You will continue to hear my praises for our neighbor to the south in subsequent postings, but for now I want to make sure this content gets into the interconnected ether of the World Wide Web. And to compound that effect, let’s throw some SEO foundation into this thing: Nectar Restaurant Food and Wine, Roberto Solis Azarcoya, Chef Roberto Solis, 5 Star Restaurants in Mexico Worth Boycotting.*

What Led to the Encounter

I rarely have the budget to incorporate fine dining into my life, but I was fortunate enough to taste a world of symphonic delights in Mexico, thanks to the generosity and skill of some top-notch chefs. And when I say symphonic, I mean they conjured colors, sounds, Ratatouille-like sensations in my mind – to the point of inspiring my fingers to raise and conduct an orchestra of delight.

I had no idea Mexican food could ascend to these heights.

Chef Enrique Olvera at Pujol in Mexico City showed me how modern and innovative Mexican cuisine could be while Chef Alejandro Ruiz in Oaxaca made tradition sing with flavors both subtle and intense. Both men were hugely generous, passionate about good food and the culinary reputation of Mexico, and made up entirely of edgy character. I would highly recommend multiple experiences at either of their establishments, inspire backpackers to save up for a quality meal in Mexico, or gladly hang with these dudes regularly.

Because these two gentlemen were so wonderful, we didn’t anticipate the third of the Mexican chef trifecta to be, pardon my French, a douchebag.

Definitely Not “Cordon Bleu”

After having Chef Alejandro make a personal call to Roberto Solis to gauge his interest in exhibited skills on film, we entered his restaurant, Nectar, by invitation to a cooking demonstration and tasting. Within minutes, he let us know our presence, for him, was less than welcome, perhaps a nuisance, and our tasting was a mystery to him (the one he confirmed hours prior via e-mail).

It became evident upon entering the restaurant that this wasn’t going to be a gorgeous night for the senses. The dining room smelt of cleaning supplies that didn’t quite cover up the lingering stench of dirty mops and poorly-made food. Solis’ kitchen was relatively gross. Cooked bacon stuck to pans. Bread rolls were scraped off cookie sheets. Nothing smelled aromatic or even edible.

By this point, I was merely unenthusiastic, snapping shots around his restaurant and catch his sous-chef in action melting butter. When we began filming his dessert demo in the kitchen, it dawned on me, “This guy is making this segment all kinds of awkward.”

Inappropriate comments sentences deep into our meeting and creepy mouth gestures – he just seemed like a sleaze. Vijaya’s class and professionalism kept her afloat throughout the demonstration, though during the breaths when he stepped away to get other ingredients, she was able to convey just how much she wasn’t enjoying this with her eyes.

Where did you learn to cook? Where did your love of cooking come from? What inspires you?

No question Vijaya posed resulted in the kind of answer that peels kids away from the Little Debbie’s and toward the mixing bowls. He was passionless, more of a restauranteur than someone who creates because it’s his impulse. We got nothing useable out of him: no video, no good photographs, no inspiration at all.

The kicker that sent Jenny’s complexion into shades of angry red was when he presented Vijaya (and Jenny, behind the camera) with something to taste-test. It’s jiggly texture prompted her to ask, “Is there any gelatin in this?” He said no, watched her try a piece, and then asked, “What would you say if I told you there was gelatin in that?”

He proceeded to comment on her lack of knowledge in what comprises the foods we eat. His words reeked of misogynistic intent and disrespect.

I’m not one to snap my fingers in someone’s face, claim someone’s disrespectin’, accented with an “MMMMMMM HMMMMM”, and jump on the anger train. But at the end of the night, Jenny was fuming, Vijaya felt severely uncomfortable, and I don’t think anything we did merited such treatment. While writing this post, I became aware of my extreme wording and thought, “Couldn’t I just shrug this off and remember that everyone’s different?” Our differences make us wonderful, but wasting people’s time and making a mockery of them isn’t socially acceptable, in my opinion. For this, I feel the internet needs a little content hinting to this side of Senor Solis.

I am not one to let crap bags go on being crap bags. Lofty egos and misogynists cause a knee-jerk reaction in me to put my guns up and take them down. I am because you are. Why must some think they can get away with treating others as subhumans? Not on my watch, usually, but this time around, in the interest of appearances and professionalism, I did nothing in the moment. It felt very wrong.

After three weeks of experiencing thousands of years of history in Mexico City, unwavering support and the dynamic arts scene of Oaxaca, and the plethora of cultural and natural highlights in the Yucatan, we saw a side of Mexico no Mexican would be proud of.

You Never Know Who You’re Dealing With

Regardless of where you are, who you are, your professional title, or your current self-proclaimed function on this earth, you are always an ambassador. For what? Everything you could possibly represent: American, writer, female, Hoosier, human being.

I’m not always entirely conscious of this reality, evidence being my sad excuse for a hair-do at this very moment or instances of inappropriate bathroom humor. On the other hand, when I’m traveling or meeting someone new, yes, I am fully conscious that I am a billboard and potential game-changer for new eyes and perceptions. Hence, I don’t run around screaming obscenities or ripping my top off. I dare say, I act civilly and with an ounce of dignity, and I treat those new people as though they share the same self-worth.

Little did this restauranteur know that the government was sitting at our table. Our guide for the week, a high official in Yucatan tourism, was joining us for a friendly meal on our last night in the city. Upon telling our friend about his conduct, he placed a call to the Minister of Tourism, who had been incredibly conscious of our experience in his state and became subsequently irate. I don’t imagine Solis got off easy peasy.

The Bottom Line

What did we learn, ladies and gentlemen, from this encounter?

Vijaya learned she had a high tolerance for what she could handle with tact and professionalism.

Jenny learned her self-imposed dietary restrictions were ridiculous. (Jenny, did you know there’s gelatin in Jell-O? I bet not!)

I learned, even in a professional setting, I feel the impulse to put people in their place. This sounds to me that I’m more animal than civilized, which is a classification I happily accept, if it means I can put the Solises of the world in corners with time-out.

What did you learn? Hopefully, that there’s one less 5-star restaurant in Merida you need to visit…

*Disclaimer: I’m not a food expert, a chef, nor an avid follower of the profession/industry. Also, the service we received at Nectar was quite nice. It is only the chef that should feel the slap of this post on his culo.

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