I don’t trust margaritas. There, I said it. Too many heartbreaks served in salted rims, too many gut-punches of cheap sweet neon green mix, too much tequila of questionable origins. But thanks to the margaritas at Maestro, I’m coming around.
From the minds that blessed Tulsa with the seductive speakeasy vibes of Valkyrie and the midnight mischief of St. Vitus, Maestro is the latest from Aaron Post, founder of Relentless Hospitality Group, and director of operations Tanner Scarborough. Cocktail aficionados revere Valkyrie's nationally recognized bar program, and the cool kids know that St. Vitus revived Tulsa’s dance club culture. Where Valkyrie leaned into the dark art of mixology, and St. Vitus gave us the irreverent, coffee-fueled chaos of bump shots and laser beams, Maestro is a light-drenched love letter to Latin American spirits and cuisine.
Knowing that Maestro is entirely devoted to agave—not just tequila, but mezcal, raicilla, and other wild, smoky cousins—I rang up my go-to agave guy who can wax poetic about tequila terroir and always orders the good stuff. We met for an early happy hour at Maestro, ostensibly to talk shop, but really to gossip and drink.
Maestro is nestled inside Santa Fe Square—Elliot Nelson’s new downtown multi-use development—with an outdoor patio that’s begging for a golden hour happy hour or a mezcal moon bath under the Tulsa skyline. Long before his Valkyrie put Tulsa on the national cocktail map, Aaron Post managed The Continental, a swanky, short-lived, ahead-of-its-time cocktail club next to McNellie’s, which Nelson owns. In a full-circle moment, Post is back as the anchor tenant for Nelson’s largest project to date.
Once inside, it’s hard to choose among the cozy corners for quiet conversation, long tables for communal chaos, or one of the plush, private booths perfect for spilling the tea (or the tequila). The energy here is warm, airy, and textural: a little bit Palm Springs, a little bit Puebla. Native artist Yatika Fields’ murals of lush landscapes splash across high-back booths like a visual toast, colorful and expressive. With bold flamingo pink accents, the overall space remains restrained, minimalist, and gorgeously composed. While natural wood and tiled tabletops nod to cantina culture, the woven textures of the lighting and bar seating evoke coastal craft. Every square inch is designed for group get-togethers, date-night flirting, or luxuriating solo at the bar.
Like most cocktail spots, Maestro is walk-in only, so we settled on a seat at the bar and got familiar with the agave offerings.
Let’s start with some basics. Tequila is a type of mezcal, just like champagne is a type of wine. Both spirits are distilled from the agave plant, but tequila must follow strict laws to be considered “tequila.” Mezcal, on the other hand, is the wild child, made from over 40 different agave varietals, each one expressing a different flavor profile and production method. For mezcal, the agave plant is often roasted underground in earthen pits, imparting its signature smokiness, while tequila, whose agave is oven-roasted, tends to be cleaner, brighter, and more botanical.
But Maestro doesn’t just stock mezcal and tequila. If it’s born of desert roots and distilled with care, it’s probably on the shelf. And what a shelf it is. Everything here is pure, small-batch, and often single-origin: rare spirits normally found only in the agave highlands. There’s a ridiculous depth of selection, but it’s curated, not cluttered.
All of Maestro’s mixed drinks carry the same DNA, grounded in Latin and agave-forward traditions. Take the Michoacán ($12), the avocado margarita you didn’t know you needed. This cocktail serves high drama and intrigue—an electric chartreuse concoction, rimmed in smoked salt that shimmers like obsidian. The silky, vegetal avocado soothes the funk of the mezcal, as does the addition of tequila blanco, while a duo of Key and Persian limes and a soupcon of cilantro lend floral depth and complexity.
My friend ordered the Margarita Picante ($13), which might be the final boss of all spicy margs. Made with guajillo and pasilla chile-infused tequila, cucumber, mint, and Centerbe—a verdant, herbaceous Italian liqueur—it drinks like a garden party with a kick. It's not some gimmicky Scoville stunt drink. Each sip is a slow build: first the citrus, then the warmth, then the perfect lingering tingle at the back of your throat.
Every ingredient on this drink menu is thoughtfully sourced—no additives, no cheap shortcuts, no celebrity brands, just beautiful, agave-forward spirits and fresh accoutrements. It’s rare around here to find an honest-to-god beautifully tart, rum-soaked Daiquiri ($12), or an Epazote savory tequila gimlet ($12) with herbal liqueur and mint oil.
On tap? Beers, yes: a lovely cerveza from Heirloom Ales. But also—cocktails! St. Vitus mastered batching cocktails on tap, and Maestro’s are replete with perfectly blended Margaritas ($12), and a Nitro Librè ($12), a cheeky twist on rum and coke that’s equal parts nostalgic and revolutionary. The house margarita is, without a doubt, one of the best margaritas I’ve had, ever. I say that as someone with margarita trauma. And St. Vitus loyalists will be thrilled to know that, though it’s not on the menu, the coffee-laced bump shot is alive and well—on tap, glowed-up, and just as dangerously delicious as ever.
As ambitious as Maestro’s spirits and cocktails are, the food also holds its own, bite for bite. The tiny-but-mighty Latin-infused menu is inspired by chef Alfredo Nogueira of New Orleans' Cane & Table, with Tulsa’s own chef Gabe Lazarde at the helm and a killer team of chefs in the kitchen. The menu balances crowd-pleasers like Papas Bravas ($12)—AKA French fries with all the sauces—and Wings ($18) with salsa macha and jalapeno ranch, with more elevated dishes like Wagyu Tartare ($18), or Mussels ($21) with chipotle crema and sourdough. But if you’re going full-tilt, the Arroz con Mariscos ($38) with seafood-studded valencia rice or the Frita Cubana ($18)—Maestro’s take on the Okie onion burger with chorizo-spiced beef, fried egg, and cheese—are sure to provide a proper substrate for when that first cocktail turns into a third.
My pal and I started with the Tuna Ceviche ($17), which is more tartare than ceviche, a silky pink puck of glorious tuna surrounded by a golden moat of leche de tigre—a magical, citrusy Peruvian marinade. This one’s Maestro-fied with that signature Persian and Key lime blend, fruit-forward heat from aji amarillo, and finished with a dainty sprinkle of micro cilantro. It’s subtly spicy, wildly bright, and paired with crisp sweet potato chips that could star as a bar snack in their own right. I was looking for a cocktail companion, and this was its soulmate.
We also ordered The Provoleta ($15), a dish that queso dreams of being when it grows up. Bubbling, bronzed provolone cheese is covered in a bright, garlicky chimichurri, alongside thick, toasted hunks of award-winning sourdough from Country Bird Bakery. This is not a polite dish. It demands ripping, dragging, and unapologetic sopping. It’s salty, oily, herbal, indulgent, hearty—everything we needed it to be.
Post and his loyal crew have long been Tulsa’s drink whisperers, introducing the city to the finer things, and Maestro is custom-built for Tulsa’s increasingly eclectic, cosmopolitan, and cocktail-literate crowd. The menu is a cocktail nerd’s fever dream, but approachable enough that your “vodka cran” friend won’t panic. Maestro also gets extra credit for having a late-night kitchen that can satisfy both snooty foodies and plebeian hankerings. Where Valkyrie leans moody and methodical, and Vitus cranks the party dial to 11, Maestro is an effortlessly cool place that meets you where you are, whether for a low-key happy hour or a spot to keep the party rolling till last call.
Maestro is a 21+ establishment located at 507 E. 2nd St. at Santa Fe Square in the Blue Dome District of downtown Tulsa. Open Tuesday through Sunday from 4 p.m. to 2 a.m., food is served until 11 p.m. Patio seating is available, and there are no reservations—just walk in and claim your spot.
