Like many travelers before me, I was drawn to Mexico by its fiery and flavorsome foods. A Mexican friend in my home city of Bristol, had assured me that if I loved the burritos from the generic Tex-Mex takeaways of England, then I would be like a child in a sweetshop when I arrived in her country. My friend, Jackie, has since moved back to Mexico where her parents run a traditional restaurant in Oaxaca. I was invited to visit the restaurant last Saturday as friends and family would be celebrating her mum’s birthday via a day of delicious food followed by a 1970s-themed disco. Needless to say, I was there like greased lightning! This is the story of the delicious food that I encountered on that trip.
I say I arrived there quickly, but it was actually a lengthy journey, involving a plane from Guadalajara to Mexico City (where Jacky works as a lawyer), followed by a seven-hour night-bus to Oaxaca. I’ve never been a great sleeper while in transit, so when we arrived in the morning I was feeling somewhat drained.
“Go and grab some sleep at the hostel”, said Jacky, “and I’ll see you at the restaurant in a couple of hours where the eating will begin.” She wasn’t wrong.
Arriving at the restaurant, the party prep was underway as a glitter ball was hanging from the ceiling and disco lights were being installed by a local DJ. I was ushered over to a table where the parents and some of the early arrivals were catching up. In time-honored fashion they found my British-accented Spanish pretty hilarious, and to be honest I was having trouble keeping up with their questions, not helped by my lack of sleep. One thing there was no confusion about, however, was that I was peckish and they were itching for me to try the culinary delights of the restaurant.
The kitchen staff — who all seemed to be friends with the family — were asked to bring me a basket of freshly-made sweet breads to be washed down with a hot concoction of chocolate and cinnamon. There were darker buns called pan de cazuela packed full of delicious chocolate, and then yellow-tinted ones called pan de yema, made with egg yolks. As I ravenously tucked into the food, praising Jackie’s mum, Jaquelina, on the freshness of the bread, she warned me not to eat too much of it as there was plenty more food to come.
Next up was a small appetizer of chapulines (grasshoppers). I knew these insects would rear their pointy little heads at some point on this food tour, but this still seemed very early in the proceedings. My initial decline and recoil drew further howls of laughter from the family, so I decided to stop being such a wimp and give them a try. Copying my hosts, I hesitantly plucked the head and tail from one of the insects and quickly put the thing in my mouth. It was nicer than I expected. The little critters had been deep fried, then soaked in lemon and salt, so they were really just a crispy texture to house the other familiar flavors. That said, I still limited myself to a couple.
Then came the main dish, which is probably the food Oaxaca is most famous for — mole. While there seems to be disagreement over which region of Mexico produced the first of these chili-based sauces, Oaxaca is universally renowned for the taste and variety of its seven essential moles.
The dish they presented was mole coloradito poured over enchilladas packed with Queso Oaxaca, a white cheese with a similar texture to mozerella. The mole was thick with a reddish-brown appearance on account of the chillies and chocolate — a delicious combination of flavors that playfully danced the line between savory and dessert.
Keen for me to see how the food was produced, Jackie invited me for a tour of the kitchen to meet the chefs. One thing that struck me immediately was the combination of traditional equipment with the modern - almost medical - standards of hygiene. Everyone was required to wear a face mask at all times and wash there hands with two different kinds of soap.
We entered the store room where I saw thick sheets of cooking chocolate as large as door mats that Jackie said had been purchased from a local chocolatier. One of the workers in the room lifted the lid on a giant plastic bucket that was evidently the place where all the chilies were kept, unleashing a cloud of vapors that penetrated my face-mask making me cough.
In another part of the kitchen, I was invited to have a go at making a tortilla by squashing a ball of maize dough in a metallic press called a tortillera before cooking it on a hot plate. After a couple of botched efforts, I managed to make one that was an acceptable thickness, which may or may not have been served to the customers in the restaurant.
Perhaps there had been a subtle exchange of looks with the tortilla chef, but Jackie decided it was time for us to get out of the kitchen and take a look at some of the sights of the city. We only had a few hours before the party so it was a bit of a flyby tour of the historic downtown including a glance in the church of Santo Domingo de Guzmán and the adjoining Museum of Oaxacan Cultures with its impressive array of pre-Columbian artifacts. Jackie, who has clearly inherited her parents love of local food, took me to the 20 de Noviembre market, which has abundant food stalls with spices, many more grasshoppers, and copious amounts of Oaxaca’s most famous alcoholic drink - mezcal. (In fact, the following day Jackie also took me on a tour of a mezcaleria outside of Oaxaca, where I learned how this agave-based drink is made using traditional processes.)
It was tempting to stay in the market and sample a few of the flavored mezcals with the grilled meats, but it was time to head back for the party.
Back at the restaurant, the place had been transformed and we were handed a glass of sangria by the one of the waiters. There must have been around 60 people including lots of kids who were equally excited about the prospect of a 1970s disco. Jaquelina had said that today would be a “day off” from the usual cooking and guests would instead help themselves to a buffet. In the UK, the term buffet can often mean slightly stale sandwiches served with apple slices.
Thankfully, the food on this occasion was befitting of the restaurant and there were plenty more Oaxacan delights in store. The food that stood out for me were the molotes Oaxaqueños, a small snack of chorizo sausage encased in a mix of maize dough and potato puree, fried in butter or oil. They’re perhaps not the best thing to have if you’re looking to shed a few pounds, but they sure are delicious!
I was then invited upstairs to a balcony area where one of the waiters was tending to a BBQ. How would I like my steak? he asked. This appeared to be a special treatment for the foreign visitor. I left the decision in his hands and what arrived was a lovely thing called a tlayuda. The meat had been shredded and mixed with refried beans, Oaxaca cheese and salsa and served in a large toasted tortilla folded in half. It resembled a quesadilla but in my opinion the hot crispy tortilla raised this dish to another level.
As we finished off our desserts — a mix of birthday cake, tiramisu and jelly — a family friend appeared with a microphone and gave a heartfelt speech about the importance of enjoying life. Then it was time to hit the dance floor. Jaquelina is clearly someone who thrives on social occasions and she had put a lot of energy into planning this party. She had bought a large supply of fancy dress items from the internet, to get people in the mood for dancing. Giant psychedelic sunglasses, disco wigs and inflatable guitars were being passed among the guests to much hilarity. What followed was a chaotic mix of 60s, 70s and 80s classics mixed in with some traditional Mexican songs. I got my Motown via The Supremes and the Jackson 5, though the DJ generally preferred to play Spanish versions of classic disco anthems. Later in the evening, the microphone started doing the rounds on the dance floor as people were singing along with their favorite songs. Inevitably whenever an English-language song was played, the mic was passed in my direction for me to embarrassingly display that the only words I know in the YMCA is the chorus.
It was a fantastic evening and all that dancing more than burned off the deep-fried molotes. After the 4th or 5th conga, I decided to call it an evening and return to my hostel. As I said my goodbyes, I was instructed to return early tomorrow for the breakfast “recalentado” when we would be eating the remaining food along with other meats and moles. It was in that moment I realized that, in Oaxaca, food is always the life and soul of the party.