Coming Together at Aúna: A Polanco Spot with Substance
As we hurtled through the Roaring '20s, Mexico City's much-lauded—and hyped—culinary scene had begun to wear thin on this weary diner. A flood of overwrought, overpriced establishments—helmed by earnest young chefs too eager to chase trends and showcase contrived creativity—left me longing to cry out, “Stop the world—I want to get off.”
Instead, I took a step back and embarked on a restorative journey, one that led me from the always-a-good-idea Paris, to Bangkok, Calcutta, Pakistan, Cairo and then through Northern Spain—arguably my favorite region in the world to eat. From Madrid to Oviedo to Santander, I reacquainted myself with the kind of thoughtful, unpretentious excellence that can make a meal feel like a revelation.
Upon my return to Mexico City, several new spots had inevitably sprouted up—most, unsurprisingly, clustered around Roma and Condesa. Sampling their offerings only underscored the contrast: too many dishes seemed to strive without grounding, especially in comparison to the refined simplicity and depth I had encountered abroad.
I was on the verge of bowing out of the high-falutin’ dining circuit altogether when an unexpected opportunity arose: a chance to try a relatively new restaurant in Polanco. I arrived with a skeptical heart, bracing for the familiar meh-ness I had come to expect. And then—Aúna. To my surprise, it was good. In fact, very good.
Chefs Jorge Vallejo and Fernando Torres *photo courtesy Aúna
The name “Aúna”—from the verb aunar, meaning “to bring together” or “to harmonize”—reflects the restaurant’s philosophy: a place where nature, cuisine, and people converge. It’s the brainchild of Jorge Vallejo—of Quintonil fame—and chef Fernando Torres, who currently helms the kitchen. The team’s culinary philosophy blends Mexican tradition with subtle European influences—or perhaps it's European cuisine with a distinctly Mexican soul. The emphasis is on seasonality, thoughtful combinations, and close collaboration with local producers. Torres, whose precise, quietly confident cooking reveals a deep respect for both ingredients and technique, is not out to dazzle with theatrics—just to get it right, which he does more often than not.
There is nothing gratuitous or pretentious here. Ingredients are allowed to speak clearly, without being obscured by convoluted technique or excessive flair. Each element asserts itself with quiet confidence, contributing to a harmony that feels both deliberate and refreshingly unforced. I might just as easily be describing Spain—that, after all, is why eating there remains so deeply satisfying: dishes built around two or three thoughtfully chosen ingredients, artfully balanced, each enhancing the others without competing for center-stage.
The kitchen currently offers two distinct menus. The regular menu features five appetizers, three salads, and three main courses, while the menú de primavera presents a seasonal selection of seven appetizers and three mains.
The duck taco and the salmon trout appetizers at Aúna
From the seven starters on the seasonal menú de primavera, we chose the taco de pato braseado—open-faced and presented on an aromatic, hand-formed tortilla. It arrives adorned with delicate dollops of tangy, pearlescent cream, slices of pickled watermelon radish, and the peppery bite of nasturtium leaves. The duck, slow-cooked and gently shredded, evokes the richness of confit—its flavor distilled to its most indulgent essence. For those who relish duck, as I do, it's a deeply satisfying experience. Two of these beauties would easily make a meal.
The trucha salmonada—a freshwater trout native to the streams of the State of Mexico that bears a striking resemblance to salmon—was served thinly sliced and loosely rolled in a bowl over a pistachio emulsion, garnished with a delicate dice of pickled ginger and slender strips of “kimchi blanco” made from green apple. For this ex-New Yorker, it conjured the kind of creation a cook at Russ & Daughters might dream up while riding a mushroom high. The lightly smoked fish was elevated to over-the-top deliciousness by the accompanying elements, which enhanced rather than overshadowed it. Bravo.
It was becoming increasingly clear that this kitchen has a confident, skillful hand when it comes to handling proteins.
Pesca a la brasa
From the regular menu, we opted for the pesca a la brasa—in this instance, a generous cut of cocinero, a type of jurel: a slightly oily, firm-fleshed Pacific fish. It was expertly grilled and plated alongside a restrained jalapeño cream and a silky squash purée. The interplay of succulence, sweetness, spice, and fragrance was masterfully balanced. I was transported to a meal I once had in Santander, in northern Spain, where seafood is sacrosanct and the fish always takes precedence, no matter the accompaniments. Pure perfection.
Ever a sucker for duck, I chose the pierna de pato rostizado from the seasonal menu. Despite the reference to “leg” in the name, the dish arrived as generous chunks of juicy magret, expertly cooked to a ruby-rare and served with its crisped skin intact. It was enhanced by segueza—a subtle, aromatic, and slightly sweet Oaxacan chile preparation that evokes adobo or mole without quite being either. A delicate scoop of hummus de palmito completed the plate. The dish echoed the traditional mole negro con pato of Oaxaca, but filtered through a distinctly French lens. It struck all the right anatine notes.
The tarta vasca at Aúna
For dessert, I was drawn to the tarta vasca—the creamy, molten cheesecake currently enjoying cult status in Spain, where eager crowds queue outside newly opened bakeries for slices in flavors like pistachio and dark chocolate, devouring them ecstatically at café tables or while perched on nearby stoops. Aúna’s version was certainly worth the indulgence, oozing and rich, with a caramelized skin. The accompanying dollop of mamey sorbet was pleasant, but ultimately unnecessary.
As usual, I have to kvetch about the overpriced wine list. Mexico’s fine dining temples seem determined to stifle wine culture by insisting on absurd markups (the cheapest bottles here start around $900 pesos). Would it kill them to take a cue from the French and offer a wallet-friendly table wine by the quarter, half, or full carafe?
In addition to its culinary vision, Aúna distinguishes itself through its architectural design, which embraces natural and artisanal materials—plenty of exposed brick and wood, soaring ceilings, generously spaced tables. Music stays in the background where it belongs. It all contributes to a welcoming, tranquil ambiance; it’s a pleasure to hang out here.
All in all, I was genuinely impressed—and pleasantly surprised—by Aúna’s refined touch, its welcome absence of culinary swagger, and the discipline shown by the kitchen. In a city full of restaurants trying too hard to prove themselves, this one doesn’t need to. It simply delivers.
Aúna Restaurante
(The more casual café is next door)
Open Monday - Saturday 1:30 - 11 p.m., Sunday until 5
Anatole France 139, Polanco (see map)
auna.com.mx
Tel: 55 9237 5157
