Chef Arturo Rivera Martínez, recently awarded a Michelin starstood in front of an incredibly hot grill at the first Mexican taco stand to earn a coveted star from the French Restaurant Guide, and did exactly what he’s been doing for 20 years: browning meat.
Although Michelin representatives approached the establishment on Wednesday to present him with one of their immaculate, long-sleeved white chef jackets, he did not wear it. In this small 3 by 3 meter business, the intense heat roasts the meat.
At Tacos El Califa in León, in Mexico City, there are only four things on the menu, all tacos, and all of them made from ribs, loin, or beef shanks.
“The secret is the simplicity of our taco. The taco only has one tortilla. Green and red sauce. That is. That’s the cue. That and the quality of the meat,” said Rivera Martínez. He is also probably the only Michelin-starred chef who, when asked what drink should accompany his meal, responds: “I like a Coke.”
Actually, it’s more complicated than that. León’s El Califa is the only taco stand among the 16 Mexican restaurants that received one star, as well as two locations that earned two stars. Almost all the others are very elegant businesses.
In fact, outside of a street food stall in Bangkok, El Califa de León is possibly the smallest restaurant to have earned a Michelin star: half of the establishment’s 9.29 square meter space is occupied by a grill of plates of solid steel that is hotter than sauce.
The other half is packed with customers standing, clutching their plastic plates and ladling sauce onto themselves. An assistant constantly spreads the tortilla dough on a griddle.
In a way, El Califa de León is a tribute to resistance to change. He’s gotten here doing exactly the same four things he’s done since 1968.
Thousands of times a day, Rivera Martínez takes a fresh beef filet, cut into thin slices, and puts it on the super-hot steel grill.
He adds a pinch of salt, squeezes half a lemon over it, and takes a freshly kneaded soft dough tortilla to place on the solid metal plate until it puffs up.
It takes less than a minute. She doesn’t say exactly how long because “that’s a secret,” she flips the meat with a spatula and then the tortilla and, very quickly, takes it to a plastic plate to place the meat on top. She then calls out the name of the customer who ordered it.
Any sauce—fiery red or equally atomic green—is added by the customer. There is no place to sit and at some times of the day there is no place to stand either because the sidewalk in front of the business was taken over years ago by street vendors selling socks, batteries and cell phone accessories.
Not that anyone really wants to eat inside the little taqueria. The heat on a spring day is oppressive.
Temperature is one of the few secrets that Rivera Martínez shares. The steel grill needs to be heated to a staggering 360 degrees Celsius.
When asked what it felt like to get a Michelin star, he responded in classic Mexico City slang: “It’s cool… It’s cool (very good).”
The prices are quite high by Mexican standards. A single taco, generous but not huge, costs almost five dollars. But many customers are convinced that it is the best.
“It’s the quality of the meat,” said Alberto Muñoz, who has been coming here for about eight years. “It has never disappointed me. I have always recommended it and, now that it has the star, even more so.”
For Muñoz’s son, Alan, who was waiting for a beef taco with his father, “it is a historic moment for Mexican gastronomy; and we are here to witness it.”
Really, it’s about not changing anything: the freshness of the tortillas, the menu, the layout of the restaurant. Its owner, Mario Hernández Alonso, does not even reveal where he buys the meat.
However, times have changed. El Califa de León’s most loyal clientele originally came from the former ruling party, the PRI, whose headquarters are about five blocks away. But the political organization lost the presidency in 2018 and has entered a steady decline. Now it’s rare to see someone in a suit there.
Hernández Alonso notes that his father, Juan, who founded the business, never bothered to trademark the name Califa, so a well-financed, upscale taco chain has opened about 15 restaurants under that name in upscale neighborhoods.
Hernández Alonso has been considering the idea of taking the business to social networks, but that depends on his grandchildren.
By law, following the coronavirus pandemic, restaurants in Mexico City were allowed to open street seating areas. But El Califa de León doesn’t even have a sidewalk for customers to eat because of all the street vendors, so now diners are elbow to elbow with display stands and plastic mannequins.
When asked if he would like to have space left for a seating area on the street, Hernández Alonso expressed that “if it ain’t broke, don’t fix it.”
“The saying goes and it says well: why improvements or changes; what is well done, you don’t have to compose anything,” he said, pointing to the street vendors. “That is what God commands and we must adapt to it.”
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