The Most Important One of All
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Quintonil was one of the first reservations I locked in before booking my flight to Mexico City. Every indicator pointed to it being a meal I would not soon forget. It sits at number three on The World’s 50 Best Restaurants list and has two Michelin Stars. It was a calculated, must-do splurge in a global food capital known for tremendous flavor across all price points.
I arrived early and was invited to sit down in their small but cozy lobby for a pre-lunch cocktail. I went for the Negroni Atocpan which substituted mezcal redistilled with Atocpan mole for traditional gin. It was the perfect mood-setter matching both the taste and style that was artfully tucked in behind the textures, details and smells wafting in elegant but animated unison all around me.
Just before I was to be seated, I handed my jacket and my Untethered Traveler branded shopper over to the staff for safe keeping behind the front desk. I glided over to my seat at the chef’s counter with a giddy but act-like-you’ve-been-there-beforeanticipation.
Once settled the Maître D’ made a friendly observation about my cocktail, surmising based on my order, we would hit it off just right since it combined two of his favorite things in the world: the Negroni and Mole. I earnestly agreed, sharing those two are a few of my favorites as well.
We took care of the usual pre-meal questions. Still or sparkling? Any allergies? Which wine-pairing? “The Mexican one,” I answered of course. And then one more final albeit less typical one: was I comfortable eating insects? I hesitated only at how casually the question had been laid out before me. Not thrown off so much by the question itself as the graceful delivery of it. “Sure,” I heard myself saying. Rationalizing later that if I’m going to let any kitchen serve me bugs, Jorge Vallejo’s Quintonil would be one of them.
The counter to my left and right started to fill up with other patrons as the kitchen in front of me ramped up in gusto to meet the new diners. It was a front row seat to the theatre of purpose that no matter how many times I occupy it, never seem to be enough. Behind every brush of trout, placement of a flower, dusting of the plate was unparalleled fastidiousness and palpable passion. It was a high-stakes reminder that to do what we love takes focus of will and talent.
I started a friendly conversation with a fellow Chicagoan who had been seated next to me. Then, just before our first course and pairing, the Maître D’ returned.
“I noticed,” he started, “that you collect pins.” The Untethered Traveler shopper I handed over before sitting down had a pin from every country I had visited as the Untethered Traveler – thirteen in all – tacked to it.
“But,” he lingered for effect, “you’re missing the most important one of all.”
He reached up and unfastened the Quintonil pin from the lapel of his jacket. I was too stunned to do anything but watch as he carefully handed it over to me. It all felt like it was happening in slow motion. As I fingered the pin, thanking him profusely, I felt a rush of chills go up and down my spine.
It was such a simple, heartfelt gesture – the perfect collision. It was also a remarkable gift. I had the pin, yes, but to have had that exchange then and there? To have felt seen and understood? Well that was honestly one of the more exhilarating rushes I’ve ever felt since stepping into this role.
What followed was plate upon plate of culinary genius, a series of love letters to Mexico’s traditions and tastes. There were long, lingering pauses between bites that still make my shoulders drop, sips of truly phenomenal Mexican wine I’m so grateful to have discovered and delightful travel and food banter with Ziyi, my seatmate.
But the moment the Maître D’ handed me that pin?
That wasn’t just a thrilling act in the theatre of purpose.
That was why I travel.
