Mexican Restaurants in London

Today I want to share my expat view on Mexican restaurants in London. There are a lot of new places opening up around the UK capital these days, and I’ve tried a number of them.

Mexican Food in London

Every good Californian knows the cardinal rule of Mexican food: never eat it outside of Mexico and the states that border it.

Even if one has been away from home for a long, long time and is lonely and desperate and craving a good helping of carne asada or tacos al pastor, one must be strong and not give into temptation.

But sometimes, somehow, even the most strong-willed of us gives in to the sweet siren calls of the Mexican restaurants in London and other places.

It is precisely at these times that we are reminded of why the rule exists in the first place. There is no good Mexican food outside of Mexico and the states that border it. None. Nada. Not even a little bit.

Why do I bring this up? Because the other night was one of those nights when I let a non-Mexican, non-border-stater try to convince me that there was a new Mexican restaurant in London that “wasn’t like all the others”.

That was the first red flag.

The second was when he told me that this Mexican restaurant in London “got really good reviews”. Yeah, it did. It got them from a bunch of people that have never been to Mexico and don’t know what real Mexican food tastes like.

The third red flag was when he told me that “some of my friends have been there and they said it was really good”.

Again, this is not untrue. The problem is that his “friends” are people from places like Dorking or Slough, where Mexican food does not exist.

But alas, in my desperation I ignored all the warning signs.

London Restaurant Experience

And so I went with a group of friends to one of the new Mexican restaurants in London.

Like all the other “Mexican” places I’ve tried in London, I knew as soon as I walked in the door that I had made a mistake in coming.

Strike one: the cocktail list was full of things like sangria, a Spanish drink. And to think the English bash Americans for not knowing their geography! There wasn’t a single margarita anywhere on the list.

Strike two was the menu. Never have I ever seen “tostada salad with pumpkin seeds and rocket” on a menu at a Mexican restaurant, nor have I seen “cream” as an ingredient. It’s sour cream, people. Please!

Strike three: the cringe-inducing mispronunciation of every Spanish word by the wait staff. If you’re going to work at a Mexican restaurant, at least make sure you know how to pronounce the names of the menu items.

I struggled to keep my fingers out of my ears as the server told us about the daily specials, which were made with hal-ah-PEE-nos and tor-TILL-ahs. Really?

Usually it’s three strikes and you’re out, but this at-bat was wasn’t over yet. Strike four was the food. The chips were fresh, but too thick.

The guacamole was flavorless, the salsas even more so. My tacos were floating in so much grease that the last one fell apart when I picked it up.

The chicken was bland and uninteresting, and the other bits I tried from friends’ plates were equally terrible.

The final strike came when the bill arrived. The waiter charged us 84 pounds for two glasses of red wine.

There weren’t even two menu items on the entire menu that could have added up to 84 pounds in the first place. It was a bad end to an already abysmal meal.

This place took the fall this time, but all the other Mexican restaurants in London are just as bad.

If ever I tell you I’m tempted to eat Mexican food in London again, please direct me to this post and save me from my misery.