oaxaca día dos

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We woke up that morning with one mission: food. We were scheduled to meet Omar—the legend behind Oaxacking—at Café Brújula.

The café sat just across the street from a beautiful cathedral. Omar greeted us all. He’s is now in Oaxaca—former California local, frequent flyer to New York, Mexico City, and back again to his roots. He’s guided celebrity chefs, been featured on VICE, and yet here he was, casually leading us through the backstreets and introducing us to all sorts of good eats.

Our first stop was Tacos del Carmen, and let me just say—holy shit. I got the chorizo with beans and cheese, and I swear it was the best taco I’ve ever eaten. I know I kept saying that at every stop like a broken record, but this one? This one hit different. Rich, spicy, melty, smoky… and I don’t even like pork. That says a lot…

From there, we made our way to Baltazar, a sleek, upscale spot that felt like a hidden garden party. We shared family-style plates with four strangers who have joined this walking tour. Dish after dish appeared at our table—each one somehow more beautiful than the last.

We passed the Basilica de la Soledad.

We then ducked into this hole-in-the-wall joint: Carnitas El Güero Lavariega. I went for a carnitas taco, but honestly… not for me. It was a bit too gristly for my taste. I had to pass on finishing it.

Then came the Mercado de Abastos—gritty, chaotic, and bustling where there were several food stalls, people selling produce, and just about everything else. We were seated at a spot for soup, but once again, pork was the main event and my stomach said nah. I handed mine off to Jessica (bless her soul, she was the real MVP).

But redemption came quickly—Memelas Doña Vale. If there’s one woman who deserves a Michelin star for simplicity, it’s her. She was there with her daughter, grilling up these memelas: beans, cheese, salsa, a slice of avocado—understated, yet oh so good.

At the market, they were selling gorgeous ceramics. My friends picked up a few pieces, but I passed. As much as I wanted one, I didn’t trust my packing game and I didn’t want to cry over broken pottery either.

Later, we cooled off with coconut drinks from Coco Caña, and it was exactly what my dehydrated body needed. It was refreshing and slightly sweet.

Then came the fermented stuff—pulque and tepache. Sacred drinks from the time of the Aztecs and Mayans. Supposedly for the gods. Maybe my palate just isn’t divine because it was not for me. Jessica, ever the trooper, took one for the team and finished mine too. Poor Jessica.

We ended the food tour with a seven-course tasting menu at Criollo.

Fresh, intricate flavors, thoughtful plating, dishes that felt like little stories. It was refined without being pretentious, and Michelin-approved.

We walked the two-mile trek back to our place. We rested for a while, then got ready to party because it was Teresa’s birthday!

She wanted fine dining, so we headed to Origen. The staircase alone was worth the trip—dramatic as it was leading up to the second floor.

We sipped cocktails under the stars—mezcal, naturally. It was mezcal all night.

I ordered the tamal de huitlacoche. I’ve had tamales before, but Oaxacan tamales? Whole different story. The masa was impossibly soft, and the mole wrapped around it like a warm hug. Earthy, smoky, just a little sweet. Yum…

By the time we left, tipsy and happy, the streets were dotted with police cars. Along the way we went to a corner store for bottled water to stay hydrated since we drank quite a bit. Back at the crib, we crashed hard. I slept like a log.