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“We have kangaroos in the north of Mexico,” says our waiter with a twinkle in his eye and a plate of roo skewers in his hand. I believe him for a moment.

It might be because I’m sipping Snake in the Grass, a cocktail with gin and raicilla (a spirit similar to mezcal) or it might be because Mexi-Melbourne bar and restaurant Mesa Verde, six storeys up and in business for 11 years, creates its own reality. If we can have Yucatan-style pork tacos in a sky-high saloon in the heart of the city, then why can’t there be kangaroos hopping around Chihuahua?

Mesa Verde is in Curtin House, bought derelict in 2000 by investor Tim Peach, who went on to curate it as a “vertical laneway”. Thai restaurant Cookie launched in 2003, then Rooftop Cinema in 2006, late-night cabaret The Toff in Town in 2007 and Mesa Verde in 2013.

Some things have been consistent over the restaurant’s first decade. Riding the juddering elevator is still the vertical version of the vintage City Circle tram. Spaghetti Western projections flicker on the walls and the hefty timber bar with its brass cash registers recalls a Sergio Leone tableau.

“Mesa Verde has always been a meandering celebration of Mexico rather than aspiring to authenticity.”

Over time, the loungey space has been smartened with horseshoe booths and coloured pendant lights. DJs now amp up the late-night vibe, and one end of the drinking counter has become a “raw bar” where chefs shuck oysters to serve with margarita granita shooters ($14) and dress kingfish belly ($18) with frisky pineapple aguachile (“chilli water”).

Mesa Verde has always been a meandering celebration of Mexico rather than aspiring to authenticity and was for years stewarded by local chef and flavour-master Kathy Reed, who’s now like a godmother to the place.

There’s something special about where the venue sits now under chef Jacob Green, who grew up in the American south and cooked for two years in Oaxaca [in southern Mexico] at contemporary restaurant El Destilado before moving to Australia in 2018.

Mexican food is diverse, but you can certainly say it’s built on local ingredients, and when Green came to Melbourne, he sought out Indigenous Australian food.

Those kangaroo skewers ($28) tell the story. The fillet is marinated in an adobo of dried chillies and native mountain pepper leaves, which have a creeping, numbing heat. Skewered and grilled, the roo is dressed with chamoy, a sweet-sour-spicy condiment made with dried fruit – in this case, sour cherries. Crisp, fried saltbush leaves are scattered on top. The meat is juicy and tender in a way that lean kangaroo loin rarely is, the spicing persistent but refined. It’s Aussie but quite Mexican, too.

Green’s southern heritage comes through as well, with pinto beans and smoky ketchup popping up throughout the menu.

Other dishes are more traditional. When ox tongue is good, you know the chef is, too: it’s easy to get wrong. Green’s team braises it slowly in a Mexican “masterstock” that’s reused and layered with flavour daily. The tongue is cooled, then chopped and grilled to become the tender, smoke-tinged hero of excellent tacos ($20 for 2).

In ancient times, Mayans would roast wild boar underground wrapped in
banana leaves. There’s no pig buried on Swanston Street, but marinating pork shoulder in habanero, citrus and achiote (an earthy spice that dyes food red) before a slow bake is the base for satisfying cochinita pibil tacos topped with a piquant, charred salsa ($20 for 2; all tacos are $5 on Tuesdays).

Australian flavours circle back with desserts: doughnuts ($18) are dusted with cinnamon myrtle sugar.

There’s been much talk recently about toxic culture in hospitality, particularly bars, so I was struck by a sign in the gender-neutral toilets that stated zero tolerance for poor behaviour. Mesa Verde was part of a City of Melbourne pilot program called Good Night Out, which helps venues prevent and manage sexual harassment, and staff continue to be trained in protocols.

I sit at the bar one evening, an escapee from sudden rain and all responsibility, drinking an agave flight (from $45 for 3 shots) that culminates in pechuga, a curious mezcal that undergoes its final distillation under a suspended raw chicken breast (the process cooks the meat, which drips its fat and juices into the mezcal). The drink tastes like oatmeal, cinnamon and wonder.

Like wine or sake, mezcal opens a world of culture, method and narrative and the team here – which includes one of Australia’s few tequiliers, Luis Herrera, and bar manager Jay Hackney – happily unspool tales and uncap bottles before sending me, sated and safe, out into the Melbourne night.

This review was originally published in Good Weekend magazine