(This is a continuation of a serial post from
here.)
Ixcapuzalco was once about the most perfect "find" restaurant imaginable. On a nowhere strip in an unhip (but quite lively) ethnic neighborhood, a surprisingly sophisticated cook with a first-class pedigree working in an unusually charming space at dirt cheap prices. Well, the prices didn't stay dirt cheap for long, and I know some folks had service issues or the occasional off meal as the chef overextended himself a bit, but still, Ixcapuzalco and Chilpancingo have always had a warm place in my heart as being the kind of place you could recommend to someone knowing they'd have a good meal and never would have found the place without you. (Dorado is, I suppose, the new one of those.)
Then it closed, and reopened some time later in a new location which, frankly, makes it look more like Dos Sombreros of Woodfield than Son of Frontera/Topolobampo. I took the kids there Thursday night to see how the new Ixcapuzalco compares to the old. The inside is nice but, like the outside, a bit generic with its Mexican tile and tequila barrel on the bar, not as distinctive as the old place with its arty colors and the tree in the middle of the room. The food looked and tasted very much like it used to, but there was a generic, institutional edge to it too, or maybe the lack of edge, a feeling that the people making it were skilled at following instructions, but little more. And there were some off notes-- the mashed potatoes, not that that was a particular focal point of the dish, with my duck mole were barely tepid; the masa boats seemed as sturdy and prefab as foodservice custard crusts; the service was sort of impersonally professional, attentively oblivious, doing absolutely nothing to help me figure out how to construct a meal for two young boys off their very grownup menu.
(To that point, I doubt I would go back with the kids; they just don't seem very inclined to be family accommodating. Though it was amusing, I must say, when the kids immediately piped up asking for horchata, the waiter replied, with a touch of disdain, that they didn't have it, and Myles said as he walked away, "What kind of a Mexican restaurant is this if they don't have horchata?")
Don't get me wrong; some things were interesting, brightly flavored, handsomely plated. The stuff in the industrial-strength masa boats was all tasty and interesting-- guacamole, a huitlacoche-bean goo, some pork like cochinita pibil. It's a good restaurant-- but it's clearly no longer one in the bloom of its first excitement about the food it's making and the chance to serve a neighborhood audience something more than burritos and enchiladas. You can't go to Geno Bahena's hometown again, I guess.
More Mexican to come after
this.