With Decimo Head Chef Paola Arenas for The Standard, London
Mexico doesn’t announce itself loudly. It builds flavour gradually, with intention.
For Paola Arenas, that understanding isn’t something newly discovered — it’s something she grew up with. As a Mexican chef cooking from within her own culture, her authority comes from lived experience: from family kitchens, from markets, from repetition. In Mexico, sauce isn’t an accessory. It’s the backbone.
This trip to Mexico City wasn’t about inspiration in the superficial sense. It was about returning to the source. Spending time looking closely at the foundations of flavour, and reminding ourselves why Mexican cooking holds the weight it does.
Mornings begin with tamales.
Most days started simply, eating tamales as they’re meant to be eaten — unceremonious, hot from the steam, often standing up.
There’s nothing performative about a tamal. But technically, it’s precise. The hydration of the masa. The way steam cooks through the filling. The patience required to get the texture right. Flavour develops quietly inside its wrapping.
Watching and cooking them again reinforced something fundamental: not every ingredient needs exposure or embellishment. Sometimes the work happens unseen.
A walk through Mercado de Jamaica is a reminder that Mexican cooking begins long before a pan is heated.
Rows of dried chiles, each with its own character. Herbs still carrying soil. Flowers stacked high enough to feel architectural. The market isn’t just a place to buy ingredients — it’s an archive.
Chiles aren’t defined by heat alone. They bring sweetness, bitterness, smoke, and acidity. Understanding them properly means knowing how they’ve been dried, how they’re toasted, how they’re soaked. Sauce begins with selection.
Here, Paola wasn’t a visitor discovering ingredients — she was contextualising them. Explaining nuance. Explaining why substitution matters. In Mexican cooking, small decisions compound.
Sauce at the centre.
In many kitchens, sauce supports the plate. In Mexico, it carries it. Moles, salsas, pipianes aren’t rigid formulas. They shift with season and with the cook. They demand time and judgment. The depth isn’t forced — it’s layered. What’s striking is the confidence. Nothing feels rushed or overworked. The complexity is there, but it’s controlled. That approach feels increasingly important at Decimo. Letting flavour develop properly. Allowing sauces to do the heavy lifting. Removing unnecessary noise.
Cooking at home.
One of the most grounding parts of the trip was cooking with Paola’s family at her home just outside the city. No notebooks. No agenda. Just everyday food.
We worked with nopal from the family farm — grilled, stewed, softened slowly until texture became the focus. Cactus demands attention. It changes with heat. It needs patience. You can’t rush it without losing what makes it interesting.
There was more tamal work too — adjusting fillings, paying attention to how fat moves through masa, how moisture shifts over time. This is research in its most honest form: cooking, tasting, adjusting.
Evenings were looser but still instructive — tacos eaten shoulder to shoulder, a stop at a World’s 50 Best bar in Condesa, conversations that moved easily between food, music and the pace of the city.
Hospitality in Mexico City feels instinctive.
The purpose of this trip wasn’t to return with a checklist of dishes. It was to recalibrate.
Back at Decimo, that thinking is filtering into the kitchen in subtle but meaningful ways. Sauces are given more space and time. Chiles are handled with greater precision. Steaming and wrapping techniques influence how certain dishes are approached. Vegetables are treated with more intent.
More broadly, it reinforces something important: if Decimo is going to contribute to the conversation around Mexican cooking in London, it has to do so with clarity and depth. Not imitation. Not theatrics. Study, understanding, and a point of view shaped by a Mexican chef cooking from within her own culinary language.
Mexico doesn’t hurry. It doesn’t need to.
That lesson feels particularly relevant in London right now. This wasn’t a change of direction for Decimo. It was a reminder of where the centre of gravity should be — in process, in patience, and in sauce that holds the entire plate together.
