years ago, of the intersection of Howard and South Van Ness, which made it impossible to go from the former to the latter. Traffic, like rainwater runoff, has since established different flow patterns that mostly don't flow by Tamal. So you have to know it's there and you have to know where there is. But once you sort all that out, you'll find yourself in a setting of red and gold, eating small plates whose nuevo Latino flair recalls that of Alma, though with more overtly Asian influences.

It is a nice idea, and there are, along with the wealth of small plates, plenty of attractive small touches, from the supply of cutlery on the table (which encourages sharing and makes it less messy) to the house sangria ($6 for a glass, $18 for a pitcher), a ruby-purple elixir made with pomegranate and mango juices. But the kitchen has a row or two to hoe before its offerings can be compared to Alma's. While some dishes and combinations are spectacular, others are misconceived, or underseasoned, or served at the wrong temperature – all of which makes ordering dicey.

As the restaurant's name suggests, tamales – the stuffed cornmeal projectiles, Aztec in origin and traditionally steamed in corn husks or banana leaves – hold pride of place on the menu. Despite their humble pedigree, you would expect them to be spectacular here as marquee items, and at least one is. That would be the tamal de camarón ($6), with roasted butternut squash mixed into the masa for added body and a hint of sweetness, some Thai curry with the prawns, a wrapping of shiso leaf, and – to complete the confectionary trifecta – pineapple salsa. I am rarely enthusiastic about sweet-savory dishes, but this one was well-balanced and substantial.

Much more ordinary, notwithstanding an impressive roster of ingredients, was a wild-mushroom tamale ($7), with a sauce of fire-roasted pasilla peppers and truffle oil. The mushrooms had a noticeably rubbery texture and were bland, as if they'd just been thrown into a pan devoid of simple, enhancing presences like oil, garlic, or salt. And a Muscovy duck-confit edition ($7) violated the chief rule of all confits: to be moist and tender. The meat was dry and stringy, like ruinously overroasted pork, and the heavily credentialed, heavy-sweet supplements – port-soaked dried cranberries, a balsamic-pear sauce – were would-be rescuers in over their fruity heads.

Then the wheel of fortune spins, and something magical turns up – perhaps the ceviche chino latino ($10.50), cubes of ahi swimming in an Indochinese bath of ginger, cilantro, lime, and soy. It was not fancy, and it could not have been better. A near relation, just as good in its way, was the seafood cocktail ($7.50), essentially gazpacho (the cold Spanish soup of tomatoes and cucumbers) poured over shrimp and clams in a martini glass. And there were the empanaditas ($7), pastry envelopes filled with late-season Dungeness crab and demurely napped with a rémoulade of garlic and roasted red pepper.

The more you tamper with crab, the more trouble you find yourself in. Creole crab cakes ($7) were good, but did they really need all the competition offered by chipotle cream, a bed of baby mizuna, and fire-roasted corn succotash in a blood-orange vinaigrette? And what happened with the tuna tacos (at $10.50, one of the priciest items on the menu), a veritable blizzard of effects, from a crusting of seared cumin seed and crushed pepper on the fish to congealed, cow-pie-like disks of tomatillo salsa verde on the side? All of it was too cold to have any flavor; it was as if the dish were pulled from a refrigerator and rushed to the table.

Tamal's jittery imaginative energy did pay off at dessert. Lime-avocado mousse ($6.50) sounded like a dip at some fancy party, but here, slightly sweetened, it became a rich, exotic filling for little pots made from what tasted like graham-cracker crumbs. And a chocolate tamale ($6.50) – with Mexican chocolate presumably mixed into the masa – completed the theme of tamales, with a neighborly puff of Mexican cream on hand to salve any dryness and muffle any dinerly discontent. Tamal. 1599 Howard (at 12th St.), S.F. (415) 864-2446. Lunch: Mon.-Fri., 11:30 a.m.-3 p.m. Dinner: Mon.-Sat., 5:30-10 p.m. Beer and wine. American Express, Discover, MasterCard, Visa. Moderately noisy. Wheelchair accessible.