Vancouver has long expected its Mexican food to be cheap, fast, and eaten off the counter of a sidewalk food truck. Acuyo, on Alberni Street, is betting that the cuisine deserves a proper sit-down dinner instead. The name is the Indigenous word for hoja santa, the big heart-shaped leaf that also serves as the logo, and Guadalajara is the reference point for the cooking. Smoke and freshly pressed tortillas do most of the talking here, and the prices and polish say this is not your usual taco run. Consider it a pitch for Mexican food as fine dining, and a rare one in this city.

Food

Team Tastic came here for dinner to celebrate a late birthday, and we enjoyed the following:

1. Aguachile ($32)
2. Asadito tacos ($22)
3. Zarandeado octopus ($59)
4. Cochinita ($47)
5. Horchata ($8)
6. Pan de elote (complimentary half, $14 on the menu)

The aguachile tasted so fresh that it reminded me of sashimi, only dressed in classic Mexican seasoning instead of soy and wasabi. Shrimp and scallops were cured in lime juice and arranged in a rust-orange pool with cucumber coins, ribbons of red onion, and little green dots of avocado sauce. The three chili peppers on the menu were no joke. The chiltepin did not announce itself so much as creep up like a dimmer switch being turned slowly in the ON direction as a proper slow burn. It came with a side of chips and salsa, golden triangles and a small ramekin of brick-red salsa, which gave me something to crunch through while the burn built.

The asadito tacos were elevated beef, built on AAA ribeye, the kind of high-quality cut that already tasted expensive before anything else was added. Then a layer of cheese was melted onto the tortilla, and it crisped into a lacy orange fringe at the edges, which pushed the whole thing over the top. The avocado salsa verde, a bright salsa roja, and a tangle of pickled red onion sealed it. This was fancy and not something you would find at an entry-level taco place. It ate like a steak dinner that had been folded into something you could hold in one hand.

The cochinita was a hearty stew of slow-braised pork, brick-red and arriving in a bowl lined with banana leaf. Achiote and orange juice are in the braise, which explains why it tasted savoury yet bright at the same time. Taking the handmade tortillas and running them along the surface of the bowl to capture every last bit of pork juice felt like swiping a finger around the edge of a cake bowl. Zero regrets.

Then came the zarandeado octopus, the thesis of the entire meal. The tentacles arrived lacquered a deep mahogany and fanned across the plate like a sunburst, and the smoke reached me before the first bite, the way a campfire announces itself from across a field. That aroma and flavour is a hard thing to capture in a photo. It was a meaty hunk of seafood, closer to a steak that happened to come from the ocean, and yet it was remarkably tender. A smear of serrano mayo pooled underneath, and an arugula salad with cherry tomatoes, avocado, and cashews sat alongside to cut through the char, and it all worked tucked into a handmade tortilla. I kid you not, this was the dish that turned an easy reservation into a restaurant I'd recommend.

The horchata was our drink of choice, and this was equal parts joy and cinnamon. That means there was a lot of cinnamon and I was totally down for it.

Dessert was the pan de elote, and it was extra moist, more so than any corn cake has a right to be. It arrived on a dried corn husk, draped in dulce de leche and finished with crispy caramel popcorn, and I scraped every last bit of dulce de leche off that husk. Short of licking it clean, I did everything I could to leave nothing behind.

Ambiance

The lighting was dim and flattering, and the room seats about 80 guests. Behind the bar, a wall of lit wooden cubbies each holds a carved hoja santa leaf, and a chandelier of copper-toned leaves hangs over the entrance. The leaf is the logo, and it took me straight back to my time at Rosetta in Mexico City. Orange flowers in white vases and flickering candles sit on the tables, tufted charcoal banquettes glow under strips of indirect light, and papel picado hangs by the door. My favourite surprise was an altar near the bathrooms that looked like it had been lifted straight out of someone’s home in Mexico, which is a restroom report I did not expect to be writing.

The tortillas were the real theatre. A pair of aunties have one job all night: pressing mashed corn into tortillas, which then arrived at our table in a cute little embroidered tortilla pouch. It is a small detail that does a lot of work, and the design served the meal's ambiance.

Service

Service started on the right foot when our wobbly table was fixed at the beginning of the meal. Multiple people checked in on us throughout the night to ask about the food, and when a server noticed me liberally squeezing every lime on the table, they brought over an extra bowl of limes without being asked. That is attentiveness at the level fine dining promises. The pan de elote arrived as a complimentary dessert even though we had said we were full for the night, which I suspect had something to do with the late birthday celebration noted on our reservation.

Pacing was snappy. Food started arriving 15 minutes after we ordered, and we wrapped up the whole meal in an hour. I was also able to reserve the night before, which makes me a little nervous for the restaurant’s longevity. This is the first finer Mexican restaurant in Vancouver, as far as I know, and I suspect that is because most people here believe Mexican food should be cheap. Come here for higher quality ingredients and the level of service you would expect from casual fine dining, not for a sidewalk food truck vibe. At $60-$100 per person all-in, that is exactly what you are paying for, and the price delivered.

Final Thoughts

One-liner: Vancouver’s finest Mexican food in a room that reminds you of the finer restaurants you would book on a holiday in Mexico City.
Highlight: Zarandeado octopus.
Price per person: $60-$100, all-in with drinks, tax, and tip.
Would I go back? Yes, and I hope enough Vancouverites buy into the idea that Mexican food can be fine dining to keep those aunties pressing tortillas.