From hand-pressed tortillas to pork shoulder buried underground for twelve hours — every dish begins with a Yucatán memory and ends at your table. Prices in USD. Sides sold separately.
We keep the menu tight on purpose. Each dish comes from a market stall, a kitchen, or a grandmother in Mérida, Valladolid, or Ticul — adapted for our wood-fired kitchen and the seasons of the Hudson Valley. Choose a section to begin.
Achiote-marinated pork shoulder, wrapped in banana leaf, slow-roasted overnight. Served on a double-corn tortilla with pickled red onion and habanero.
Crispy roast suckling pig, confit-style, on a hand-pressed tortilla with chiltomate salsa, lime, and a single cilantro sprig.
Braised beef cheek caramelized in burnt chilmole and blackened spices. Topped with charred shallot and queso fresco crumbled tableside.
Smoked oyster mushrooms, x’catic chile, epazote, and roasted corn. Earthy, smoky, bright — finished with crème of pumpkin seed.
Crispy sweet-potato hash, pork crackling dust, and black bean pureé. The vegetarian-leaning taco that even the regulars order twice.
Sundays only. Whole lamb shoulder, recado rojo, banana leaf, buried underground twelve hours. Limited to forty orders — gone by 4pm.
Every choice — from the chiles we toast by hand to the corn we nixtamalize in-house — is the difference between a meal and a memory. Four reasons we take the long way around.
We bury banana-leaf-wrapped pork in our garden pit Friday night. Saturday service is built around what comes out of the ground at dawn.
Heirloom Oaxacan corn, nixtamalized with wood ash and slaked lime, ground fresh each morning for the tortillas you eat within the hour.
Habanero, x’catic, chile de árbol, and guajillo — sourced through Maya growers in Yucatán rather than the global commodity market.
Trim becomes salsa, bones become recado, citrus peel becomes oleo. Our compost program returns every Friday’s scraps to a Brooklyn farm.
“The cochinita pibil here is the one I tell my friends about. It tastes like the kitchen my tía kept in Mérida — slow, deep, and somehow still bright on the finish. I come back every other Thursday for the lamb shoulder.”
Three pieces from the kitchen — on the day we dug the pit, on finding the right achiote, and on why we will never sell a frozen tortilla.
It started with a broken oven and a stubborn chef. It ended with the dish that put us on the map.
Read the story →Three days, two ferries, and one farmer who finally showed us where the best paste is pressed.
Read the story →If a tortilla has been sitting longer than your server has, we don’t serve it. Here is why that matters.
Read the story →The menu above is what we serve nightly, walk-in or reserved. For groups of six or more, write to us — we’ll set a long table and pour something smoky.