Fonda, Finally.

Three weeks ago, for our tenth anniversary, we visited The Fat Duck. A special meal for a special person. Said special person picked up some sort of 24-hour flu on the day of, and lost her sense of taste and smell. Due to the restaurant’s understandably draconian approach to last minute cancellations and/or changes, we went ahead with the visit.

Genuinely – as I say this not out of spite towards T.F.D.’s reservations policy – The European was not missing out on much. For what the restaurant lacked on taste (an  autumnal and truffle-laden starter called “A Walk in the Woods” made me gag) it made up for with the slickest of slick service. We left with only the fondest memories of stories shared by the team about the dishes, as well as the little moments of care, which transcend taste buds (or lack of them), and what makes a place like this so special. And then, this weekend, palates recovered, we received exactly the same experience, with far taster food, at a fraction of the cost.

Due to the pantomime in Bray, I promised The European a compensation meal. I was initially thinking about KOL, Michelin-starred contemporary Mexican fine dining, courtesy of chef Santiago Lastra and his principled aim to offer diners a fresh take on Mexican food.

Having looked at the old bank account, still scarred with the fresh, bleeding wounds of the anniversary weekend and a recent trip to Japan, I swiftly realised my promise was never going to amount to another Fat Duck moment. Instead, I decided that an overdue visit to KOL’s little sibling, Fonda, was the perfect choice.

Fonda is Lastra’s second restaurant in London. It opened on the culinary Mecca of Heddon Street in 2024 and has been on my hit list from that very moment. In Mexica, a fonda is a cheap, often family run restaurant, and the name of the game here in Mayfair is, well not ‘cheap’, but let’s say, ‘cheaper’ Mexican fare compared to KOL, with an emphasis on small plates, and celebrating corn, one of the few ingredients on the menu with less than local provenance. Partnering with Tamoa, a social enterprise connecting native corn farmers in Mexico with global suppliers, Fonda mills it in-house, creating their own tacos, tortillas and the like.

A lot of Fonda’s menu lends itself to these familiar staples, leading me to wonder what exactly Lastra is reinventing. But things become a little clearer once we looked closer, over a Champagne Paloma and a Corn Husk Old Fashioned, sweetened with corn syrup and chocolate and turbocharged with mezcal. We ordered large chunk of the menu. “That was an excellent order“, the waiter replied.

We found the food to be a mix of the highest of highs and mild lows that simply made us think “we’re happier for having tried it“. The roasted pumpkin seed mole was a playful take on guacamole. It was silky, spicy and divine, and served with Fonda’s own tortilla chips which were equally amazing and replenished on request (a couple of days later I was eating a bag of Doritos and felt disgusted with myself).

We were bowled over by truffle and cheese quesadillas, a bar snack-sized serving of blackened, fried tortillas stuffed with gooey cheese and heaped with manchego and truffle, served with a pot of dippable Mexican soft cheese that was richer and smoother than the “Industry” sound track. The yellowfin tuna crudo was also a highlight, prompting nostalgic notes of Japan to dance across our palates. The buttermilk fried chicken tacos: well, if they sound good on here, imagine what they were like. We were reduced to muted and mesmerised messes while we buried our faces in them.

The beef tartare split opinion. I thought it was a highlight of the night, loving the way a spiced chilli mayo assumed the responsibilities of a traditional egg yolk in binding the dish together. “Too chunky“, The European countered.

We were less sure about the crab tostadas, busy discs that tasted a little too much of the corn  mixed into the shellfish, and, because it was all served cold, felt a little wet and mushy in the mouth. The whole beef short rib, served as a larger plate, was served with mole and tortillas packed into a leather ‘Fonda’ branded pouch. We opted for a side of refried beans and fresh cheese which in hindsight was a poor choice, given a different side option of pickled carrot and red cabbage would have contrasted the earthy and, dare I say, unexceptional flavours.

We closed with dessert. “We don’t need this” she said, my precious Cassandra of sweat treats. I ordered us a couple to share, churros with chocolate and caramel, and ‘Santiago’s Cheesecake‘. Both did their jobs but lacked the imagination of the rest of the menu. The European tried them, did that shrugging thing she does when something has the palatability of dead human skin, and passed them to me to finish, smugly filming me as I stuffed alternate mouthfuls of doughnut and cake into my grinning mouth.

Reading this back the day after writing it, I realise that it might look like I am not selling the food. But make no mistake, this was an exceptional meal. It has its lows, but they were barely noticeable. And who comes to a Mexican restaurant to eat dessert anyway? (Apart from me).

The night was carried along by some incredible service. The team love to chat and tell stories about the food. Each dish is explained methodically, proudly, and with a touch of humour, as you might expect from KOL or other starred restaurants. Water is topped up constantly, more cocktails were ‘maybe suggested’, not upsold, and getting up to use the bathroom was met with a silent nod and a chatty escort to where they’re located.

As I walked, I marvelled at this beautiful restaurant, decked out adobe-style, full of diners ensconced in the ridiculously comfy armchairs, while the open kitchen silently worked it’s magic. As The European put it later in the meal, Fonda is now our ‘go to’ Mexican restaurant. Fonda isn’t just a great place to eat, it’s a great place to be. The Fat Duck is a great place to be too, but I’d take truffle quesadillas over “A Walk in the Woods” any day.

Three courses and a few rounds of drinks came to c. £two hundred and fifty.