AUTHOR BIO: Dana Somerstein’s passport is stamped with perfect pizza slices, delicate dumplings, and buttery baked goods. When she’s not chasing her next reservation, she practices real estate and banking law as a partner in Fort Lauderdale.
The salsa starts on the table. By the end of the night, it’s basically everywhere.
The Mexican on Brickell Key is beautiful from the moment you walk in, with a tequila museum near the check-in desk, dramatic lighting, hand-painted tile, and a sweeping view of Biscayne Bay.
Monterrey-born owner Roberto González Alcalá brought The Mexican to Miami after opening the original in Dallas. Chef Santiago Hiriart leads the kitchen, with a menu that focuses on Northern Mexican cooking. But there’s plenty of Miami-friendly indulgence—our waiter Pablo was a big part of the fun. By the end of the night, he was “Pablito.”
The night began with fresh tortilla strips and a sampler of salsas from mild to steam coming from your ears, depending on your tolerance.
Pablo made the guacamole divorciado tableside, mixing everything together and telling us, “Now they are married.” Until he served it to us. “Now they are divorced,” he said. Like most marriages that end in divorce, it was good while it lasted—and I wouldn’t want to give up half.
Alongside the guacamole, we ordered the sea bass ceviche. It arrived beautifully plated, with pineapple, heirloom tomatoes, red onion, avocado, cucumber, cilantro, citrus, serrano, and salsa morita—fresh, bright, and just spicy enough.
To wash it down, we ordered two spicy margaritas called El Rey. The drinks delivered more flavor than heat, making the two kings well suited to the queens sipping them.
After the ceviche came one of the best bites, the aguachile de ribeye: American Wagyu ribeye cap with avocado, citrus, onion, radish, cilantro, truffle oil, and roja aguachile. The presentation was almost like a caprese salad, with the perfectly cooked steak sliced alongside and avocado and radish flanking it. The sauce added depth and interest to the buttery meat.
For the main course, we had the filet and bone marrow tacos. They came out looking as simple as tacos from a vendor in any park in the Yucatán, but the flavor was exactly as excessive as they sound: beef tenderloin, bone marrow, piquín chiles, chives, onion, and cilantro. Rich, messy, and very hard to stop eating.
We paired this with glasses of red. When we asked for a glass of Malbec, Pablo let us know they didn’t have it but “he knew exactly what we wanted.” He brought us each a glass of a smoky Nebbiolo that didn’t disappoint.
For dessert, the chocolate y pepitas was less a piece of cake and more a chocolate skyscraper. You may feel like Brucey in Matilda, but with the rich dark chocolate sauce poured on top, you won’t need a school gym cheering your name to dig in.
As our night ended, the restaurant was just getting started. The skirts get shorter, the heels get higher, the men’s shirts lose buttons, and the music gets louder. Before you know it, the salsa has left the table and can be found on the dance floor by the DJ booth.
As for me, my shirt was feeling tighter only because I had overindulged. My date and I danced our way toward the door as the next wave of diners crowded around the host stand. The salsa had reached the dance floor. I had reached the point where lying down counted as an after-party.
Chef Giorgio Rapicavoli Has Big Plans for Luca Trattoria
The Miami chef is opening Luca Trattoria in Normandy Isles, expanding an Italian restaurant inspired by his family and named for his son.
San Francisco’s Best Restaurants Survive Every Boom
In a city that’s always reinventing itself, chefs keep giving everyone a reason to stay for dinner.
