During the dry season in Mexico’s Mixtec highlands, when it’s windy, bugs called chinches (or jumiles in other regions) are ready to be collected from the epiphytic bromeliads – dramatic plants that grow on trees or other plants – where they live. “Children climb the trees, grab the epiphyte, bring it down to the ground and shake it until all the bugs fall from it. They eat them alive; and appreciate them for their spicy taste, reminiscent of chilli pepper,” write the scholars Esther Katz and Elena Lazos in an article that’s part of the 2017 book Eating Traditional Food. Scorpions, ants, crickets, grasshoppers, worms from the maguey plants – Mexico is the Latin American country where the most bugs are eaten according to Katz and Lazos.

“Do you want fat on those?” At Quesadillas La Chaparrita in Mercado Jamaica, the correct answer is always yes. At the nod of our heads, the young woman manning the grill splashes a little melted lard onto each of our quesadillas with her spatula and slides them over into the hot center of the concave grill top. Somehow she keeps each bunch of quesadillas or gorditas separate from the next as three other women buzz around her – one prepping fillings, one making tortillas on a hand press, and one to her right making change and wrapping up to-go orders. It’s a perfectly timed culinary dance.

We know that spring has arrived in Mexico City when street carts crowned with whole mangoes begin to roll into town. While wandering the Centro Histórico’s bustling streets just last week, we bumped into Maria, a seasonal worker whose cart is currently laden with this favorite springtime fruit. Intrigued, we stopped to watch as she deftly skewered the mango in her hand with a stick, peeled off the skin, made decorative cuts to transform the bright orange flesh into a beautiful flower, which she then brushed with chamoy, a classic Mexican sauce, and dipped in one of the brightly colored powders stored in plastic boxes: salsa tajín, chamoy, salt, chile or everything mixed together.

It’s finally hot in Mexico City. We’re smack dab in the middle of that two-month window between March and April that brings a dry, summer heat before the snow has even started to melt in some northern climates. The city is steaming, and chilangos are hunting down their favorite cool foods and the ubiquitous agua frescas sold in outdoor markets. We’re scouring the market, too, in search of our favorite hot weather treat, a cold chicozapote. A palm-sized oval with a rough brown exterior and an interior similar to a cooked pear in consistency, the chicozapote is not a fruit you find outside of many tropical or sub-tropical climates. Called a different name in almost every Caribbean and Central American country, this fruit and its cousins trail down the continent.

Like many cities around the globe, Mexico City has seen the pandemic wreak havoc on tourism and restaurants, two often intertwined industries. Many restaurants and hotels have already closed their doors, and many more employees have lost their jobs. Yet in the midst of this storm, two young siblings, Pamela and Jaime, decided to open a world-class coffee shop. Forgoing the high-end and trendy neighborhoods of Condesa, Roma and Polanco, they opened Di Caffé in Tlalnepantla, one of the northern suburbs, in May 2020. We spoke to these young entrepreneurs about their decision to open a business during the lockdown as well as their travels around the world, which inspired them to create an international coffee menu.

Nodding to a table laid with bars of alegria, rainbow-colored obleas, and packages of churros and chicharon made with amaranth flour, Alma Rocha says she can remember her grandmother making sweets from amaranth seed, but nothing like the repertoire that she and her husband, Arturo, have now. Everything is shiny and neatly packaged below the D’Alva Productos de Amaranto sign in the cooperative’s workshop, which is located inside the home of 43-year-old Alma and 58-year-old Arturo. “They taught us [recipes] in a certain sense,” Arturo says, referring to the generations of amaranth farmers that came before them, “And we have tried to modify them. For instance, this one here that we are making now, uses honey [instead of regular sugar], the chocolate one here, that’s local chocolate from Oaxaca.”

With its neo-industrial decor, Tizne looks like a lot of new Mexico City restaurants and shops riding the “rough hewn” interiors wave. Metal chairs, uncovered cement walls and digital art work give the place the feeling of a warehouse or underground club, albeit one that happens to have amazing tacos. Tizne’s full name, Tizne Tacomotora (“the taco motor”), explains some of the machinery references in their decor. Partners Pilar Canseco and Jorge Vaca started their business with a bike cart outfitted with a meat smoker that they would cart around from music festival to music festival, selling three of what would become their limited (and heavenly) menu of smoked-meat tacos.

Before the pandemic, the night shift that Juan and Hugo work at a 24-hour taco stand in Mexico City’s Del Valle neighborhood did a booming trade. From 7 p.m. to 7 a.m., they served office workers on their way home, locals having dinner and the late-night party crowd soaking up the alcohol. Nowadays a trickle of evening diners stop by for a taco, but the crowds of last year are mostly gone. It’s a common scene across the city, where those who can are mostly working from home (and no longer reliant on street food for a cheap meal) and the number of tourists, who were increasingly coming to sample the city’s food, has fallen significantly. Many street vendors are still operating but struggling to make ends meet.

Like a lot of us, the Galicia family was looking forward to 2020. Farming along the city’s southern canals for generations, they are stewards of the chinampa agricultural system, one of the oldest on the planet. For the past eight years they have been slowly converting their man-made plot – built on top of the city’s shallow lakebeds – into a fully organic farm. When they first started they could barely afford a hose to water the plants. Now they have their own DIY biodigester (a device that turns decomposing matter into natural gas), several biofilters on a small side canal that runs along their property and a large greenhouse that covers one section of the harvest during Mexico’s hottest months.

Covid-19 has brought most of Mexico City’s restaurants to a halt. But Antolina in the Condesa neighborhood has found a way to keep its kitchen active. “We were about to shut [the restaurant] down when we got the idea of doing something different to keep breathing,” says owner Pedro Sañudo. Pedro, known to his friends as Pete Mezcales, has long collaborated with maestros mezcaleros (mezcal makers) to promote the drink and ensure that they are paid fair wages for their labor. As part of this work, he founded Corazón de Maguey, which offered craft mezcals as well as superb food, in partnership with the restaurant group Los Danzantes, a collaboration that lasted 10 years.

Spanish speakers, join Francisco de Santiago (“Paco”), our lead guide in Mexico City who goes by Conde Pétatl on Instagram, for a new series called Las Crónicas del Conde (“The Chronicles of Conde”). From May 21 until June 16, he will chat with a different guest from around Mexico about the country’s cuisines, cultural traditions and history on Instagram Live each Thursday at 8 p.m. CDT (GMT-5). Paco is a Mexico City native who has a deep passion for his country’s cuisine. He is also a kind of renaissance man — a former champion chess player, bullfighter and more recently, a professional gastro-guide. These days, Paco focuses on the antojitos, or little culinary cravings of his hometown, which are a hallmark of a culinary tour of the city with him.

Enrique Del Moral (1905-1987) was one of the most important architects of modern Mexico. Together with Mario Pani and Pedro Ramírez Vázquez, he revamped Mexico City in the 1950s. One of his most important designs was the new La Merced Market, which opened in 1957 (the market built in the 1860s was demolished to make way for the new structures). Located east of Mexico City’s Main Square, the massive market used to be the wholesaler for the city, until La Central de Abasto was built in the late 20th century. Today, I want to talk about a family who has been working for 38 years inside Nave Mayor, by far the biggest of the original seven market spaces in Enrique Del Moral’s design.

In 2009, the A(H1N1) virus, known colloquially as the swine flu, hit Mexico hard. Only a few months before the outbreak began, I had moved from San Miguel de Allende to Mexico City trying to rescue a broken relationship. I had to take the most boring job in the world: a customer service agent at CheapTickets, an online travel company. I was in training when all of a sudden the streets of Mexico City emptied out. Essentially, my job was to sit in front of the computer for hours and talk on the phone with very upset and nervous customers trying to change their return flights. We never stopped working.

The place smells like a wet dog. The fishmongers have long grown accustomed to it, but the uninitiated are assaulted by the full force of La Nueva Viga’s funky barnyard smell almost from Eje 6, the congested avenue were we turn into the entrance. The trick, we find, is to walk quickly into one of the long, narrow corridors of the fish market's three massive buildings, so that the smell of salt and sea and freshly crushed ice fills up our nostrils so completely there is room for nothing else.

We’ve written previously about flautas, one of our favorite street foods. Those crisp, finger-friendly “flutes” with their deeply savory, spiced chicken, pork, beef or potato filling are all about the gratifying crunch of the golden, deep-fried rolled tortilla (and the sour cream and grated cheese don’t hurt either). It’s hard to imagine how that winning combination can be improved upon, but at El Rey de las Ahogadas in Colonia Del Valle, we’ve found a delicious alternative. Although El Rey offers quesadillas, tacos and other Mexican delicias, as the big banner above the open storefront advertises, people come here mostly for the flautas ahogadas. These “drowned” flautas sit in a bowl filled with a soupy salsa verde so that they soften.