Mario Dominguez Hernandez lives in Hinesburg with his family, but he grew up in Mexico City. In the country’s massive capital, he could find food representing every one of Mexico’s 31 states. “Each state is their own world,” the 50-year-old chef said. “In cooking, they have their own techniques and their own ingredients.”

The dishes, he said, range from the Yucatán’s pit-roasted meat seasoned with seeds from the region’s achiote trees to Michoacán-style pork carnitas cooked in hammered copper pots to fish tacos from Baja California.

Dominguez Hernandez was introduced to a different kind of Mexican food when he arrived in the U.S. more than 20 years ago and started working in an Ann Arbor, Mich., burrito shop.

In Mexico, he knew burritos as simple, compact flour tortilla wraps filled with cheese and beans. In Michigan, Americanized burritos approaching the size of a newborn came stuffed with rice, beans, meats, melted cheese, salsa and even guacamole. They had their charms but weren’t what Dominguez Hernandez recognized as authentically Mexican.

The young cook understood, he said. He recalled thinking, We’re in America, so we need to try to make something for the American.

These days, Dominguez Hernandez works as a line cook at Hinesburgh Public House and partners with his wife on Las Hermosas, a pop-up event and catering company specializing in authentic tacos. He recognizes the cultural balancing act facing a new crop of sit-down Mexican restaurants in northern Vermont. While their regional influences vary, they offer a mix of classic dishes along with well-established Mexican American hybrids.

For example, the Casa restaurant group’s trio of owners hail from the state of Jalisco, but the popularity of their Tex-Mex and Cal-Mex menu has powered them to open three Vermont spots within 13 months. The family that owns Los Jefes has shared dishes from their native Guerrero in a new location in St. Albans since last spring. A pair of longtime friends with Indigenous Oaxacan roots started serving scratch-made traditional dishes at El Comal in Williston at the beginning of January. A couple of weeks later, a Southern California native brought what he calls “California-style Mexican” to Middlesex with Chico’s Tacos & Bar.

Customer tastes vary as widely as the food these restaurants offer. Read on to find what you like, and buen provecho — enjoy.

— M.P.

Masa Masters

El Comal, 28 Taft Corners Shopping Center, Williston, 764-0279, on Instagram: @elcomalwillistonvt

The décor at El Comal in Williston is minimal. One might even describe the cement-floored dining room of the small Oaxacan-style restaurant as austere. A few strips of woven red cloth hang around a window into the kitchen and a couple of pieces of traditional terra-cotta cookware, including an example of the restaurant’s eponymous round comal griddle, sit on the window shelf.

Asked if there were plans to add art, El Comal co-owner Cayetano Santos, 35, pulled a framed, intricately embroidered shirt from behind the register and said he just needed time to put more in frames.

Since they opened their restaurant in January, Santos and his business partner, Casimiro De Jésus Martínez, 36, have been focused on the food. The two met while attending high school in Albany, N.Y. Both have worked for years in restaurants, and Santos is also an interpreter of Indigenous Oaxacan languages such as their native Triqui.

At El Comal, the pair work with a small team of family and friends to re-create the food of their heritage as closely as possible. They source a rainbow of heirloom corn varieties, beans and dried chiles from Indigenous farmers. They char tomatoes and tomatillos on comals to make salsas and grind spices, toasted chiles, Oaxacan chocolate and garlic in a stone mortar and pestle for sauce bases. They go through the time- and labor-intensive process of nixtamalizing corn by boiling it with lime and then grind fresh masa daily for housemade tortillas and other corn-based menu items.

The color of that masa depends on which corn is in rotation. On my first visit, the tortilla for a simple but delicious sirloin taco ($8) and a triangular, bean-stuffed, griddled tetela ($6) were made with yellow corn masa. During a second meal, the soft, warm tortillas that came with our spicy chicken mole ($27); crunchy toasted tortillas called totopos that paired with chunky guacamole ($9.50); and a small, thick round of griddled masa known as a memelita topped with refried beans and optional steak ($10) were all the purplish hue of a blue-corn batch.

“We have one corn just for pozole,” Santos said, referring to the soup ($16) made with soaked and hand-peeled kernels, scratch-made broth and shredded chicken. I savored each soul-nourishing spoonful, liberally laced with El Comal’s smoky, guajillo chile-based red salsa. (Off-menu spicy salsa is available for chile-heads.)

Though not trumpeted on the menu, many fresh vegetables and meats — such as the pozole chicken and the full leg draped in a complex fruity, chocolatey, chile-warmed mole — come from Vermont farmers, including Misty Knoll Farms in New Haven, Morgan Brook Farm in Westford and Jericho Settlers Farm.

Ingredient quality and sourcing, Santos said, “is really important for the flavor.” That attention to detail extends to technique. Do not expect to zip in and out of El Comal. “Everything we do is to order,” he said.

Along with décor additions, the co-owners expect to start serving beer, spirits and cocktails within a couple months.

While I was chatting with Santos, Richmond’s Farr Farms delivered several flats of eggs, which star sunny-side up in the restaurant’s chilaquiles ($17) with fried tortilla strips, tangy green tomatillo salsa and crumbled fresh cheese called queso fresco. Clearly, a brunch visit is in order.

— M.P.

House Party

Casa Azteca, 1450 Barre-Montpelier Rd., Berlin, 505-4064, casaaztecavt.com

Casa Grande, 22 Merchants Row, Williston, 662-5632, casagrandevt.com

Casa Real, 85 South Park Dr., Colchester, 495-5952, casarealvt.com

With margaritas almost big enough to swim in, insistently festive décor and hefty servings of American-style Mexican food, the three Casa restaurants in Chittenden and Washington counties are all about satisfying the palates of as many Vermonters as possible.

“It’s Mexican food that pleases the American taste,” said Francisco Guzman, 42, who teamed up with his 32-year-old brother Ricardo and their friend Eduardo Fuentes, also 32, to open Casa Real in Colchester in December 2023. Lines soon wound out the door, and within a year the trio had added Casa Grande in Williston and Casa Azteca in Berlin for a total of 500 seats.

The Jalisco natives each own Mexican restaurants in other U.S. states. They landed in Vermont “almost by accident,” Francisco said, when Ricardo started considering locations in Plattsburgh, N.Y., and a real estate agent suggested looking across the lake.

The Casa restaurants, which share the same encyclopedic menu, evoke opinions as strong as their margaritas. Fans praise the massive servings of Tex-Mex and Cal-Mex-influenced food, professional service, and merry maraca parade ambience. Detractors sniff at the lack of nuanced flavors and the Americanized food, which even includes chicken wings and deep-fried cheesecake.

When a friend revealed that he fell in the pro-Casa camp, I asked why. “The quality varies from really quite good to mediocre, but I am always happy,” he responded. His first visit to Casa Real reminded him of Tex-Mex places in his suburban Cleveland hometown, where servers and some customers are native Spanish speakers. “It was a completely different cultural and culinary experience than any I had had in Burlington,” he said.

Like my friend, I’ve found the food uneven, though the service is among the most efficient I’ve experienced recently in Vermont.

The highlight of my inaugural Casa Real meal were bites stolen from a dining companion’s tacos de birria ($14.99), which were cheesy and fried crunchy around shreds of beef with a cup of slurp-worthy dipping broth. Less enticing was my carnitas plate ($15.99), on which tender meat had crisply browned edges but lacked flavor.

On a visit to Casa Grande, I invited a friend, a Casa fan who grew up in Texas, to enlighten me. Before we even sat down in the busy Williston restaurant, a server delivered chips and salsa, swiftly followed by the tableside guacamole ($9.99) cart, whose steward seemed to know we wanted it before we did. It took about as long for her to make a good, classic guacamole from scratch as it took our main dishes to arrive. Five minutes from order to delivery hints at many premade components: a plus for efficiency, a minus for freshness.

My Texan friend beamed over his Casa Grande burrito ($15.50), which evoked childhood taste memories. I could imagine a ravenous teenager wolfing down the burly burrito striped with a Mexican flag of sauces and stuffed with a tasty mash of chicken, beans, rice, lettuce, sour cream, jalapeños and pico de gallo. For anyone else, it was at least two meals.

The special fajitas ($21.50) were similarly abundant, a heap of well-seasoned chicken, steak, shrimp, bell peppers and onions, though regrettably oily from the chorizo sausage.

A repeat of my Casa Real carnitas order came with sad, gray hunks of meat, lacking any hint of browning this time. (Francisco later told me I could have requested it fried, not something I’ve ever needed to do.)

I consoled myself with the “skinny” margarita ($15.99) made with fresh-squeezed juice. It delivered a nice tart balance, unlike those ordered with sour mix. At a nearby table, maracas punctuated a rousing server chorus of “Happy Birthday to You.”

— M.P.

Cali Cool

Chico’s Tacos & Bar, 970 Route 2, Middlesex, chicostacos802.com

Chico’s Tacos & Bar’s gordo burrito is as fat as its name promises: The sauce-slathered, overstuffed entrée is so huge that it only has a 70 percent finish rate.

Big portions are a signature of Southern California-style Mexican food, owner-operator Andrew Lay said. When you leave his new spot across from Middlesex’s Camp Meade, “you’re not gonna be hungry.”

Lay, 42, opened Chico’s in the former Filling Station on January 15. The Fullerton, Calif., native is a U.S. Army veteran and culinary school-trained chef. He’s got 13 years of fine-dining experience, but for his first restaurant, he thought Vermont deserved some of the Mexican food he grew up with.

“In Southern California, it’s all about freshness,” Lay said.

Originally, he planned to serve a fast-food, counter-service version of SoCal Mexican cuisine. Soon after opening, he realized people wanted to sit and hang out in the quirky 24-seat space, which has been updated with a bright desert mural.

On a Saturday afternoon in early March, a group of friends caught up over nachos and lunch beers at Chico’s small bar. My husband, toddler and I grabbed a table near the garage door — still closed on that snowy day, but Lay said he’ll open it once it’s warmer outside than in.

My husband and I split a nicely executed classic margarita ($14), and a tamarind Jarritos ($3) — my favorite flavor of the Mexican soda. To eat, he took on the challenge of the gordo ($18, plus $3 for beef barbacoa). He finished it, but only because I couldn’t stop picking at pieces of the rich, best-selling barbacoa, a slow-cooked filling which Lay makes with short rib and beef tongue.

“Everyone hears ‘beef tongue’ and is like, ‘Eww,’” Lay said. “But it tastes like roast beef.”

I opted for tacos, ordering guajillo chile-lime chicken and carnitas ($5 each) to share with my son. They came on soft corn tortillas — from Burlington’s excellent All Souls Tortilleria — simply topped with cilantro, onion, lime and cotija cheese.

I kept the Baja fish taco ($6) for myself. Lay said Chico’s version is an homage to a California chain, Rubio’s, which claims to be the “home of the original fish taco.” He covers fresh Atlantic cod with a gluten-free cornmeal-based batter, frying it to a perfect, light crunch further heightened by shredded cabbage. An acidic punch from pickled jalapeños and cilantro-lime crema transported me straight to the beach.

Overall, Chico’s keeps things pretty true to California’s take on Mexican cuisine, with one big Vermont twist: maple syrup in the flan and in the red enchilada sauce. When in las Montañas Verdes, right?

— J.B.

Who’s the Boss?

Los Jefes, 36 S. Main St., St. Albans, 528-5971, losjefes.us

When I lived in Brooklyn in my early twenties, I often took an hourlong, three-train journey to taco crawl through Sunset Park, where Mexican restaurants and grocers abound. Driving to St. Albans from my home in Vergennes recently, I remembered how far I’ll go for good tacos. At Los Jefes on South Main Street, I found them.

The Ramirez family first opened Los Jefes in June 2023 in a shopping plaza half a mile north. Last May, they moved their restaurant into the former Main Squeeze storefront.

“We were more hidden there,” Yesica Sanchez, 43, said of the original spot. “This is the main street; people can see us.”

“A lot of people didn’t even know there was a Mexican restaurant in town,” added her son Yahir Ramirez, 21.

Cofounded by Sanchez’s 22-year-old son, Luis Ramirez, Los Jefes serves a wide array of classic Mexican dishes — including those from Sanchez’s native Guerrero, such as mole, tamales, and posole with hominy and shredded pork, which she learned to cook from her mother when she was young. The menu has expanded at the new location and now includes regular specials such as fried fish and menudo, a spicy beef soup. Everything is made fresh daily, Sanchez said.

I was the only diner when I stopped in for a late lunch on a recent Wednesday, though several customers stopped in to pick up takeout orders. I grabbed a comfy booth by the big front windows and promptly received a basket of freshly fried chips and salsa roja. I got a glass of horchata ($3.50), a sweet rice-based drink, to go with them, but the $4.50 margarita was awfully tempting.

When I ordered the birria tacos, my server gently suggested the quesabirria ($14.50) instead, saying the saucy shredded-beef tacos are even better with cheese. Most things are, so I agreed.

Mere moments later, a plate of three crispy, juicy folded tacos arrived with a bowl of rich, savory broth for dipping. Partway through, I realized I was unintentionally ignoring a vibrant salsa verde that came with the tacos and started slathering that on, too. As I dipped and slurped and pulled long strings of melted cheese with my teeth, I was glad no one else was there to witness my mess.

“You have to add the salsa,” Yahir later told me. “Some people say our food is bland, but Mexico is all about the different variety of salsas. It adds a whole new layer of flavor.”

Los Jefes has three kinds of salsa, Sanchez explained, at varying levels of spice. When customers ask for the hottest one, “it surprises me,” she added with a laugh. “Especially when they say, ‘I need more.’”

Having a more prominent location on St. Albans’ growing restaurant row has helped Sanchez share her culture — and food — more broadly, while working with her sons to run a successful business, she said. “My American dream.”

— J.B.