Featuring the fine photography of Scott Allison.

It was last January when the mystery began. There was a press release announcing the new edition of the Guía México Gastronómico, the guide to Mexico’s top restaurants, and I was scanning the list for the new and notables. 

I was nearing the end of the list when I saw Sal y Canto and, there beside it, the address. What? San Miguel de Allende, Guanajuato, Mexico. My San Miguel? But where?

I’d never heard of it. Not a word. And my life revolves around food. And I feast on anything related to my beloved San Miguel.

I googled it. And on the second page, I found it. A website. With a very intriguing menu that seemed like a magical mix of Mexican sophisticated and Mexican street food. But that was it. No address. No hours. Not one bit of info at all.

I went to Trip Advisor. It’s the most important site for a restaurant in a tourist town like San Miguel. There were only three opinions and one person from New Jersey had found it back in October and had written a review. The restaurant’s ranking was a lowly 283rd.

But there was a clue. There was an address, Valle de Los Senderos. I presumed it was the restaurant in that residential development just west of town. This must be its latest in a line of attempts at proving a view of La Parroquia isn’t a necessity for a successful place to wine and dine in San Miguel de Allende.

I went on to the Valle de Los Senderos website. There was a beach, a bocce court, a bath house and bicycles but the mystery continued; there was no restaurant.

I plodded on and, again, there was a hint of progess. There was Sal y Canto on the Maps app and there were the hours. 10:00 am to 5:00 pm. But Don Day’s Wife and I seldom do lunch out. Especially when it’s going to cost 150 pesos each way to get there. I decided the mystery of Sal y Canto would go unsolved.

Then, back in February, I got an email from Evan Bernstein. I’d met Evan when he came to my rescue at a wine-pairing dinner. I was wearing my sommelier’s chain (purchased not earned) when he saw my corkscrewing skills couldn’t keep up with the thirst of the crowd. 

“Can I help”, he said. Could he ever. And he did. Wonderfully.

Now he was suggesting that Don Day’s Wife and I join him and his partner, Scott, at, are you ready, a restaurant called Sal y Canto. The second chapter of the mystery had begun.

We arrived at Sal y Canto at 7:00 pm on a Friday night. The parking lot was eeringly empty. The architecture below though was very commanding, a warm glow from inside very inviting.

An aproned waiter led us to our table. The place was classy but still casual and comfortable. The light level was perfect. The music level was lowered when requested.

The vista was delightful; the restaurant is perched on a terrace, over a pool, a pond and sandy beach; the last light of dusk placed a glow on the town and mountains beyond.

We were the only people there. But the night was young and we were old. The Queretaro crowd doesn’t arrive until around eight. The Mexico City crowd later than that.

Now call me old-fashioned but, as much as I hated those oversized, leather-bound monsters of yesteryear, I dislike today’s electronic menus more. Yes, I know they’re safer in times of covid but, when most the kitchen is unmasked, I wonder.

I searched for the wine on my iPhone. None.

“The wines are on a separate device”, said Evan, as he summoned the waiter and, after a couple of operator errors, I was able to open one of the most diversified lists I’ve seen in San Miguel. The range of grapes, regions, countries, styles and price levels was broad but not bewildering.

Price was our primary influence and led us to a Sauvignon Blanc, Canto de Sirenas, from Viñedo Los Arcángales, a winery a few kilometers down the highway.

I was still struggling with the mini menu for food. It wasn’t just trying to read the 7-point type; it wasn’t that I couldn’t find anything I wanted; there were just so many appetizing dishes I wanted to try.

I wanted the “inflatable” onion soup just because of that word inflatable. I wanted the crema de alcachofa just because I couldn’t remember ever seeing artichoke soup. I wanted the grilled endives just because they were stuffed with “caramelized peanut praline”. I wanted the cornish hen, the pork ribs or the beef brisket just because I want anything and everything that’s smoked. I wanted the tacos de lengua, al pastor and barbacoa just because I wanted to see what a high-end restaurant would do with low-end classics.

Don Day’s Wife and I did order the pork belly al pastor tacos along with roasted cauliflower, an octopus quesadilla and the “upside down” shrimp soccarat.

“You’ve got to try the brioche as well”, said Evan, “It’s amazing. I’ll order one. There’s enough to share.”

The bread arrived first, in a cast-iron pan, straight from the oven. It looked like a giant cinnamon bun. It tasted more like challah bread, but wonderfully savory, especially when the herb butter soaked in. I didn’t realize what the decoration was until Evan told me it was huitlacoche. It was one of the most unique breads I had ever tasted. It was one of the best breads I had ever tasted.

Sal y Canto has a long list of vegetarian dishes and with roast cauliflower on so many San Miguel menus, it’s great for comparison purposes.

Having pescatarians Scott and Evan on the other side of the table to share it with made it an even better choice. Sal y Canto does a couple of things differently. They use a Romescu sauce but one that’s a little different than the one they serve with fish in Spain. They char the top a little. And they very generously grate a lot of aged Parmesan on it. I had one complaint; the kitchen made the classic mistake with cauliflower; the center of the head was too tough to eat.

What attracted us most about the octopus quesadilla was the price. 75 pesos. How can any octopus dish cost so little. The edible flower decoration must have cost close to that. It was more like an empanada than a quesadilla but we loved the crispy crust and the red sauce it was bathing in.

I’m not sure how the kitchen cooked the pork belly for the al pastor tacos but I suspect the meat spent some time in a smoker. It had a slight char but was still moist and juicy. Generous in quantity too. The sauce was not your usual achiote red but a fresher, fruitier green. The tacos were a definite step above the taco stand standard.

There was now one other table enjoying dinner. This food was extraordinarily good. The ambience was delightful. They’d be lined up in Centro to get in to Atrio or Quince by this time. But this place was as empty as a politician’s promises. We were delving deeper into the mystery.

The main was another tough decision until Scott and Evan made it easy. They both ordered the Soccarat Volteado, the upside down soccarat with shrimp. We used the “if it’s good enough for the regulars” reasoning and decided to also order the soccarat and split it.

OK, knowing that for the first 60 years of my life I had no idea what soccarat was, an explanation: For many, the most treasured part of a paella is the part at the bottom of the pan where the juices start to congeal and the rice starts to form a crust. This is the soccarat. This is the part of a paella where arguments are started and friendships are ended.

Sal y Canto solves those disagreements with a dish that’s OD’d in crust. The timing for the dish must approach the difficulties of the rhythm method of birth control with only seconds being the difference between a char and a burn but Sal y Canto’s kitchen nailed it.

Another table had arrived but had shared a dessert and cocktails and were gone, smiling with contentment as they passed us. I had to know more about the food. I heartily suggested we order two desserts for the center of the table. Suggestions don’t have to be strong when it comes to sweets.

I heard three of the sweetest words in the server’s description, cheesecake and crème brulée. The two were ordered.

Now both looked spectacular but neither one looked like a cheesecake or a crème brulée.

The first was creatively topped with spun sugar which, of course, generated the “who had gone the longest since candy floss” discussion but, under it, yes, there was the torched sugar crust of a brulé and, below it, yes, there was the cream. This cream was a little different though, good but a little gritty with a surprise scoop of goat’s cheese ice cream in the middle.

“The texture is different because the crème is made from corn”, the server told me. Nice Mexican accent I thought.

The cheesecake was berried under a lot of goodies: A very fruity sorbet, some very fresh berries, a crispy wafer. Under it the taste and texture was a cheese far from Philly cream. I thought it was the popular-in-Mexico Edam. I was corrected to Saint-Paulin.

This food was extraordinary. I had to delve deeper into the plot of this mystery. We’d already been told that Sal y Canto’s owner Juan Pablo Ballesteros was busy celebrating his anniversary. I asked if we could meet chef Atzin Santos.

Out came a guy, not in a chef’s jacket but there were a few tats.

“Chef Atzin?”, I asked.

“No Senor”, he replied. “Chef Santos is in Houston at another restaurant that he is involved with. I am Carlos, Carlos Serrano, the chef de cocina.”

“And will you show us your kitchen”, I asked.

“Of course”, he replied, but instead of directing us through the swinging doors he began leading us out through the front doors. What is it the narrator says in those mysteries? The plot thickens?

First stop was what Carlos told us was the re-creation of an ancient clay comal “where all of our tortillas are made.” Nice.

Second stop. Through a door, around the corner, and still outside. A bank of fridges. I could see some fish and poultry through the glass of a door. 

“May I see the chickens you’ve got hanging”, I asked.

“Cornish hens” said Carlos, showing me the biggest one I’d ever seen. I’m not big on poultry but I was suddenly big on these birds.

Around the back we continued, Scott’s iPhone lighting our path, until we reached a hole in the ground. Don’t tell me, I thought, they have their very own barbacoa pit. I’ve been to too many barbacoa joints and I’ve never seen an on-site pit. I’d always wanted to see an on-site barbacoa pit. And here was one where I least expected it.

“I do it birria-style, with its own consomé”, said Carlos.

The tour wasn’t over. There was one more stop. At a giant smoker where I was happy to discover that the brisket that was about to occupy the inside for the next few hours was Mexican beef.

We thanked Carlos Serrano. We congratulated him on his kitchen. We turned and took one last look at Sal y Canto and breathed one of those smiling with happiness sighs.

It was 9:30 pm. We were the last ones to leave. I hadn’t solved the mystery. Perhaps I’d only complicated the plot. I didn’t find any reason why it took me months to discover Sal y Canto. I couldn’t find any reason why such an extraordinary restaurant was running on empty on a Friday night. 

Scott Allison sent me his marvelous photographic reminders the next morning. Evan Bernstein emailed me shortly after. 

“It is a shame that you did not get to meet Juan Pablo, the owner, as he is such an awesome individual. He did text me via Whattsapp and said to feel free to ask him any questions. Perhaps you can come out here to meet him before you leave…if you want to come back let me know.”

“I definitely want to go back, Evan. I definitely want to go. You know how hard it is to put a really good mystery down.”

Sal y Canto is located at Carretera San Miguel de Allende a Dolores Hidalgo Km. 3.5, Valle de Los Senderos, San Miguel de Allende, Mexico. The restaurant is open from 10:00 am to 5:00 pm, Sunday, Monday and Wednesday; 10:00 am to 11:00 pm, Thursday, Friday and Saturday.