Have you ever sat down in a
Mexican restaurant, been presented with that complimentary basket of tortilla
chips and fiery salsa, and began jamming them into your mouth with such
abandon, you’re full before the guacamole even arrives? This behavior is
usually accepted by friends and family, but may be a good reason to select
another cuisine when you’re dining out with colleagues.
You know me, though, I’m not
really one to practice restraint, no matter my company. In Washington earlier
this summer, I invited my two corporate social media compadres, The A Team, to
join me for dinner at Oyamel, Jose Andres’ ode to Mexican gastronomy, on the recommendation
of several Facebook friends. My buddy Meg had teased me with Oyamel’s salt
foam-topped margarita, and my obsession was born in earnest. I wasn’t
disappointed. The exalted concoction was simple: blanco tequila, triple sec, lime
juice, and the airy, briny foam on top, but the crown of brackish froth lent
complexity and textural mouthfeel I’ve never before experienced, and set the
tone for a very delightful repast, indeed.
Like Andres’ other DC joints,
Oyamel concentrates on small plates, this time dubbed antojitos, or Mexican street plates, specifically from the alleys
of Oaxaca (wa-HA-Ca). I love the style of dining encouraged by this tapas mode, and right
away, we began ordering a bunch of goodies. To start: guacamole, made
tableside.
It was fabulous, of course,
unique with the addition of Mexican cheese, and I always enjoy the theater of a tableside preparation. The chunky, cooling,
luxurious avocado danced with lime, red onion, mild chiles, queso fresco, and
cilantro into a savory, light, refreshing dip for all those shatteringly crisp
chips. Yum!
Next up: ceviche! You know
this stuff, right? Basically, it’s the sushi of Latin America. Raw fish “cooked”
in the acid of citrus juice and mixed up with veggies for a refreshing, often
spicy, dish that’s perfect for warmer climes. We got the Pacifico, or tuna with
crispy amaranth topping, which is a grain grown by the ancient Aztecs, and
avocado, lime, and toasted pecans. This ceviche had jalapeƱos, but didn’t read
spicy on the palate; rather, the nuts and grains lent it a substantial, warm
flavor, earthy and almost sweet. Unlike any ceviche I’ve tasted before, and
utterly delicious. The tuna, of course, was fresh, clean, and firm. Fabulous.
The other we chose was the Peje-sol
ceviche; Hawaiian sunfish, marinated in lime and tomato salsa, with yet more
avocado. This one was definitely more traditional as far as ceviches go, bright
with sunny lime juice, and clean-tasting. I’ve said it already this summer, and
I’ll repeat it now: I really only want to eat my fish raw going forward.
Papas al mole, or French fries
in mole negro sauce, was honestly not my favorite. I’ve tried mole negro, an
incredibly complex Oaxacan sauce of chiles, nuts, spices, herbs, and chocolate,
on several occasions expecting to love it, and I just don’t. I thought maybe
Jose could change my mind, but for me, these were soggy, sweet, and just lacking
the salt and crunch I want in wet fries. I love gravy on my fries, and I love
poutine, which is definitely what this dish is going for, but it missed my
mark.
The albondigas, on the other hand,
were a hit all around. Plus: fun to say! These meatballs, served in a warmly spicy chipotle sauce,
were true comfort food, entwined in the hallmarks of Mexican flavor. Small,
tender, saucey, and cheesy. Yeah.
Oh, I ordered a bunch of
pork. Surprised? I didn’t think so. To start: the carnitas con salsa de
tomatilla was my favorite dish of the evening. Confit of baby pig filled this
tiny taco. Let me say that again: CONFIT of baby PIG. ~groan~ The tomatillo
salsa had that bright, citrusy zing to counter the rich, lush, alluring, almost
creamy fattiness of the pork. And the corn tortilla anchored both those flavors
into the most prefect taco I have ever tasted. I could eat this every day.
Also up: quesadilla de chicharrones,
pork belly fried up crisp and served in a flour tortilla with a mild chile
sauce and cheese. The chile sauce on this somewhat obscured the taste of the
pork, which bummed me out a bit, though it was still yummy.
We all loved the tamale
verde, which was pulled chicken in tomatillo sauce. Again, those bright, clean,
citrusy flavors balanced with the roasted chicken flavor, and left this reading
light and refreshing on the palate, but still homey and satisfying.
The enchiladas placeras was a
little weaker for me, the spiced beef and pickled chayote overwhelmed by the
roasted tomato salsa, raw red onion, and radishes. This came off a little
watery and insipid, despite the promise of the words spiced, pickled, and
roasted.
After this glut of
captivating food, we had no room for dessert, though I know Jose’s restaurants
do some great ones. I’m still lusting after the rice pudding I had last summer
at Jaleo, right up the street from Oyamel.
Overall, I was very satisfied
with our meal, and besides my salt foam marg, A and A had some really wonderful
cocktails as well, including the lip-smackingly fantastic blood orange chile
pequin. I love a spicy beverage! I’d put Oyamel overall at an eight on the BHS
scale, and I may bring my department here for our team meal next summer. It was
inventive, fun, and a great group meal, even if I did make more of a pig of
myself than I probably should allow myself in front of colleagues. Whoops...My personality
is big, my hunger is bigger!
That margarita sounds truly amazing. Holy crapskies. Right up my alley with that froth.
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