Janet Becerra never planned to run a popup, never imagined she’d be cooking the food of her heritage in a North End neighborhood 25 miles away from (and many shades whiter than) her hometown of Kent. Never imagined she’d make it a permanent thing. But in restaurants, sometimes great things happen when plot twists override intention.

When Becerra’s popup, Pancita, set up a six-month residence inside the Ravenna restaurant Pair, it was a lovely bit of news. But when Pancita and Pair decided to make their arrangement permanent? That divine alliance knocked Seattle dining’s space-time continuum right on its ass. Suddenly we have an exciting new modern Mexican restaurant—and a reliable destination that had already proved itself one of the city’s most exciting places to eat.

The half-year means servers already work with casual assurance. The mezcal-tamarind sour cocktail is already dialed. Becerra has regulars; the chocoflan dessert has a following. Pancita hits Seattle’s sweet spots for restaurants: ambitious food, but no one raises an eyebrow if you show up in sweatpants.

The heyday of elastic waistbands is part of Pancita’s origin story. During the 2020 shutdown, while Instagram was busy working on sourdough starters, Becerra used that unforeseen time to get down with masa. She started nixtamalizing corn. “As a cook, I should know how to do this,” she says. As a Mexican American, she didn’t want the skills her grandmother wielded to get lost with her.

Nixtamalizing is the time-intensive journey that dried corn undertakes to become masa, the ground dough that begets tortillas, tamales, pupusas, and other wonderful things. Powdered masa makes this way easier, but doesn’t come close to producing the fresh tortillas Becerra remembers from childhood visits to Michoacán. “It doesn’t taste the same; it doesn’t evoke the same feelings,” she says. “At least to me.”

Pancita’s menu lists the day’s corn varieties at the top of the menu the way an oyster bar might call out its fresh sheet of blue pools and baywater sweets. Nearly every entree comes with a basket of tortillas forged on Becerra’s hot-pink hand press. They have both softness and tensile strength—there’s a certain twinkle to their flavor. A section of the menu dedicated to masa bites harbors some of Pancita’s many high notes, like a tuna tostada in homage to a version at Mexico City’s Contramar. Becerra layers slabs of albacore over a bed of Japanese kewpie mayonnaise punched with morita chilies. She grinds the corn (a Tuxpeño Amarillo from southerly Chiapas) for the tostada a little rougher than she does for tortillas. “It’s almost like a Frito, the texture.” She means that in a very good way.

Before Pancita, Becerra practiced demi glaces and tuiles in culinary school; iterated burgers and plated tasting menus at Eden Hill and Eden Hill Provisions. What she didn’t cook—professionally at least—was Mexican food. Then came the stay-at-home order.

Housebound, Becerra and her partner, Jonathan Ragsdale, experimented with food that fused their respective backgrounds. Eventually the joint project shifted to a solo one as Becerra explored more Mexican cooking. A few years earlier, she’d sold her car to help fund a three-month unpaid stage at Pujol, Mexico City’s fine dining lodestar with a worldwide reputation. Six-day workweeks involved a ton of prep work, but also a window into a new generation of chefs using highest-level ingredients to reframe Mexican food traditions. She wanted to do that too—minus the unsustainable standards of fine dining.

At first, Becerra served tostadas at local bars and branched into tasting dinners. In a city that teemed with pandemic popups, Pancita stood out. A mutual friend introduced her to Sarah Penn, whose two longtime Ravenna restaurants were the neighborhood’s culinary equivalent of a soft and fuzzy cardigan. Her original spot, Pair, was still closed. Penn hosted Becerra for a popup. “The minute I tasted her food,” she remembers, “I was like, Okay, it’s all happening for you.” She invited Becerra to do a residency.

Becerra was hesitant: “This is not the neighborhood where I originally saw myself.” She’s a South End girl; she thought a restaurant of hers would be the same. She didn’t feel that a part of town with this density of yoga pants would appreciate or accept her food. Ultimately she decided, “What do I have to lose? It’s six months.”

The caesar salad is the first clue: The dining room’s pre-existing plaid curtains and French country grandma aesthetic have become a front for serious ambition. This dish has devolved into America’s culinary safety net, but in Becerra’s version, serrano chilies give a pleasant jolt of heat; radicchio balances out the typical romaine. Turns out tortilla crisps make really good croutons. “We like having this salad because the caesar actually comes from Mexico,” our server tells us when we order. A chef in Tijuana invented it, according to legend. This version reminds you why it became a classic.

The official Pancita sign is still on order to hang outside, but Becerra has already made this place her own. Masa certainly stars on her menu, but it shares the stage with some very accomplished players. A pork chop, perfectly cooked, fat cap still on, arrives in a pool of green pipian, a bright sauce made with pumpkin seeds (plate-licking good sauce is a common theme at Pancita). Becerra devised a chile en nogada stuffed with not-very-traditional (but very seasonal) ingredients like curry squash. Ribbons of quesillo cheese, some tomatillos, and salsa macha make you rethink everything you once knew about tomato salads.

Pancita’s kitchen blocks off two days to prep the mole that douses the Mad Hatcher half chicken. It’s Oaxacan-style, drawing a direct flavor line from chocolate to spice. Even the fruit plate hits big, thanks to a pool of housemade chamoy. But Becerra also brings a broad culinary lens to Mexican food—like the horchata she makes with black rice and earl grey tea.

Partnering with Penn long-term gave Becerra a rare scaffolding. She didn’t have to deal with liquor licenses or set up a reservation system. Penn in turn got someone who’s ambitious and plans to stick around. This unusual arrangement is probably why Pancita felt warm and seasoned right from the start.

Back in the day(s before Covid), popups were a fun novelty. Now they’re a serious tool for talented chefs. In Becerra’s case, she ended up in a part of town she never anticipated, but got to bypass taking out loans and going through the multiple circles of permitting hell that usually precede a restaurant opening in Seattle. Also, scaling those hurdles often requires some measure of bravado, which isn’t interchangeable with talent. With Pancita, says Becerra, “It took me a while to have the confidence to do what I wanted.” We need more avenues for chefs like her.

She plans to make the dining room “less grandma, more abuela.” Sure, sometimes she sees diners eating her rustic suadero tacos with a knife and fork. But there’s joy in seeing her food on equally ambitious footing with European-led fine dining or fancy Northwest cuisine. Each of her dishes gets us a little bit closer to a truth Becerra’s always known, “If you have a good tortilla, you’ll have a great meal. No matter what.” 

Pancita

5501 30th Ave NE, Ravenna, 206-526-7655; pairseattle.com