Cavita: Earthy, elevated Mexican home cooking in a romantic Marylebone setting
With flickering candelight, cosy corners and tendrils of plant life cascading from the ceiling, this is the Mexican escape à deux you need – minus the 10-hour flight, says Lucy Thackray
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Your support makes all the difference.Anyone who’s visited Mexico will bore you to tears with how much they love its unique colours and textures. They attempt to bring back a little piece of it, usually in the form of colourful ceramics, woven fabric, mind-bending art or pretty bottles of tequila or mezcal. The same warmth and texture welcomes you at Cavita, a little slice of escapism on Wigmore Street, just a stone’s throw north of the Oxford Street and Bond Street megastores.
From the smooth terracotta exterior to the flickering candles that dimly light the cavernous inside, this is an immersive taste of the motherland. It’s a taste of chef Adriana Cavita’s culinary heritage, to be exact – raised between Mexico City and a village to the east, her grandmother was a street vendor selling antojitos (“little cravings”: filling, corn-rich street snacks such as tamales) to locals. For her part, she honed her skills at one of Mexico City’s best restaurants, Pujol, as well as Spain’s world-famous el Bulli. So this is home cooking, yes, but an elevated take on it – small plates of edible-flower-topped prettiness alongside rustic hunks of meat and veg. This is a place to share six or seven dishes, to truly feast like a big, noisy Mexican family might; but also to dress up, wine and dine, and photograph the eye candy in front of you.
The vibes are immaculate from the jump. My friend and I settle in at our marble-topped table with a big glass jug of water, ceramic cups, admiring the creamy, chalky-rough brick walls and the grid of hanging planters above us dripping glossy, tropical leaves. We feel like we should have tackled more than the Jubilee line to find this much Mexicana. It would be rude not to try the classic margarita, so we do ‒ tart, light, dangerously moreish – but just as rude to dismiss the house margarita, served coral-pink in a tumbler and mouthwateringly fresh with watermelon juice, which we follow up with.
The menu is a mix of small plates (categorised into raw bar, appetisers and from the street) and supersized mains meant for sharing. The latter means anyone dining as a twosome has to unite, rather than divide, and conquer, which can be harder than it sounds when one of you doesn’t eat octopus, and octopus is one of the tempting big three dishes. We opt for the chicken mole verde for its abuela-speciality, comfort-food sound, and share four or five small plates to build up our appetite for the main event.
The small plates are a clever mix of dainty and earthy. Some are entirely accessible (tuna tostada with soy and ginger), some out-there in a “oh, we should, shouldn’t we?” way (pig’s head tamal). A kingfish aguachile is freshened up with watermelon, slivers of radish and a sprinkling of grasshopper salt (yet another souvenir you’re likely to snap up in Oaxaca), to great effect. Tucking into this followed by a been shin quesabirria – a cheese-covered half moon of melting-tender beef grilled to crispy perfection and served with a rich gravy dipping sauce – shows the sheer range of Mexican cuisine. This is one of the nicest things I’ve ever put in my mouth. If, like me, you live for slow-roasted, umami flavours – think Marmite, pulled pork or bone broth – this place is worth a visit for this dish alone.
Although Cavita is elegant from its unpolished ceramic cups to its edible flower garnishes, this is not a prissy selection. Things come visibly chargrilled, wrapped in capacious leaves and on freshly shaped, charcoal coloured tortillas. The pig’s head – we had to, didn’t we – is unusual, a bready, grainy texture we haven’t had before, though less of a flavour explosion than its sharing plate siblings. Delicate soft Baja fish tacos have the perfect gentle crunch and a vinegary tickle of pickled red onion. As the evening purrs on, the tables around us fill up with a chic city-centre crowd, groups of after-work pals and tequila-clinking birthday dinners. I spot no fewer than four floaty dresses I’d like to buy on fellow patrons.
Our chicken mole arrives – an intimidatingly wide platter with lashings of fresh, al dente veg (spring onions, baby courgettes, tenderstem broccoli) also hauled over the smoking coals. Hacked into juicy chunks, it’s moist, plump and tasty – undeniably a comfort-food winner – but part of me wishes I’d gone for that pulpo. The staff here are remarkably relaxed, chatty and know the menu inside out – we had many questions, and all were answered in detail. One brings us a ramekin of slightly spicier sauce, unasked, to pep up the chicken.
We still have a half-inch of stomach space for something sweet and something boozy, so we share the pan de elote, a hockey puck-sized corn cake with a treacle-dark hue and a condensed-milk sweetness. It’s as grandmotherly as a big, powdery hug, but with a fashionista touch courtesy of a sphere of honeycomb icing and a sprinkling of dainty purple flowers. I ask for a recommendation of a mezcal from the extensive list, and our trusted waitress points me towards a nightcap-ready sounding concoction with notes of butterscotch and cinnamon, served in a ceramic thimble with a slice of orange and a pinch of chilli salt, as you’d get it in a chic Mexico City barrio. This is the sort of joint where you could stay late, tasting capfuls of heady agave liqour as the candles burn down and the crowd thins. Romantic, convivial, it’s a mood – and a menu – I’d travel for again.
Cavita, 56-60 Wigmore Street, London, Marylebone, London, W1U 2RZ | 0203 928 1000 | cavitarestaurant.com
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