MIAMI
Inside the Telenovela-Themed Cantina Where Heartbreak Is the Main Course
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By Eric Barton | Aug. 5, 2025
AUTHOR BIO: Eric Barton is editor of The Adventurist and a freelance journalist who has reviewed restaurants for more than two decades. Email him here.
Walking into Sala De Despecho feels like stumbling onto the set of a telenovela’s season finale—flashing lights, dramatic declarations, tequila by the bottle. It’s technically a restaurant, but don’t let that fool you. By 9 p.m., it becomes part dance floor, part therapy session, part full-volume karaoke showdown.
The walls are lined with cereal boxes for the brokenhearted and framed portraits of celebrity breakups. You’re not just allowed to feel your feelings here—you’re expected to sing them.
The Concept
The idea began as a party spot in Guadalajara, and after a pop-up in Vegas and Brickell, it now has a permanent spot in Wynwood. During the day and early evening, it serves tacos out of a glowing counter in the front. But once the lights dim, the back room becomes Sala De Despecho—a Latin American heartbreak lounge, complete with neon signage, bottle service, and sparklers that signal someone just bought their way through a midlife crisis.
Microphones get passed around, and suddenly everybody at your table is belting out Latin breakup songs. No matter how loud you’re thinking this gets, triple that. And so, depending on your proclivities, this is either your worst extrovert nightmare or exactly what you and the fun people from work need tonight.
What You’re Eating
The tacos are no joke. The al pastor come just like you’ve had them from Mexico City street vendors: meat cut from the spit, crisped on the plancha, and dotted with pineapple. The Chicharron Regio is roasted with veggies and dotted with greens, rich and meaty. The Cachetada Campechana comes with both beef and pork and a slab of grilled mozzarella. Finish with a Cachetada de Gloria, a dessert tortilla smeared with cheese, caramel, and walnuts.
Al pastor tacos
Drinks lean heavily into tequila and mezcal, with names like Luismi (a nod to Luis Miguel) and Paquita (raspberry, lychee, cranberry, and heartbreak). They’re all surprisingly well-balanced for a place that also stocks confetti cannons.
Chicharron regio
How It Works
Things heat up Wednesday through Saturday nights, when karaoke takes over the back room and a $75-per-person minimum kicks in. Some nights run higher depending on the table and bottle. If you’re coming for the chaos—and you should—book a reservation. Otherwise you’ll be the sad person watching other sad people from the street.
Why This Place Matters
At some point, that extrovert from the office or that extrovert you shared a college dorm with will come to town and demand you go here. Maybe you’ll hate it at first, curse the fact that there’s no possible way to talk over the group karaoke, but then it just might win you over.
Colifor roca
In a city overloaded with sceney rooftop bars and restaurants trying too hard, Sala De Despecho hits on something more honest; it’s a place where you can feel something, loudly, in public, with tacos in hand and tequila on the table. It’s not subtle, and it’s not supposed to be. That’s the point: we’re all, for one night at least, consoling each other’s breakups, in song.
Panela con chistorra
