Holbox LA

There are a few ol’ faithfuls, but it’s rare that you’ll find me at food truck fairs or trendy restaurants with the line out the door anymore. Some people consider it snobbery. I consider it laziness, a low tolerance for being in public, and reasonability.

This week, I did the online thing and went to a popular spot. Something about Michelin Star restaurants has been calling to me lately. I never cared before, but it’s like that little tire man emits a signal pulling my body through the door. Holbox, situated within the historic Mercado La Paloma, is a “James Beard nominated and Michelin Guide Rated casual Mexican seafood counter featuring local and sustainable seafood.”

And it wasn’t good.

The story of Chef Cetina Jr. who grew up cooking in his family’s restaurant next door, as well as the commitment to fresh, local ingredients is extremely admirable. It’s why I looked forward to the meal all week and waited in line for 20 minutes with the intention of splurging.

Unfortunately, while eating, I found myself thinking of times I’d tasted better. Let’s start with the ceviche. I asked the (sweet, sociable, and highly professional) cashier to recommend the juiciest fish of the bunch. They recommended halibut with a side of salsa macha (chile de arbol, peanut and garlic oil).

It wasn’t bad ceviche, but it didn’t sing. It was fresh, but fell flat in some ways. The green sauce was mostly decor. Two whole containers of the salsa macha did bring a depth to the halibut that helped it linger a little longer, but I had to close my eyes and drown out the noise to tune into it. I’m also learning that I like ALOT of lime in my ceviche, which I understand is a personal preference. Still slightly less tomato and more lime might’ve done the trick.

While eating, I was thinking of a Kanpachi ceviche I had at Madre, a Oaxacan restaurant in Torrance, that literally melted in my mouth. I was also reminded of a vegan cauliflower ceviche my friend made with their family for a birthday picnic (not pictured). Good food does draw connections, but this kind took me out of the present.

I should’ve just gotten the ceviche and called it a day, because the tacos were a colossal disappointment. But no, this was my one day a month to be adventurous and treat myself.

I had the Taco de Pulpo en su Tinta, a braised and fried gulf of Mexico octopus with calamari ink sofrito, and the Scallop Taco, which came with pan seared Maine diver scallop, chile x'catic sauce, caramelized onions, tomato, and marinated fennel.

Mama, never again.

The Octopus was tough. To be fair, Octopus is so hard to cook I don’t think I’ve ever had it fully tender. But on top of the toughness, the sofrito confused the hell out of me. I took a bite and thought, ‘is this supposed to taste like that?’ Mushy, overpowering the octopus, burnt and not in a good way? It tasted like an incomplete concept, slightly off, and ultimately missing some brightness and cohesion. After suffering through it, literally pulling the octopus with all my might using teeth and hand, I moved onto the scallop.

The scallop taco was the pinnacle of disappointment. You see, scallops are pure heaven to me. Their texture is divine, they soak up flavor and pair well with anything, except this taco.

Was it a taco, or was it a tomato soup? I’ll never know. I did catch a bit of sear on my second to last bite, a faint hint of what this taco could have been. I forced a pained smile when the busser flew past my table and flashed me a thumbs up. Ultimately, I thought the marinated fennel was the best part.

I got up from the table wishing I would’ve saved room in my budget for a palate cleanser at any of the other restaurants. Mole from Oaxaca California, Platano con Crema from Holbox’s predecessor Chicken Itza. I even found myself reminiscing about the Ethiopian restaurant that used to sit in the cornerof the market nearly a decade ago. In the end, I settled for a passionfruit agua fresca and gratitude for the privilege of being able to afford a slow seafood lunch on a random Tuesday.

Next month, I’m back to my hole in the wall ways.