Pujol, The Most Heralded Restaurant in Mexico City

Jun 9

Written By Sky

The photograph above captures a quiet harmony between heritage and innovation in Enrique Olvera's kitchen. A graduate of the Culinary Institute of America, Olvera returned to Mexico City and made his mark — not by recreating New York fine dining on Mexican soil, but by creating something unmistakably his own. At Pujol, classic technique becomes a foundation for exploring the depth, generosity, and intelligence of Mexican cooking.

The acclaim followed naturally. In 2012, Pujol ranked 36th among the world’s best restaurants, rising to 20th by 2014. But beyond the numbers, the true story lies in the food itself — it speaks with clarity, confidence, and an emotional resonance that only becomes apparent at the table.

The restaurant offers two tasting menus, Ocean and Earth. We chose Ocean and requested a vegetarian adaptation of Earth. What might have felt complicated elsewhere became an act of generosity here. The kitchen didn’t merely accommodate the request; they embraced it, shaping thoughtful, personalised dishes with the same care as the main menu.

The evening opened theatrically: a pumpkin was placed on the table, warm fragrant smoke escaping as the crown was lifted to reveal skewers of baby corn — smoked, lightly charred, and served with coffee mayonnaise dusted with ant powder. From that moment, the meal unfolded as both performance and pleasure.

And then the parade of mezcals and memorable delights began, each paired with sangritas that were bright, layered, and deeply expressive. These weren’t just drinks poured alongside the food; they were narratives in liquid form, each glass carrying a sense of place and craft.

Early on, the Infladita de huevo arrived, a dish that immediately set new standards. A puffed tortilla concealed a silky potato mousse, layered with a touch of black bean purée and a red chilli sauce. Grasshoppers and wild coriander added texture and earthiness, while a perfectly cooked sous vide egg topped the dish. Each bite offered a lively interplay of flavours and textures.

Service throughout was exemplary — warm, relaxed, and free of pretension. Like Biko and Dulce Patria, the team guided us through the menu. Many ingredients and techniques were unfamiliar. However, explanations were patient, generous, and willing to answer our endless questions, which grounded the experience.

Of course the salsas: a smoky Salsa Roja built on roasted garlic, onion, manzano, and habanero chiles; a Salsa Yucateca blending pumpkin seeds, chamomile, lime, and cilantro, nutty and gently sharp; and a vivid Salsa Verde of habanero, tomatillo, and whole-root cilantro, bright, fiery, and alive.

Desserts were no less thoughtful. Caramelised camote paired with crunchy amaranth tuile, yoghurt ice cream, milk panna cotta, and guayabato (large guava with pink flesh) purée came together seamlessly.

A lime margarita granita, feather-light and refreshing, with Cointreau cream, tiny lime meringues, lemon zest, and dragon begonia petals. It tasted like snow in summer.

At the very end came Chipilín sorbet, made from Chipilín, an herb similar to verdolaga that grows in southern Mexico, particularly in Chiapas and Oaxaca. It was flambéed tableside with mezcal. Part theatre, part farewell.

Robalo ceviche taco: the tortilla was crafted with chayote and hoja santa, topped with black bean purée, serrano chilli, totomoxtle (the dried husk of an ear of maize) powder, dried chillies, and lime juice.

By the end, it was impossible to decide whether the texture or the flavours were more impressive — both were extraordinary. A restaurant that honours its origins while continually exploring what Mexican cuisine can be.