Judging from the mood of his culinary creations at Paloma, the ambitious "haute Mexican" that succeeded Isabella's on Castor Avenue, I'd call Saavedra a whisper chef.
Was that a jalapeno in the beurre blanc? I thought I felt a tingle, but wasn't sure. What herbiness emerges through the silky custard and woodsy snap of mushroom flan? It is the usually pungent epazote weed, hovering oh so faintly, but only like a tease.
Anyone who has seen Saavedra meander from table to table in this tiny dining room knows he is as mild-mannered and humble as it gets. And if food could ever convey shyness, these beautifully refined creations do.
Don't come to Paloma expecting rustic enchiladas or fire-breathing salsas. Saavedra's hybrid menu, in fact, turns out to be more French than Mexican, more elegant than earthy, more focused on soft flavors than the heat of spice. The French kitchen, (and the Restaurant School) after all, is where the Mexican-born chef learned to cook, and it informs the soul of this menu more than anything south of the border.
I wish Saavedra were more bold about indulging Mexican flavors; it feels sometimes as if he's afraid to offend. There was also some inconsistent cooking. But when his ideas worked, the subtle contrasts soared. The two-bean soup is yin and yang in a bowl, natural flavored purees of ivory and black beans swirling like two moods around a cloud of whipped chive cream. Thin strips of corn tortilla radiate their crunch throughout, delivering a rustic backbone to the dish.
Crisped tubes of phyllo dough embrace the sweetness of lump crab and fluffy fresh corn inside, a tamal in spirit, ringed by a vibrant green tang of tomatillo sauce.
A breast of seared duckling fans around a pyramid of saffron rice, splashed with a classic wine sauce. By the end, though, it prickles with a trace of guajillo peppers.
