For any Texan to go looking for Mexican food in or around the nation’s capital might seem something of a fool’s errand, or at least a recipe for likely disappointment. Certainly a handful of years ago, such a quest would have been a waste of time. But thanks to a new place in Arlington, Va., called Fuego Cocina y Tequileria, it’s easy to find (as Fuego’s subtitle implies) the two most important things to a displaced Texan’s happiness.
Yes, there are a 125-plus different tequilas in the bar area downstairs - and least according to chef de cuisine Alfredo Solis of Mexico City, who admits to liking his country’s native spirit just fine. As a result of the supply, there is a demand. And that means plenty of flights of various, often-high-end tequilas for tasting, and also of course the now-wildly popular margarita. You can, of course, enjoy your margaritas at Fuego on the rocks or, as pictured here from my dinner, frozen.
D.C. and the suburbs of northern Virginia have many adherents to variations of vegeterianism, and quite a few of them gather around these vegetable empanadas. No, they’re not the least bit vegan (though they can presumably be made that way), considering the goat cheese that finds itself splayed across the vegetables. These, however, are plenty delicious, representing bigtime gifts of the Americas to the world: roasted squash, corn, huitlacoche, epazote and avocado. If that’s a bit too hardcore vegetarian, you’re sure to love the sopes de carnitas pictured at the very top. These are slow-roasted pork on small shells formed of masa and accented with black beans and sour orange habanero crema.
It would be tough carrying off any form of food described as Mexican without tacos, so the chef and rest of the staff at Fuego make no such attempt. In fact, the menu features nine different variations on the taco, some representing the traditions of specific regions in Mexico and some apparently flights of chef fantasy. Here are my two favorites from my tasting: birria (Jalisco-style roasted goat) and al pastor (spit-roasted marinated pork with pineapple serrano salsa).
If your table is looking for one more intriguing way to kick off dinner at Fuego, which means “fire” in reference to its spices, you can do lots worse than these flautas (flutes) filled with shredded duck confit. Confit, naturally, is as French a technique as the name implies, but the flavors find a nifty balance between familiar and exortic. There’s a whole Oaxacan thing going on, between the queso from there and the intense, sweetish mole negro.
If your stomach insists on a main course, even after so many terrific appetizers, Fuego offers nine especialidades de la casa, a level of Spanish almost anyone should be able to understand, plus a nightly special or two - which I suppose makes these special especialidades. As usual, it depends on what you like. Still, I was intrigued with the chiles rellenos divorciados. Having enjoyed “divorced eggs” as part of Mexican breakfast in Texas, I couldn’t resist the notion one chile stuffed with cheese and the other with ground beef picadillo, plus salsas verde and roja.
One departure from Tex-Mex in Texas was the absence of rice and beans with every entree that goes out, and I have to admit that’s always a disappointment to me. Instead, Fuego offers your choice of one side dish from eight, including both arroz a la mexicana and frijoles refritos or frijoles charros. Since I was already far out of my rice-bean comfort zones, I opted for these platanos machos - tequila-glazed ripe plantains with Latin crema.
God and tequila willing, you finally make it past savory dish after savory dish from chef Alfredo’s kitchen and get a chance to think about dessert. After sampling so many things, I can’t say I had “room” for dessert - but then again, when is dessert ever about having room? Part of me wanted to try their rice pudding - billed by tradition as arroz con leche, or rice with milk. But I let myself be swayed toward their most popular selection, a kind of Mexican French toast (there’s some history for that, after all). And since the whole thing gets covered with the lush caramel called dulce de leche, I’ll invent any history I have to to justify another helping the next time I visit Fuego in Arlington.
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