Amá is a peek at the future of Philly’s Mexican food scene

Frankie Ramirez says he was not ready to be an executive chef when he was chosen to launch the kitchen at Stephen Starr’s LMNO in 2020. He was not ready to tame the brutal heat of its live fire hearth; he was not ready to fight the corporate bosses who kept urging him to abandon his regional aspirations and just make nachos; he was not yet ready, in fact, to even cook Mexican food.

“I was scared of how other Mexicans would judge me,” Ramirez says.

Ramirez was born in Mexico City and acquired his culinary chops in Philadelphia restaurants such as Morimoto, Bliss, Tredici and Parc, where he was a sous-chef for six years. But he didn’t grow up learning to cook. The task of suddenly having to figure out how to nixtamalize corn to make fresh tortillas was a challenge that nearly brought him to tears.

“It was the hardest thing I’ve ever done,” said Ramirez, who unlocked the secrets of masa during an emergency midnight nixtamalizing session with his mother-in-law. She taught him to listen to the dried kernels as their marble-like hardness softened in the pot against the stirring paddle — to “do it by feeling and to be patient because it’s a living thing.”

Flash forward five years, and step one block south on Front Street from LMNO into the airy white dining room of two-month-old Amá. I’m wrapping the most incredibly tender lamb birria inside the warm kerchiefs of velvety tortillas, and it’s clear that Ramirez is more than ready now. He’s figured out those tortillas — and so much more in his quest to redefine the possibilities of contemporary Mexican cooking in Philadelphia.

Take a gulp of the briny oysters topped with a frozen green snowball of salsa verde-cucumber shaved ice, the vegetal spice and tang blooming as the oysters warm across your palate. Swish the tempura-fried fronds of a Mexican herb called huauzontle (aka “Aztec broccoli”) through earthy salsa macha and sip Pepe El Grillo, a bracing cocktail infused with sotol (a spirit made from the desert spoon plant) and cactus. And behold Amá’s seasonal tlayuda for July, a paper-thin tortilla as broad as a pizza, crisped over the coals and topped with a brilliant yellow burst of zucchini flowers. It’s a snapshot of summer sunshine, layered with herbaceous epazote pesto, melted Oaxaca cheese, and tangy dollops of buffalo milk burrata.

“My goal is to change the way people stereotype our cuisine, and I think the time is right for Philly,” said Ramirez, 38, explaining the ambitions that he and his partners — his wife Veronica Ramirez and Delaware County restaurateurs Crisalita Mata and Roberto Medina (La Catrina, Agave, Spasso) — have brought to this vast space at Front and Oxford streets.

Paired with the rebirth of the upscale Tequilas and its inventive “Guadaladelphia” companion cafe and cocktail bar, La Jefa, it’s a golden moment for the city’s Mexican restaurant scene — and one of the top storylines in Philly food this year.

Amá, which is short for “mother” in Spanish, has much in its favor as as a major destination, including a sleek design for the 110-seat dining room from Boxwood Architects with white plaster walls, wooden beams and a wall of cafe windows along Front Street. A picture view into the kitchen gives diners glimpses of fresh tortillas in process, as well as the massive nine-foot grill, where wagyu picanha steaks for the carne asada sizzle over flaring fruitwood flames beneath guajillo-roasted chickens dangling in the smoke overhead.

Amá’s drink program is just as eager to avoid clichés as the food menu, with cocktails like the Tejuino, which incorporates the funk of fermented corn and sotol; a colorful drink called It’s Always Sunny in Puebladelphia made from tomato shrub and roasted poblanos; and a Oaxacan “old fashioned” riff called the Dixbee, made with mole negro and topped with a lacy black tuile. Beverage director Diego Langarica deliberately left margaritas off his menu, although he’s willing to make them.

That didn’t stop our server from essentially sneering at a guest who inquired about a margarita (“It’s just well tequila,” she said dismissively to the woman, who happened to be my boss, casting a frost over the start of our meal.) It was not the only misstep with service, which remains Amá’s weak link: At a previous meal, our server abandoned my table of four during the entree course of our $600-plus meal. Meanwhile, plates were not promptly cleared between courses, food was delivered without cutlery, water glasses were not well-tended, and if someone was interested in one of the 30-plus mezcals or 25 tequilas, there were few servers roaming the floor who could speak to them in detail, and no printed list with prices to be found until recently, more than a month into operation.

Once I finally had general manager Stacey Becerril‘s attention, we could not have found a more passionate ambassador for Amá’s agave spirits, complete with tableside tastings to narrow our picks (the Palomas Mensajeras, $19; and Respiral Aureliano Hernandez, $23, were stellar!) Amá’s food-running staff was also so impressively well-versed in the detailed backstories of every dish, even my snubbed guest warmed up to appreciate the food on our table.

To begin with, the chips and salsa presentation here is unlike any other (that is, except for its New York inspiration at Empellón). Toasty shards of tlayuda crisps arrive upright like tortilla sails beside six colorful salsas that paint a picture of Mexico’s regional diversity, from the mild white smoked cashew salsa from Baja to a funky Michoacán-style salsa shaded with a salted lake fish called charales, and the ashy heat of a black Yucatan salsa made from burnt habaneros.

More of those crispy tortillas star in Amá’s two seafood tostadas, one topped with raw bluefin tuna, avocado, and nutty salsa macha, the other a refreshing tribute to Mexico City’s street food with poached rock shrimp, pico de gallo, and tangy chamoy. The seafood theme continues to the menu’s only taco offering, a pair of tortillas cradling juicy chunks of swordfish radiating an “Arabe” rub fragrant with fennel and za’atar over jocoque, a labneh-like cultured buttermilk that is an ode to the influence of Lebanese immigrants to Puebla. (And perhaps also a wink to Goldie across the street?)

The Milpa salad is perhaps Amá’s boldest dish, a tuft of purslane and pea shoots over cuminy tomatillo dressing that’s tangled up with nostalgic childhood memories from the family corn fields of Ramirez, chef de cuisine, Guillermo Luna Pozos, and sous-chef Erika Hernandez. The trio added various beans, cured nopales, crunchy nixtamal corn and huitlacoche into the mix, along with chapulines (grasshoppers) like the ones they used to chase, and which lend a toasty snap to each bite.

Amá’s large sharing plates are built for mass appeal, and each has a unique draw, from the zesty Peruvian marinade on that chicken to the chochoyote masa dumplings fried in ancho butter alongside the steak to the stunning depth of flavors (smoky meco chilies, canella, avocado leaves) swirling through the birria’s consommé.

I admired the shatteringly crispy skin of the butterflied striped bass, marinated in sour oranges and chilies before roasting over the coals for the Yucatan-style Tikin Xic. And I can think of no octopus dish more epic than Amá’s pulpo, all eight arms crisped over the flames and served with two salsas, a sweet potato, and a forbidden black rice mixed with gingery coconut milk and bits of octopus head toasted in smoked paprika. For the right crowd, it’s worth the $110 splurge. It’s little wonder all 10 available each night sell-out.

For dessert, Ramirez does something he always refused to do at LMNO, which is make a churro. He does it with dramatic flair, serving a whole spiral of fried dough with sides of cajeta and Mexican chocolate. It’s fun, but not my favorite finale. That would be either the cappuccino tamal whose chocolate masa cake is paired with cafe de olla coffee ice cream, or his boozy twist on the tres leches variation stuffed with flan known as “beso de angel.” Ramirez infuses his sponge cake not only with three kinds of dairy, but also mezcal, then sandwiches it around a tangy custard of mango panna cotta, a grooved wave of chantilly on top dusted with the licorice scent of hoja santa.

It’s a confection he’s dedicated to his wife, Veronica, whom he calls “Amá.” Not only is she the mother of their two children, but for Ramirez, she has played a key role of protector in his life, from the moment they first met at Bliss, where she taught him his first line cook position, to fighting for him to achieve his restaurant dreams. “I wouldn’t have accomplished much if she wasn’t in my corner all these years,” Ramirez said.

101 W. Oxford St., Philadelphia, PA 19122, 215-933-0707; amaphl.com

Dinner Sunday through Thursday, 5-10 p.m.; Friday and Saturday, until 11 p.m.

Plates range from $12 to $110 (for whole octopus), but most plates intended for sharing hover between $35 and $65.

Excellent for gluten-free diners, with about 75% of the menu naturally gluten-free and great care to avoid cross-contamination.

Menu highlights: chips and salsas; scallop tiradito; aguachile del dia (oysters); milpa salad; seasonal tlayuda (calabaza); swordfish taco; carne asada; lamb neck birria; whole octopus; cappuccino tamal; tres leches.

Drinks: A creative, modern take on Mexican cocktails incorporating spirits like sotol, savory ingredients (from nopales to mole and grasshoppers) as well as a substantial agave spirits list. Margaritas are not on the menu, but available to those who dare to ask.