I was confused to see various food writers exclaiming about Vecino’s practice of nixtamalization. They talked about the ancient Mesoamerican method of preparing corn as if it were a rediscovery by hip modern chefs. No: if you have ever eaten a corn tortilla, you have reaped the benefits of nixtamalization.
The difference is whether your tortilla, like the vast majority consumed in the U.S., was made with masa harina flour, where the nixtamalization took place in a factory, or whether the cook took the raw corn kernels herself, soaked them in lime water (cal) to soften, and then ground them into masa (dough). The chefs at Vecino, to their great credit, do the latter.
I like what the Breadtopia website has to say about nixtamalization: “Easily one of the greatest human discoveries — right up there with fermentation and fire.” Besides making a tough corn kernel soft enough to eat, nixtamalization adds calcium and makes vitamin B3 (niacin) and iron available to the body, which is not the case with untreated corn.
At Vecino, said executive chef Edgar Torres, who came to Detroit only this summer, he imports multiple varieties of corn kernels from Mexico, 200 pounds at a time: “That’s the main reason for the prices sometimes.” Pink Xocoyul and Cacahuazintle from the state of Mexico, Jala Amarillo and Blue Bolita from Nayarit, Red or Purple Cónico: Torres says you won’t notice a flavor difference among the varieties, but you’ll see the range of colors and the textures vary. “Some corns are better for tortillas,” he explains, “different corns are better for quesadillas or sopes, something thicker.”
The result in his fragile, tender tortillas (two for $3) are that they actually taste like corn, a different breed altogether from store-bought. One night they were a swirl of blue and yellow. Torres’s corn chips, too, are to Frito’s corn chips as angels are to human beings, to steal a simile. That’s because they too taste like corn, rather than fried fat. They might be yellow, pink, or blue.
Be aware that in the masa portion of the menu (tlayudas, quesadillas, huaraches, enchiladas, tostadas), where prices are lower than for the items “del fuego” — from the fire — portions are small. A $20 tlayuda was one-eighth the size of a tlayuda you’d be given in Oaxaca. Desserts are tiny, too. If it’s quantity you seek, go to Mexicantown.
Or order “del fuego” a half-chicken, a whole fish, or a steak, such as bone-in ribeye. Our server recommended sharing a 20-24-ounce whole red snapper, and it was deboned and delectable, the flesh cooked just to the right moisture point. A special of flautas de barbacoa featured lamb that was spicy and smoky inside a crisp shell, with a mound of microgreens that also reminded me of Oaxaca.
One of the best things I ate at Vecino was also the simplest: a mushroom and cheese quesadilla, laden with umami and accompanied by a salsa roja that tickled but didn’t burn (much).
Vecino’s tlayuda, the signature dish of Oaxaca, is way upscale compared to those in that poverty-stricken but now trendy state; it comes with a plethora of protein: sirloin, beans, chorizo, and quesillo (Oaxacan string cheese), drizzled with crema.
A huarache, named after the sandal for its shape, is another masa dish, with a thick base and flavored with achiote. Rather than the fatty, possibly crisp pork belly I was expecting, its meat was more like shredded pork, for a less interesting experience.
I thoroughly enjoyed a plate of aguachile negro. Aguachile is similar to ceviche, but the marinade is chile water (thus the name) rather than lime juice. Vecino’s version was not super spicy but came in a big pool of dramatic black sauce that was pleasantly acidic, the raw shrimp firm, cilantro forward. I should have ordered tortillas to sop it with.
Heirloom tomatoes were a treat, and I wish there’d been more of the promised peaches in the dish.
Dessert one night was a disappointing pavlova, somewhat tough, with some miserly cubes of macerated peaches. But on a later occasion a buñuelo, a crisp, waffle-like disk of fried dough, was enhanced by pecans, a skillful crunchy effect. The smoked banana ice cream atop was a delightful innovation, and I would have loved to enjoy more than a tablespoon of it.
Vecino’s cocktails are mostly based on tequila or mezcal, though you’ll also discover sotol, distilled from an agave-like plant native to the deserts of Chihuahua, and raicilla, also an agave product — essentially mezcal but from Jalisco.
I tried raicilla mixed with matcha, cacao, horchata, lemon, and egg white in a pale green “Matcha Sour” on the rocks, and didn’t think it tasted like any of its elements — but it was tasty: foamy and a little gritty. Call it body.
I went off-reservation to order a rum drink, partly because the bartender goes the extra mile to muddle the mint leaves in liquid nitrogen, thus preventing browning. “La Tóxica” seemed like a great summer drink, tall and mostly mint-flavored. A friend braved insomnia by ordering a “Oaxacan Vaquero” with espresso mezcal, and a chile-mango infusion is a temptation for next time.
Vecino is a handsome space with floor-length windows, a patio, and no TVs. It’s a 1926 corner building, empty for years, that once held artist studios, a “late ’90s Cass Corridor vibe,” according to front-of-house manager Jessie Nigl. New owners uprooted the trees that had taken over inside and made it striking.
I asked Torres if his helpers ever hand-patted tortillas into shape the old-fashioned way, rather than pressing them one at a time in a tortilla press. That’s when you really see a difference in texture. “No, we’re not that good,” he laughed. “I wish we could be that good!”
I like the zeal for quality! I look forward to hand-patted tortillas in Vecino’s future.
The restaurant opens at 5 p.m. Wednesday-Sunday.
