Trendy tacquiera Mex me feel old
Food is hot but cramped tables and neon are not for Anna
Most of the time, I don’t feel old. I know who Lizzo is. I own a Fenty highlighter and a cross body bag.
Then I went to Mezcal, a very new tacqueria in Glasgow’s city centre on Saturday night.
It was as if your auld maw and da had arrived home too early and turned the lights on at the house party.
We immediately raised the average age by around 20 years.
There were no free tables. Also, a no-reservations policy and no waiting list so that we could go for a drink or a wander elsewhere and they would call us when there was a space. We could wait at the bar if we really wanted.
The uninterested waitress indicated the small area of the incredibly crammed restaurant where drinks were served. There were no chairs and precious little in the way of space for old people to rest their weary bones.
Yet by the time I had summoned a Paloma – an invigorating combination of tequila, grapefruit juice and soda – a table was available. We picked up our drinks and wriggled our way there.
It would be fair to say that, by this point, my expectations were not high. But Carb Boy, who was facing the open kitchen, was impressed by the plates emerging.
The menu features ceviche and fresh tuna and namechecks intriguing flavourings that I want to taste. It all looked promising and genuine.
Guacamole with chips appeared on a menu section headed “for sharing”. The menu was clearly written by someone who has never met me. The portion was not generous and both the dip and the freestyle tortilla fragments needed salt. Tracking this down took some time but, when we added it to the last of our starter, it took it to the next level.
I struggled to pick a main but finally alighted on the cochinita pibil – pork leg braised in achiote seeds, in a soft taco. It was pork pulled in a way I’d never had before, melty and savoury, without shouty barbecue sauce drowning out the meat.
I’m still not exactly sure what the achiote brought to the party because the poke came from the house salsa. This is an excellent mixture of pineapple, red onion, coriander, lime and habanero chillis that I will be recreating at home later this week.
The tacos were so soft to the point of disintegrating when I picked it up.
Carb Boy’s chicken tostadas were
sturdier. The chicken was cooked to the same soft texture, shredded and mixed with bean puree.
Like my meat, it was spicy and savoury without being stultifying. The sour cream and coriander were applied with a light hand.
His side of choice, Oaxacan black beans, were the real deal, dense and dark, refried in pork fat, spiced with epazote and avocado leaves.
Hand on heart, I could not identify the precise taste of either exotic ingredient but I’m happy to give Mezcal the benefit of the doubt and believe that they added to the savoury depth. My girlier option was a spicy watermelon salad. These are having a moment. There was consternation in the office last week when one of the football writers produced one for his lunch.
The Mezcal version had no feta cheese, pumpkin seeds or other adornments.
It was basically an M&S fruit tub with a thrilling kick of chilli, lime and salt.
Whizzed up with some tequila, it would make a kicking cocktail. In its cube form, it was still an inspired addition to the table.
Mezcal is still so new that there are no desserts on the menu. We were ready to leave anyway as dining there is a sensory overload. It was all young people with tattoos and spidery eyelashes.
There are a couple of booths but the rest of the seating is at tiny tables. These are so close together that, without the music, it would be possible to hear next door’s conversation.
The staff must shimmy plates in the very small spaces between each row.
There were a lot of them and they did not seem to have a structured plan of who was looking after which table. Despite us flagging it up when we were seated, our drinks were not transferred on to our food tab.
However, both these issues could be down to us visiting on opening night, to be fair.
Cool décor though, with neon signs, lurid holy pictures, Day of the Dead figures, vintage logos, Gauchos in enormous hats and Frida Kahlo smoking a fag.
And interesting, authentic food. But also, a strong feeling that it was not for me.