A Meal to Remember: What it’s Like to Dine at Pujol in Mexico City

Let’s just get this out of the way: I felt awful by the time we left Pujol, Enrique Olvera’s flagship restaurant in Mexico City.

Despite the fact that we’d stopped eating many hours earlier in anticipation of our incredible dinner ahead, at some point, I misjudged where we were in the menu’s course listing and continued to grab fresh, warm tortillas out of the basket that kept magically being refilled. Thinking I only had two courses left, I figured I could splurge a little and that I’d be okay by the end of the meal.

I was wrong.

Because there weren’t two courses left; there were two official courses left and several other off-menu items to come.

I’ve never felt so ill while having an irresistible urge to continue eating at the same time. Plus, there was the added pressure of this being my birthday dinner at one of those “meals of a lifetime”-type restaurants.

But let’s back this story up to before I tested the limits of the seams of my dress…

On our last visit to Mexico City, we attempted to obtain a reservation at Pujol two months in advance (mind you, it was a holiday weekend in the U.S., so we were competing with other travelers like us flying in for the weekend). We joined the waiting list, checked the site daily, and called anxiously, but nothing became available.

This time we weren’t kidding around, and minutes after booking our flight we were on the Pujol website searching for reservations. There were two remaining tasting menu reservations during our visit in April, with less than a month to go before our trip. We pounced, plunking down our credit card to confirm the reservation, and breathed a sigh of relief once the confirmation reached our inbox. From there, we just had to wait.

On the day of our reservation, we visited the pyramids of Teotihuacan, figuring that a good workout beforehand would make us appreciate the meal even more. Unfortunately, our reservation wasn’t scheduled until 9:45 p.m. and we’d been up at 6 a.m. in order to make our tour, and we were a little more than tired.

But after dressing for dinner, we strolled through the parks in our neighborhood and grabbed a very good drink from Baltra Bar, and by then our excitement was enough to keep us awake.

Pujol has a policy that guests must arrive within 15 minutes of their reservation time, or they can forfeit the reservation (and the credit card on file will be charged the full cost of the meal). To be sure this didn’t happen to us, we took an Uber and left for Polanco with plenty of time.

The restaurant recommends that guests use the address TENNYSON 133, POLANCO rather than “Pujol” when using Uber. We missed this bullet point in the reservation confirmation email, and it took a moment for us to find the restaurant across the street and down the block.

The inside was cozy and inviting, modern and organic all at once. And – here’s where you get to call me a terrible travel blogger – we neglected to photograph the very busy interior. In fact, we took very few photos at all in order to get the most enjoyment out of the evening, and the ones we did take were all quick snaps with my cell phone. Fair warning: in no way do the photos here do this meal justice.

We were presented with two menu options: maiz or mar (corn or sea). As much as I like to think I have an “I’ll eat anything!” mindset, sometimes seafood frightens me. And with that mental block, partnered with the excuse of a reservation the following day at Contramar, we both chose the menu maiz.

As tempted as I was to order a Mexican wine from the list, the price was enough to stop me. If my memory serves me well, glasses of wine hovered around the $20 USD mark, cocktails around $13 USD, and beers around $8. I nursed a tamarind margarita (amazing) the whole meal, Michael enjoyed a couple of local beers, and we shared a bottle of still water.

Our courses started with street food-themed amuse bouche, including a small fried tortilla topped with a salsa and their famous elote. The elote arrived in a smoking gourd, unveiled to reveal two tiny corncobs inside, slathered in mayo infused with Chicana ants (yes, ants), chili, and coffee. I think if the meal ended there, we wouldn’t have been disappointed at all. In fact, I would have been just fine if every course consisted of elote.

But luckily the meal continued to courses two and three, and along with the third course came the tortillas kept warm in their basket with a hot stone (these would later prove to be my downfall). Course two was a tlayuda: a thin, crispy tortilla topped with chickpea puree, ricotta-like cheese, onions, and greens. Having not eaten much in the way of vegetables in the days prior, I appreciated a bit of green on my plate!

Course four was probably my favorite: a mound of huitlacoche (that is, corn smut – or a fungus that grows on corn. If you ever have the chance to try it, take it) mixed with black truffle and topped with cheese.

Absolute heaven.

The two courses that followed were a bit of a disappointment compared to the two dishes we’d just enjoyed. The open papadzul (a dish similar to an enchilada) proved somewhat of a challenge to eat, and multiple quail eggs and puree made the dish a bit rich for my tastes.

Likewise, the sweet potato and pine nut mole could have used a little more crunch; the dish had the consistency of baby food. I finished both dishes but soon found I wished I’d saved more room.

The course that followed is the one you’ll know well if you’ve ever watched Netflix’s Chef’s Table. It’s plated simply and stunningly, with an outer ring of mole madre (mother mole, or aged mole) and an inner ring of mole nuevo (new mole, prepared that day).

Our mole madre had been aged for 1,864 days, or a little over five years, and was sweet, dark, and subtle. The new mole had an unplaceable zest to it and hit the tongue with a sudden brightness. The staff advised that we try each mole separately with a spoon, then together, and then paired with the hoja santa-laminated tortillas.

This dish was incredibly rich, but the flavors were so deep and complex that I couldn’t help but finish every drop.

Next came two off-menu dishes: a palate-cleansing sorbet with jicama and a birthday treat: a mini cake with passionfruit meringue and strawberry sorbet. Both were absolutely delicious, and of course, I still had that child-like “ice cream is a course?!” reaction to the palate cleanser, but I was beyond stuffed by this point and employed Michael to help me finish my birthday cake, which he did without complaint.

The final course served was a coffee tamal with ginger ice cream and honeycomb. The real treat came minutes after: a freshly fried round of churro dough. I cursed myself for eating so much earlier as I could barely enjoy the few bites I’d managed (the tamal wasn’t a winner, but everything else was absolutely insanely good).

The clock struck midnight sometime during our final course, and during that time I turned thirty. Michael asked me how thirty felt so far.

“Full. Fat. Happy.” I replied.

Had it been earlier in the evening we might have opted to linger on the beautiful terrace, but we were starting to feel drowsy. I hailed an Uber as Michael signed the bill, he took a to-go chocolate from the box as we left (sadly I could not stomach the thought of more food), and we were off on our craziest Uber ride home to our Airbnb (we made it in record time, which was terrifying; the driver is lucky I didn’t toss my cookies in his car).

Later, as we were dressing for bed, I shared this revelation:

“Oh, I just realized – our meal was vegetarian.”

Michael, ever the carnivore, gazed at me, wide-eyed. “You’re right,” he mumbled softly. He looked as if he’d been deceived.

“Well, except for the ants,” I added, and he chuckled.

We both slept soundly that night, reflecting on an incredible experience.

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I know what you’re thinking – what about the cost? Why would anyone spend that much on one meal?

To start: we don’t do this often. In fact, with the exception of noma and a few other upscale dining experiences (most at lunchtime, which is typically more economical, or during a city’s restaurant week), we almost never do this sort of thing. The white tablecloths, awkward utensils, overpriced wines, and the perpetual judgment bestowed on diners by restaurant staff really just feels tired.

I’d rather support smaller businesses with great ingredients and a more laid-back style, but I will make an exception for a place like Pujol. Mexican cuisine is not often seen as high cuisine, but with such an abundance of ingredients and a rich history and culture of food, it deserves to be. Places like Pujol (and its near-neighbor, Quintonil) have managed to change perceptions and innovate Mexican cuisine without altering its heart, and for that reason, I think these restaurants deserve a visit – but perhaps only once, with the remaining meals during a visit enjoyed at smaller establishments that support the local working class.

I know you’re still wondering – how much does this cost? Our total for our meal, drinks, and gratuity was $311.25 USD. We perhaps over-tipped; the credit card offered three options for gratuity: 2%, 3%, and 15%. Michael tipped 15%, which is higher than the 10% suggestion at other establishments in Mexico (edit February 2020: please see reader comment below!). Were we looking to save more and still dine at the restaurant, we could have skipped all alcoholic beverages and asked for filtered water instead of bottled.

But if you’re simply looking to try a few of the dishes on offer at a much lower cost, I recommend visiting Molino el Pujol, which sells masa and tortillas along with a few dishes similar to the ones served at the restaurant (my recommendations: the elote and the enmoladas, washed down with a glass of corn water). Trying a few dishes at Molino el Pujol will only set you back $10-15 USD. Not bad, eh?

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How do you feel about so-called “fancy” restaurants? Would you rather splurge on one fancy meal, or eat several mid-priced meals?

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