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.

“Caliente!” Juan calls out, and we all duck to avoid the steaming hot pan as it floats across the kitchen. He holds one side with a folded up towel, the other with a pair of pliers. Kitchen might be a bit of a misnomer. The small stall sits on the sidewalk, with a temporary tin roof overhead and brand new white tarps tied tightly to the back to protect against Mexico City’s afternoon thunderstorms. Each day for the three weeks leading up to Día de los Muertos, the Day of the Dead holiday, Tito Garcia, the stand’s owner, and the rest of the crew, will make hundreds of pan de muerto sweet rolls, as part of the Jamaica Market’s holiday romería.

Initially, it was books that led Fernando Rodriguez Delgado to his interest in cacao. Today Rodriguez runs Chocolate Macondo, a café that specializes in ancient preparations of cacao, but prior to that he was a bookseller, fanatical about reading and fascinated by the history of Mexico. The day that he came across the Florentine Codex, a 16th-century manuscript documenting Mesoamerican culture, was an important one: it would eventually spark his countrywide search to discover the traditions of cacao and seek out ingredients, the names of which he only knew in Nahuatl. Rodriguez didn’t speak this native language of Mexico, so trying to work out the recipes for cacao drinks he found in the codex was no easy task.

We recently spoke to José R. Ralat, the taco editor at Texas Monthly and an expert on local, regional and national taco scenes, about his new book, “American Tacos: A History and Guide” (University of Texas Press, April 2020), which is the first history of tacos developed in the United States. While we knew of Ralat’s work and his (enviable) position as the country’s first taco editor, we learned more about American Tacos in the fascinating conversation he had with Paco de Santiago, our lead guide in Mexico City, as part of Conde’s Chronicles on Instagram Live. So we were delighted to chat with Ralat about his book and the rise of the “American taco.”

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.

Cecina is a food for the road. In its most common form, the salted and dried meat can last for months, which explains why it was a main source of sustenance for travelers, sailors and soldiers in colonial Mexico. Nowadays, cecina is still known as a thin cut of cured meat – almost always beef – that can be eaten completely dry, similar to beef jerky. Yet in central Mexico, specifically in the state of Morelos, cecina is normally salted (tiny cuts are made in the meat and fine salt is added) and then sun dried and air cured for two or three days (the thin sheets are usually laid out on tables or hung over wires), before being grilled over charcoal.

The day starts very early for Don Ponciano Díaz and his wife, Sara. It’s 5 a.m., and they’re already at their bakery, Panadería Díaz, which is located in San Antonio La Isla, some 73 kilometers from Mexico City. One pale incandescent bulb lights the space, and the large wooden worktable is empty – but not for long. They run through a checklist of everything they will need for the day’s bread baking: water, flour, yeast, manteca (vegetable shortening), salt, sugar, eggs, butter and baking powder. The bread trays have to be prepared in advance, some with lard, others with flour. Molds, wooden sticks, knives, buckets, pitchers, pewter mugs and other utensils are all at the ready.

On the heels of his successful Spanish-language series Las Crónicas del Conde (“The Chronicles of Conde”), Francisco de Santiago (“Paco”), our lead guide in Mexico City who goes by Conde Pétatl on Instagram, will be launching a new round of English-language Instagram Live conversations on Monday, June 22. Over the course of 10 talks, he will delve into Mexican culinary culture, history and tradition with a wide range of esteemed guests, including chefs, journalists and experts. 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.

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.

The next installment of CB Pantry Raid, a series in which our walk leaders give a guided tour of the local pantry and discuss the staples that have sustained their communities over the years, features Francisco de Santiago (“Paco”), our lead guide in Mexico City, who will be talking all about corn. Tune in on Thursday, April 30, at 5 p.m. EDT (GMT-4) on Instagram Live. Corn is vital to Mexican cuisine and culture – one of the things we love most about dining in Mexico is the high likelihood that our meal will have a healthy dose of corn in one form or another. Sometimes we even wash down our corn with some corn, like when we order tamales with atole, a traditional beverage made of corn flour, fruit, spices, and milk or water.

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.

We recently spoke to Joe Yonan, the James Beard Award-winning food and dining editor of The Washington Post, about his new cookbook, “Cool Beans: The Ultimate Guide to the World's Most Versatile Plant-Based Protein” (Ten Speed Press, February 2020). He has written two other books for Ten Speed: “Eat Your Vegetables: Bold Recipes for the Single Cook” (2013) and “Serve Yourself: Nightly Adventures in Cooking for One” (2011). The humble bean plays a starring role in many of the culinary cultures we cover, as evidenced by our “Bean Week” series, which included dispatches from Catalonia, Beijing, Mexico, Greece and Istanbul. So we were delighted to talk to Joe about this delicious, versatile and environmentally friendly protein, one that has gained new prominence in the current pandemic.

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.