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Maya, which The Indigo Road Hospitality Group in September 2021 put in place of its fiercely beloved The Macintosh, is clearly supposed to put diners in a getaway mindset. Since the Mexican restaurant is located on upper King Street in Charleston, most of its patrons are probably already on vacation, but the breezy use of white paint, white votives, and bushy tropical plants must prompt them to wonder if they should have booked a room farther south.

All FOMO aside, though, Maya nails one crucial component of that whisked-away feeling.

Grateful that restaurants weren’t completely wiped out by the pandemic, reasonable diners have made their peace with slow-to-arrive plates, forgotten side dishes, and bussers taking unhurried smoke breaks.

Yet at Maya, there is no sign of the staffing crisis. Sure, the restaurant is closed on Tuesdays, but once you’re seated comfortably, service is pre-pandemic professional. Hostesses are gracious, bartenders are accommodating, servers are knowledgeable. In that regard, Maya provides the kind of refuge that only a well-oiled restaurant group like Indigo Road—now running 27 restaurants in 10 Southern cities—can construct.

The reach of Indigo Road is what persuaded me it was worthy of critical attention. Charleston is a testing ground for the company, home to its first Oak Steakhouse and its first O-Ku: Both restaurants have since been replicated half a dozen times across the Southeast. If Charleston gets a Maya, your nearest big city is bound to get one soon too. My guess, though, is it’s going to undergo a few tweaks before it shows up in your OpenTable search.

One of the few restaurants that Indigo Road never tried to recreate was The Macintosh, which was a perennial James Beard contender after opening in 2011. Under chef Jeremiah Bacon, The Macintosh and its signature bone marrow pudding became an emblem of Charleston’s culinary energy at the turn of the last decade.

“The Macintosh’s moment has come and gone,” Steve Palmer, founder and partner of Indigo Road, told me last year when he announced vague plans to replace it with something less overtly American, an identity he felt was no longer compatible with the buzzy vibe he was chasing. Turns out what he had in mind was tacos.

Tacos, according to t-shirts and bumper stickers, are never a bad idea. But Maya has made the same mistake that so many travelers do when they try to learn Spanish: It’s put the accent in the wrong place.

Overall, the food at Maya can’t keep pace with the service, décor, or cocktails. Brunch is a particular disappointment, from the muffled flavor of the salsa verde on chilaquiles to the leaden eggs supposedly starring in huevos rancheros.

But the taco fillings are a consistent bright spot, in part because they borrow heavily from techniques that any itinerant cook in a Southern tourist town is obliged to master. A kazoo-sized wedge of fish is competently battered and cleanly fried. Chicken cooked in its own schmaltz has the deep strata of flavor that a more ambitious mole on the entrée list is missing.

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Like the tender brisket and pineapple-enhanced al pastor, those meats are mounded prettily atop corn tortillas, which are the main source of Maya’s woes. On all three of my visits, the tortillas were bland, dry, and too thick.

Weirdly, Maya is exceptionally proud of its tortillas. Or at least its publicists believe in them, according to a pitch I received: “When it comes to cutting-edge Mexican cooking, Charleston has long been behind the times—often lacking traditional options and authenticity. Now [chef] Brett Riley is one of the few chefs … nixtamalizing heirloom corn grown in Mexico, grinding it into masa, and featuring it in all kinds of dishes.”

Maybe folks on the ground know something is amiss since tortillas appear only when promised by the menu. When I’ve traveled in the Yucatan, restaurants are apt to dole out tortillas with the enthusiasm of a trade show exhibitor giving out yardsticks. Of course, restaurants there also freely distribute hot sauces and salsas, both of which would be much appreciated at Maya, where nearly every dish could use a pick-me-up.

Either way, I’m not sure about the claim that the region is short on heirloom corn tortillas. Sean Brock back in 2014 used corn from Masienda and Anson Mills to create outstanding tortillas at Minero--now on local hiatus but scheduled to reopen this year on Johns Island.

Even better were the handmade tortillas at Maiz Taqueria, Isaac Jimenez-Nava’s food truck in Bluffton, showcasing an array of colored Oaxacan corns sourced by Masienda. (Unlike Minero, Maiz doesn’t have a projected return date: It shuttered over the winter when Jimenez-Nava was arrested on drug trafficking charges.)

Still, the mystery is why Maya is making a fuss about “traditional options and authenticity,” which are readily available a few miles north at the completely unrelated Maya del Sol, where the preternaturally flavor-aware Raul Sanchez is serving the area’s best Sunday brunch. Indigo Road has a nice hand of strong suits, including employee support programs which no doubt contribute to the high level of service in its dining rooms, but nerdy cooking isn’t among them.

The soul of The Macintosh wasn’t didacticism: It was a sense of vitality, hinted at by Maya’s mezcal sundae, closer in spirit to an affogato than a banana split.

A few doors down from Maya, O-Ku is nightly plying its successful formula of fruity cocktails and approachable sushi rolls. It’s not hard to imagine Maya similarly focusing on Southernish tacos and drinks. What better way to enjoy a holiday?

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Maya in Charleston has a tough problem