High-class Mediterranean cuisine: Oca in Polanco

Before I moved to Mexico City, Crayton and I went to fancy restaurants in Dallas about once a month. (Ah, the joys of two incomes!) I studied which restaurants were new and noteworthy, and we’d get dressed up, take a taxi, order a bottle of wine.

I figured I’d dive into the upscale restaurant scene here, but I haven’t. This is partly because the traditional Mexican food cannon interests me more. But also because: what if it’s not any good? In my experience, Mexico City restaurants have been inconsistent. It’s not worth it when you can get fresh, hot street food every day for a fraction of the price.

That said, on Tuesday, I ignored all my past behavior and booked a table at Oca, a new fancy Mediterranean restaurant in Polanco. Chilango gave it great reviews, and I figured: I’ll try just this once.

The menu, prepared by young Spanish chef Vincente Torres, bills itself as “vanguard Mediterranean.” I wasn’t entirely sure what that meant, but from what I could gather from various magazine articles, it seemed like a mix of Spanish and New American — steak, carpaccio, fish, salads. One menu item, crystallized squash flowers, sounded particularly interesting.

At 8:30 p.m., we were the only people there, which I tried not to take as a bad sign. The place had a moody, minimalist vibe. Recessed lighting fell on slate-gray walls. White tablecloths and a single potted orchid lay on the tables. The overall effect tried a wee bit too hard, which I interpreted to mean the food must not be any good. I whispered to Crayton: “I’m apologizing in advance if I chose the wrong spot.”

We ordered a bottle of Mexican wine from Ensenada, and the waiter suddenly appeared with a series of “esnacks” (really, three amuse bouche): two crystallized squash flowers, their petals open as if frozen in a picture; four square sheets of thin, orange candy brittle; two olives plopped on white spoons, and two white cakes of marzipan, flecked with peanuts. The waiter announced everything in rapid-fire Spanish and disappeared.

I assumed everything would taste okay. But one bite and… whoa. This was like eating blindfolded. What were these crazy treasures?

The jelly-like olives popped in our mouths like eyeballs. The brittle tasted like a bowl of chili-lime peanuts from a cantina, spicy and tangy at the same time. The marzipan, once I bit into it, had the heft of a marshmallow. Aren’t marzipans supposed to be powdery? I think I gasped.

Nevermind what I said earlier, I told Crayton.

A waiter came by with a basket of bread, stuffed with mini, crunchy bolillos and darkened rustic slices studded with olives. Another server offered us various Chilean and Spanish olive oils from a small wooden cart. The palate-cleanser, which came next, was a sharp, creamy roquefort cheese creme brulee.

This is when I pretended to swoon.

I ordered the bacalao negro, and prayed that it wouldn’t arrive overcooked, like so many filets I’ve had in Mexico.

It didn’t. The velvety filet tasted like someone had just plucked it from the ocean, clean and salty. It arrived on a mound of fava and green beans, swimming in fish broth.

Crayton ordered the cochinillo: a thick slab of pork, topped with a rust-colored, deeply seared layer of skin. I never thought pig skin could be beautiful until that moment. Seriously — isn’t it?

Plus it came with a steak knife, propped up with a rock. Crayton loved this presentation.

We ordered an oozy, chocolate-filled piece of chocolate cake for dessert, topped with a scoop of cinnamon ice cream. And, because the meal had gone stellar so far, we ordered one more dessert too: a scoop of green tea matcha ice cream on a green-tea-flavored piece of sweet bread.

The latter tasted just a smidge too earthy for my taste, but I appreciated the creative effort. (I haven’t seen matcha as a dessert anywhere in Mexico City.) The chocolate, as you would expect, was luscious and decadent.

We walked out about two hours after we got there, tummies stuffed, eyes glowing, and carrying two small boxed cookies courtesy of the restaurant.

So many places in Mexico City act fancy, but they don’t have the food to back it up. This one does. Go there for your next date, if you’ve got a little money to spend.

Oca Restaurant
Moliere 50, Col. Polanco, between Masaryk and Campos Eliseos
Average entree price: 190 pesos to 350 (If I recall correctly)
Phone: +52 55 5281 5064