Los Sinaloenses

The northwestern Mexican state of Sinaloa is nestled between the western Sierra Madre Mountains and the Gulf of California – putting it between surf and high desert, and the sea doth offer bounty. Be it gigantic squid, run-of-the-mill “fish” or marlin, the sinaloenses fear not the chopping block when it comes to seafood, and the state’s devil-may-care attitude (cooking with lime instead of actual heat) comes full force at Los Sinaloenses, located in trendy Roma Sur. The scrappy refuge lights onto a seafood-based, regional cuisine that manages to stand out in a nation with more than 9,000 km of coastline. It’s characterized by an array of ceviches, cocktails and other arthropod and piscine specialties.

Los Abuelos Empanadas

The neighborhood of San Miguel Chapultepec sits on the west end of Mexico City’s hipster corridor that runs east through Condesa and on to Roma. In the last decade, these neighborhoods have flowered with bars and restaurants fed by tourists and young people eager to impress. The corridor also had the terrible misfortune of being in the crosshairs of the 7.1 magnitude earthquake that struck the city shortly after 1 p.m. on September 19, 2017, toppling familiar buildings and sending all pretense crashing to the floor.

La Joya

Mexican diners offer a place for many in the capital to go for simple eats, often for people struggling to make ends meet. The key is to look for a crowded lunch bar lined with clients downing food before they have to head back to work. For example, if you find yourself strolling down 5 de Febrero, a few blocks south of the Zócalo, about to hit the new, city-funded arts district along Regina and San Jerónimo, consider Panadería La Joya. One of the classic greasy spoons downtown, La Joya stands out not for its innovation or hip atmosphere, but for its spot-on, tried-and-true renditions of Mexico’s hits. The place feels timeless. We tracked down the oldest worker, there for 40 years, and he admitted he had no idea when or who began the place.

La Miniatura

Julian Ramirez started out at the age of 14 as a shop boy at a busy bakery in Colonia Guerrero in 1959, then a bustling blue-collar neighborhood, easily connected to downtown by streetcar. Back then, at La Antigua del Guerrero, he learned the business: wiping windows, sweeping up and eventually making deliveries on his bike. One nibble at a time, he picked up the art of cake- and bread-making from the shop’s master bakers. Those trade secrets would serve him over the next 63 years and beyond as they pass on to his kids and theirs. Many of Mexico’s classic bakeries like the Guerrero operation fell one by one with the introduction of mass-produced bread, tearing at a staple of communities across the capital.

Arroces Baby Face

Standing on a sidewalk at 9:30 a.m. in Mexico City, waiting for food, one typically imagines pan dulce (sweet bread), tamales and piping hot atole, a drink made from corn. Yet there we stood waiting for Arroz Black Tiger – a steaming, heaping, fried rice dish with salmon, surimi, shrimp and white mushrooms, something you might find for dinner at a trendy Asian fusion restaurant in Roma or Polanco, but certainly not for 135 pesos (US$7.30) and not at that hour. Nevertheless, business was humming, and several clients rushed in and out to place orders for their office, buying early before ingredients start to run out. Why so early?

El Comunitario

We were sitting at the counter, trying out the goods, when an elderly man who has clearly had a tough life copped a squat at the next bench. Leaning on a crutch, with only one eye and a very dinged-up forehead, he patted our shoulder to offer us a cup and a pitcher of fresh, cool water. We chatted a bit. Telling us he’s a regular and praising the preparation of the veggies at El Comunitario, he flashed his toothless, but endearing, smile, “What do you think of how much people are paid here?” It was a genuinely pleasant immersion into the social whirl of this community kitchen, located in one of the more troubled corners in the heart of Mexico City’s Centro. We began to pour water into our other neighbors’ cups and chatted with the cooks in the kitchen, enjoying some great, incredibly cheap grub.

Mercado San Juan Arcos de Belén

Having been divvied up and overshadowed and even having come back from a nasty fire, the Mercado San Juan Arcos de Belén, also known as San Juan Salto del Agua, has hung on tight as a staple market in Mexico City’s downtown. Born from the 1950s-era split-up of the original San Juan marketplace, which stood only a few blocks away in what is now the Plaza San Juan off of Ayuntamiento, this is a very budget-friendly market in Mexico City’s downtown, largely bereft of high-end delicacies but bustling with mostly working-class families. It is shouldered by two major traffic conduits, Eje Central and Arcos de Belén, and sits atop the two-line intersection of Metro Salto del Agua on the forest-green and pink lines.