Mexico City food diary

Yes, I went to Contramar

Welcome to moviepuding, a newsletter about food and film. This issue is focuses on the latter.

As a neophyte traveller and CDMX first-timer, 96% of things that I ate substantially impressed me. Also in my favor was liberation from the tyranny of hype and Google reviews, which refreshingly haven’t infiltrated the dining scene in Mexico as much as it has New York. That said, it was difficult to find comprehensive reviews instead of itty bitty round-ups and guides, even for some of the more storied places, so I’m going try to rectify that here.

i. “Tables for Two”-style review of Contramar

iii. More things I ate & drank

iii. The wonderful world of pan dulce 

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CONTRAMAR

The first thing that strikes you upon entering Contramar is the bar, Bill Cunningham-blue, and the similarly hued mural above it: angular, hieroglyphic renderings of marine life constellate an wall-spanning expanse of unruffled cobalt. The motif is apt, since this a seafood institution, opened by Gabriella Cámara in 1998, where the food is minimalist but not austere, straightforward but not boring. 

The atmosphere is dignified—white table cloths, white shirts, but breezy—rattan covered chairs and ceiling, which is pitched high, high, heavenward. The diners follow suit: leisurely power lunchers in expert tailoring, and solo diners in beat-up sneakers at the bar.

The impeccable service also precisely combines affability and formality, like someone guiding you with a light hand on your shoulder. When I selected a paloma from the not-so-short cocktail menu, our server decorously instructed me to get a mezcal margarita instead. It came in three flavors: tamarind, hibiscus, and classic lime. Easily, I chose tamarind and just as effortlessly hiked the drink up in my pantheon of margaritas, owing likely to the quality mezcal. Zach had the lime version, tolerably crisp for us whisky drinkers. 

Having secured our trust, the server helped us advised a game plan. Going against the long-spouted wisdom of Anthony Bourdain, we started with two specials, which here are a bounty of freshness, comprising the morning’s catch. The whitefish ceviche was topped with shards of pistachios and jalapeno, and scallop aguachile flecked with traditional chiltepin peppers. Both were pristinely chilled and gratifyingly pert, and the delayed force of the chiles will remind you that the latter is, afterall, a dish that translates to chile water. 

Just as my sinuses started to run, the shrimp cocktail arrived. Shrimp so often tastes to me of rubbery disappointment so I avoid it, but at Contramar they’re runty yet plump as God intended. With soda crackers, they gave my tongue a fortuitous respite.

The tuna tostadas are a must; Cámara’s version is a dish so iconic they’ve landed on the Wikipedia page for this humble Mesoamerican dish. Tantalizingly fresh tuna sits atop golden discs of toasted tortilla, smeared with mellow chipotle mayo. It‘s finished with a crescent of avocado and a scattering of fried leeks—a winning, left-field addition that ties everything together. Rarely ever have I had such a well-constructed bite of food. I preferred the tuna this way, over “carnitas”-style, used to make your own tacos. They’re expertly charred but you lose out on the freshness of course.

Half-portion of pulpo a la brasa and coins of grilled sweet potato

The centerpiece to our meal was grilled octopus. It was a coin flip between that and the restaurant’s namesake snapper, butterflied and painted half red, half green with different sauces. But the octopus edged it’s way to the finish line because I’d been craving it since Triangle of Sadness and my last newsletter, and because the server obliged us a half portion (300g), a request that isn’t always accepted by the looks of some online reviews. The tentacles were terrific on their own, but I quite liked the runny chipotle adobo, which sang sweetly of toasted sesame. The best bites were the curved slices of head, slicked with a gelatinous layer reminiscent of rendered fat. 

You shouldn’t skip the desserts, which are displayed on a large tray instead of a menu. I only had room for one: the fig tart, of course, which lays fans the fruit on thick clouds of mascarpone set on a crumbly tart crust, with a few nuts still in tact. I haven’t stopped thinking about it since.

I mean are you really not going to get the fig tart?

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MORE PLACES TO EAT AND DRINK

Loose Blues: Japanese-Mexican fusion restaurant on the second floor of a small curated vintage store. Sipped on yuzu margaritas rimmed with shichimi.