Mixed Mexican messages

>> Little Burgundy’s Limón manages to be sophisticated, festive and cheesy

by Genevieve Paiement

The majority of Mexican restaurants in Montreal seem to fall into one of two camps. You have your pub-like places in the downtown core, where a cheesy, forced fiesta atmosphere prevails (Carlos and Pepes, 3 Amigos), and you have the cheap and authentic, off-the-beaten places bandied about by the food geeks on Web sites like Chowhound and eGullet (La Guadeloupe Mexicaine or Le Coin du Mexique).

Limón, which opened a few months ago in Little Burgundy, positions itself as a kind of upscale, boutique Mexican offering, something this city is otherwise bereft of. On the sweltering Friday night we visited, the place was almost full and there was a bit of a chain-resto vibe happening, as wait staff lugged large pitchers of sangria around to the beat of a High-NRG dance soundtrack.

The décor, all bright shades of lime, metal chandeliers and matching squiggly-patterned wall sconces, is faintly ’90s, and the place is spacious enough to accommodate large groups, with a terrasse out back. As soon as we sat down, a waiter materialized and asked if we’d like to start with a couple of margaritas ($9). Si, señor. Within a few minutes, we were slurping them back and agreeing that the salty-sweet-tart balance was just right, the ice was crushed to a perfect consistency and the tequila was the good stuff (no pickled, gasoline aftertaste).

To further take the edge off the heat, we went for two cold entrées—the jicama salad ($7) and the ceviche ($7). The salad was brilliant—simple, tangy, tasty. Consisting of chunks of refreshing jicama (a vegetable common to Central America with a neutral flavour and the consistency of a crunchier Nashi pear), pineapple and cucumber, bathed in a zingy, spicy vinaigrette. The ceviche, a mixture of pickled pink onions, avocado, cilantro, tomato and luscious pieces of whitefish in lime juice, was scrumptious and super fresh. Both dishes made for a great start.

But with the mains came some disappointments. I went for the chiles rellenos ($18), ancho chilis stuffed with chunks of fresh tuna, smothered in tomato sauce and topped with cheese, while my date went for the Tampiquena sirloin steak ($19) with guacamole, refried beans and a chicken mole enchilada.

While my chilis were good, with a velvety, eggplant-like texture, a hint of spice and stuffed with nice and flaky tuna, the tomato sauce had a pronounced Chef Boyardee flavour and there was too much cheese (it formed rubbery clumps and I pushed much of it aside). And the accompanying white rice with frozen diced carrots and green peas felt a little institutional.

My steak-eating man grumbled when his meat arrived overcooked (it was medium, when he had asked for rare), but the accompanying beans, guacamole and enchilada (the rich, dark mole was sweet, but not overly) all got the thumbs up. Then came the wait. The margaritas long-finished, we waited for what seemed like an eternity for our entrée plates to be cleared, as the MC Mario-style party mix raged on and people shouted to be heard.

The wait gave us time to theorize about the mixed messages that the dishes seemed to convey. While the entrées came on traditional brown clay plates, the mains came on modern, white square plates. Was this place trying to be authentic or contemporary? Sophisticated or festive?

I finally managed to flag down our waiter and ordered a flan ($5) to share, and two more margaritas (we contemplated the list of mid-range tequilas on offer, but decided to stick to the slushy stuff). The flan, which came in a rectangular slice topped with a stripe of whipped cream, had a thick, cream cheese-like consistency and could have used more sweetness, but it hit the spot.

Some people will undoubtedly love Limón’s “vibrant” atmosphere and the dishes they get right really shine. I, however, am with the food geeks on this one: give me that hole-in-the-wall Mexican joint with the bad service and the out-of-this-world, two-buck tamales and I’m happy.