Limosneros Redux: Better Than Ever
I first reviewed Limosneros more than twelve years ago, soon after it opened. After a recent return, I’m happy to report that—like a well-aged wine—this eminently likable downtown stalwart has only improved with time. Much of the credit goes to chef Atzin Santos, who took the reins during the pandemic’s dark days and has since elevated the kitchen to a new level of polish and sophistication. A native of Mexico City, chef Santos began cooking as a teenager and trained in some of the country’s leading kitchens before arriving at Limosneros. His work reflects years of study into regional Mexican techniques—especially nixtamalization and the use of heirloom ingredients—which he elevates through modern presentation and creative precision.
Chef Atzin Santos Photo: Camila Cossío / courtesy Limosneros.
These days, I seldom trust the postmodern sleight-of-hand that passes for innovation in so many of our city’s restaurants—and I’ve said as much, loudly. Here, I make an exception.
Limosneros occupies a venerable old building that spent years awaiting its return to colonial glory. Legend has it the structure once housed the local artisans’ guild, whose members gathered limosnas—alms or donations—to fund public works. Fast-forward to the 21st century, and that history now meets a distinctly postmodern sensibility. Juan Pablo Ballesteros, scion of the family behind the venerable Café de Tacuba just around the corner, took it upon himself to acquire and restore this two-story Spanish colonial gem, revealing volcanic stone walls, brick ceilings, and cantera doorways. The result is tradition reimagined: tones of black, brown, and beige set a moody palette, with wood adding warmth. Lighting is low, the atmosphere inviting, and while the music may veer into ‘80s pop of questionable taste, it remains, thankfully, in the background.
Limosneros’ interior
The good news is that the kitchen continues to turn out some of the most refined Mexican food in the city. Unlike the high-falutin’ alta cocina palaces of Polanco, this is food that aims to please without ostentation, over-reliance on Noma-type tropes or dubious reinvention. Presentation is artful, pretty—yes, there are tiny edible flowers placed with tweezers, no doubt. But the cooking remains grounded: recipes draw from grandma’s pantry, occasionally introducing a new yet familiar touch—and ingredients are sourced from the market, not the lab.
Several multi-course degustaciones—tasting menus—are on offer, though so many mini-plates risk veering into the gustatory confusion territory I try to avoid. I prefer to dine the old-fashioned way: amuse-bouche, appetizer, main, dessert perhaps.
A taco of huitlacoche
But here I make another exception—for the astutely curated degustación taquera, a six-course taco tasting that may well be the best of its kind in the city. Each course revisits a Mexican classic with subtle finesse rather than gimmickry. A crisp croqueta of mahi mahi with salsa milpera opens the meal, followed by a smoky taco de escamol (ant eggs, if you must ask) wrapped in a handmade tortilla and perfumed with roasted green salsa. A taco de chile relleno pairs tender pork rillettes with chile pasilla and pickled vegetables, while the pork belly al pastor—tinged with mezquite smoke and fermented pineapple—is a loving homage to the CDMX classic. There’s even a refined wagyu arrachera taco on maíz azul with higo and xoconostle, the fig and cactus fruit creating a deft balance of sweet, tart, and heat. Dessert arrives playfully disguised as a taco de algodón de azúcar—cotton candy encasing vanilla sponge, wild mint, and a sorbet of tomato and fermented raspberry. It is worth mentioning that a vegetarian version of this menu is offered, and these menus can be accompanied by a “maridaje” of various libations.
From the a la carte menu a standout appetizer is the blue tostada spread with a smoked chile paste, topped with pâté of sesos (brains) pickled mussels, and crispy fried hoja santa. The idea is indulgence—rich, bold flavors—a refined take on surf & turf.
The crudo de hamachi , another winner, also sets the tone early: a sliver of Japanese precision meets Mexican soul. Silky slices of yellowtail rest on a miso of red beans—an unexpected, earthy counterpoint—enriched with brown butter and sparked by a hit of chiltepin, that wild little chile beloved by grandmothers and masochists alike. It’s elegant, clever, and deeply satisfying—the kind of dish that reminds you why fusion once meant something worth tasting.
The crudo de hamachi at Limosneros
A crab bolito looks innocent enough, but it’s a small feat of technique and seasonality. The “dough” —made with crab meat— hides a silky purée of pumpkin, earthy and sweet. On top sits a miniature saguarí, a seasonal crab that’s salted and dehydrated, turning edible; crisp and almost ethereal. Sea and land quietly meet in a single bite.
A crab “bolito”
My favorite dish of all is, ironically, the only one I’ll kvetch about: the pato de 21 días. It’s cooked confit-style, a process that pulls out excess moisture and leaves the skin crisp instead of rubbery — that usual downfall of duck when it crosses from rare to chewy. Here, the texture turns silky, almost custard-like. It’s paired with two purées — cauliflower with white chocolate, a combination as strange as it is harmonious, and a jalapeño–red onion escabeche that jolts the palate back to life. My quibble is the portion: a rather stingy sliver where a more generous cut of magret might have conserved its juices and given the dish the gravitas it deserves. Still, it’s an audacious finish — equal parts precision and excess — and somehow it works… or would, if it filled its lonely plate.
The wine and liquor list, if predictably pricy, includes some very interesting wines from unpredictable places such as Hungary and Southern Spain. And the mezcal selection is one of the best in the city.
In a town glutted with concept dining and pretension masquerading as innovation, Limosneros stands out for doing something radical: cooking food you actually want to eat. It’s sophisticated, yes, but never showy — a rare balance of intellect and appetite.
Limosneros
Allende 3, Centro; view map
Telephone 55 5521 5576
Open Monday - Saturday 1:30 to 10 p.m., Sunday 1 - 5 p.m.
