Ron W.
Yelp
Usually, when you think of Mexican joints, you envision a blaring trumpet section in the Grupo El Troopo killing all conversaton, a bank of blaring TV's running replays of Las Chavas v. Tigres UANL and the crowd acting as one organism swilling shooters to rival Hooters. The best you can hope for is that there is no leader.
Here instead of Millennials going batshit, it's Jose Luis Guerra doing Bachata.
No chubby Mariachi's belting out, "One Ton Tomato, I Wanna One Ton Tomato", whether you wanna hear it or not for the fourth time. Many Mexican restaurants simply serve Frat House food to keep the rabble occupied between wet T-Shirt Contests and Jalapeno Popper eating stunts. Not here. This place is sophisticated and adult. The kitchen is bold but respectful of the heat they wield. Mexican party chow is elevated to haute cuisine.
The interior is expansive and richly appointed. Auspicious, yet elegant, punctuated by antiques and comfortable seating. There is a main dining area and plenty of alcoves for something naughty or nice, but first you must cross the glass floor over the wine cellar two stories below. Kinda like walking the ladder over a crevasse on the Khumbu Glacier on your way to Everest. Close your eyes and merrily skip...which works for either one.
The Vibe: Perfect for that first or third date. Who goes there? Locals who want to be reminded how wonderful really good Mexican food can be and then there are some Trip Advisees not brave enough to run the gauntlet of traffic to get to La Chata. Here just drop the rented Ford Fiesta keys with the Valet and waltz in like you were a partner.
The Staff: Patient enough to guide timid tourists through the extensive menu. Uniformed waiters operating like a close order drill to the muted sounds of the 60's. Celia Cruz still sounds fine after all those years.
The Bar Program: Some signature Margs and a wine list as long as Hickling's The Conquest of Mexico. The Tamarind Margie came in an old time malt glass prolonging the brain freeze.
The Food: No corporate, chain, pre-portioned dishes here. Everything is made in house to order. First, there is an Aperitivo (amuse bouche to you). A demitasse of Spicy Chili Soup to open your pores and taste buds. Okay, they're all wide awake now. Then a basket of hot breads follows quickly, once that they have your attention.
The Salsa Cart arrives like a rich kid in Dad's Porsche. Do you want Baby Formula or Battery Acid? Just state your preference and the molcajete mash is made before your eyes to your specs. Do they know what they're doing? Not a dot of tomat on the dude's shirt half way through his shift. Yeah, he knows. Not even Moctezuma got that kind of treatment before and certainly not after the Spaniards arrived. I asked for "Hot" and everything that could sweat...sweat. Oh, so Sabroso.
The Tlacoyo was a (Blue Suede Shoe) Blue Corn Huarache buried in mild but piquant Chintextle (Oaxacan dry chili) and fresh vegetables.
The Grilled Vegetable Salad featured, well, grilled vegetables from the restaurant's atrium garden. Drink a third Marg and you can see the stuff grow. The salad also had fist sized charred Panela Cheese chunks. I built a little house with them on the table and then played wrecking ball with my lips.
The Bullring Tacos were mainly manly. Carne Asada and Al Pastor with Chicharron Dust and all the correct add-ons. (Crema, Radishes, Shredded Lettuce, and different Salsa).
The Panuchos (gezundheit) had Frijoles Frito, Chininita Pibil con Salsa. From Quintana Roo to stop the show. They did.
Pollo in Pepian Mole (Pepitas, Tomatillos, Onions and Yerbasanta) was wonderful. A plump breast awash in a vibrant sauce wrapped in Plantain Tortillas which were a spiritual experience. They were too hot touch but you're tough...and lubricated...pick it up. Do it. Do it now!
The pace is slo-mo, so "no mo fo me," I said, until someone whispered. "Dessert is coming."
Did I pay gym dues? Oh, who cares? Flan d'Elote was just as advertised. Flan of corn and pretty good. Alas, not PIe de Elote. For that you must go to the Banana Bar at the Camino Real Hotel in Mazatlan up the coast and hope there is a slice left for you. It's okay to beg, in fact it's expected.
And just when you thought the food fight was over and your corner through in the towel, out comes a shot glass of icy Lemon Sorbet. Now how classy is that? No Cilantro Chili breath for that good night kiss.
So, when the Federales pull you over admit you over did it at La Tequila...as you should.