So there we were strolling down Salida a Celaya, sauntering our way from bar one to bar two, minding our own damn business, and POW!!! They hit us right in the eyes. Two of them. Obviously targeting our dated and dilated pupils. The first was “cochinita”, the second was “pibil” Just two words on a two foot tall easel. Sticking its head above an ornamental grass. But the power of those words.

“I thought that was a tofu shop”, said Cactus Jack. 

“I thought it was a laundry”, said Don Day. 

“I know it used to be a newspaper and magazine shop”, said Jack. “Should we check it out?”

“With the words, ‘Cochinita Pibil’ tugging at our sleeves? Lead on.” said I.

We poked our heads inside the old stone doorway and a good-looking woman in an apron appeared from behind some oregano plants. 

“Have you got cochinita pibil back there”, said Jack.

“I have”, said the woman, with a gleaming smile on her face. “I’ve got cochinita pibil. I’ve got lechon. I’ve got pollo. Are you going to try some?”

“Well we sort of have other plans”, Jack answered. “But tell us more about you and your restaurant?”, which the woman proudly did. But before I talk about this woman called Patty, her restaurant called Peninsula, and her cochinita pibil, I should talk a little about the dish that, like moths to a flame, drew us in.

Cochinita pibil is “the best traditional dish in the world”. Strong words, yes. But they didn’t come out of my mouth. They came from tasteatlas.com and it’s hard for me to argue with them.

In 22 words or less, the dish is pork shoulder, slow roasted primarily in orange juice, achiote paste and a few spices, then shredded and usually served on corn tortillas. Traditionally it was wrapped in banana leaves, buried in a pit and cooked underground. Today, it’s done in a conventional oven.

I think it was, purely, Peninsula Patty’s enthusiasm for her product that convinced us we had to taste it. We ordered three tacos to split, saving room for dinner somewhere else.

There isn’t much room to eat indoors at Peninsula Cocina de Humo; it’s more targeted towards takeout. But there are three old-fashioned picnic tables out front. We did the old-fashioned bum-down-and-rotate routine at one of the tables and very shortly after, Patty delivered the tacos.

They were traditionally topped with lightly pickled onions and untraditionally topped with a couple of Mexican oregano leaves. Moist is important with cochinita pibil and this meat was sopping in juices. The taste balance between meat and sauce was perfect. The heat was “maybe a bit much for some gringo tastes” in Cactus Jack’s (and my) opinion but ideal for us. This was as good a cochinita pibil as I’d ever had.

“Our cochinita is prepared in accordance with ceremonial Mayan tradition” the vivacious Patty told us. “Ingredients are sourced from local peninsular farmers who harvest by hand with ancestral tools.”

“The cooking and smoking process replicates the ceremonial Mayan proceedure with a ceramic oven burning applewood replacing the burying of the food in the ground with hot stones”, Patty continued. “The process takes, on average, 16 hours to complete.”

We had a problem. Peninsula was not on our agenda. The restaurant is, alas, alcohol free. We had places to go. Elbows to bend. 

Patty’s business partner, husband and chef Guillermo had arrived. We started to chat. One hour and nine tacos later, we were still at Peninsula.

The name of the restaurant refers to the Yucatan peninsula. Cochinita Pibil is from the Yucatan. Patty and Guillermo are from the Yucatan. I asked them what brought them to San Miguel de Allende.

“We’ve always been in the restaurant business”, said Guillermo. “We worked for other people. At big hotels, tourist hotels. Then we had a restaurant of our own. And then the pandemic hit.”

I felt their pain. No one was perhaps slapped around harder by Covid than the restaurant biz. I so wanted this couple to succeed. But I sensed their struggle.

After discovering that Peninsula had no wine or beer, I ordered a cola.

“We don’t have any here but I can run up to Oxxo to get you one. We have to watch what we spend. We don’t have a smoker. We need to get one for Guillermo.”

Boy, did I want this couple to succeed.

There are two other tacos on Peninsula’s short and sweet menu and, yes, of course, we had to try them. The pulled pork was good, especially with a dab of Peninsula’s homemade smoked habañero sauce. The chicken was even better, reminiscent of a chicken tinga but a little different. Patty called the dish pollo en escabeche and I asked her about its origins.

“It resulted from the cultural synthesis between Korea and the peninsula”, said Patty. “During the economic boom that resulted from henequen (an agave plant used to make twine) Korean slaves were brought to the region as part of the workforce and created the recipe using local ingredients.”

“We pride ourselves on sharing the culinary heritage of the peninsula at a time when convenience tends to overtake tradition.”

As mentioned earlier, Peninsula is as much about takeout as it is about dining there and the restaurant sells their products as “Heat and Eat Meals”. A 500 gram container of their cochinita pibil, pulled pork, or chicken sells for $300. Any one of them and a dozen tacos would make a very nice dinner for four.

Peninsula Cocina de Humo is located at Salida a Celaya 14 in San Miguel de Allende. They are open from 9:00 to 5:00, Sunday through Friday; 2:00 to 5:00 on Saturday. Their products are also available at the Saturday morning markets at Mercado Sano and in Los Frailes.