This tropical fruit, with its salmon-colored flesh and velvety sweetness, is one of Mexico's best-kept secrets. Native to southern Mexico, mamey tastes like a cross between sweet potato, pumpkin, and almond cream-rich, dense, and nostalgic. Locals eat it fresh, blend it into smoothies, or turn it into nieves (sorbets) sold at traditional markets.

Try it at a neighborhood frutería or in a scoop of nieve de mamey. It's a flavor that captures the warmth and depth of Mexico in a single bite.

Colorful, cold, and endlessly refreshing, aguas frescas are Mexico's answer to the heat and chaos of the city. Made by blending fruit, flowers, or seeds with water and just enough sugar, they capture the country's flavors in their purest, most joyful form.

Classic choices like agua de jamaica (hibiscus), horchata (rice and cinnamon), and tamarindo line the streets in big glass jars, but you'll also find seasonal versions like guava, mamey, or lime with chia. Try them at a market stall or a neighborhood fondita-they're an everyday pleasure that feels like a small celebration.

When a gastronomic scene starts following trends too closely, it begins to lose its soul. Lately, many restaurants in Mexico City have embraced the global "natural wine" craze-often to please tourists. The unintended effect? Mexican wine has been quietly pushed aside. Some places don't even carry it anymore, or they'll feature just a single label.

Yet Mexican wine has deep roots: it was the first produced in the Americas, and the country continues to craft exceptional bottles. Whether natural or not, it's worth exploring. The more visitors ask for it, the sooner it will reclaim its rightful place on the city's tables.

A new generation of Mexican soda, Orita reinvents the country's beloved aguas frescas into sparkling form. Made with natural ingredients and inspired by traditional flavors, it bridges nostalgia and modern craft.

Try flavors like Rosemary-Hibiscus, Chili-Tamarind, Mint-Lime, or Cola Chida-each one a playful take on what a Mexican refresco can be. You'll find Orita in trendy restaurants, gourmet shops, and cocktail bars across Mexico City. It's refreshment with a sense of identity and style.

Imagine a beer born from the land itself - Monstruo de Agua is Mexico City's answer to sustainable craft brewing. This ?agro-beer? is made with local, agroecological ingredients - not just brewed in Mexico, but from Mexico.

Their creations are hybrid beers that merge barley, traditional herbs, native fruits, and even agave sap into striking, expressive flavors. No pasteurization, no filters, no coat of uniformity.

Head to their taproom, Agrotaberna Monstruo de Agua in Condesa, to taste the full experience. In that cozy, nature-infused space you'll feel the soil, the botanicals, and the spirit of Mexican terroir in every sip.

Few dishes express Mexico's complexity like mole. Thick, layered, and deeply aromatic, it's a sauce that can take days to prepare and a lifetime to master. Dozens of regional variations exist-from the famous mole poblano with chocolate and chili, to green and black moles made with herbs, seeds, and spices.

In Mexico City, you can taste it in elegant versions at contemporary restaurants or in its most soulful form at traditional markets and family-run fondas. Every spoonful tells a story of blending worlds-indigenous, African, and European-until they become something entirely, and unmistakably, Mexican.

If one dish captures the poetry of Mexico's seasons, it's chile en nogada. Served only from late July to early September, it celebrates the harvest of nogal nuts, pomegranates, and poblano peppers.

A roasted chile is stuffed with a delicate mix of meat, fruit, and spices, then covered in a creamy walnut sauce and sprinkled with bright red pomegranate seeds-the colors of the Mexican flag on a plate.

It's a fleeting pleasure, tied to the rhythms of the land and the nation's history. Try it during its short season, when restaurants and fondas across the city proudly declare: ya hay chile en nogada.

Born from Mexican corn and crafted with reverence for ancestral techniques, Nixta Licor de Elote is unlike anything else. Made in Puebla, it's a golden liqueur that captures the sweet, roasted essence of maíz, Mexico's sacred grain.

Its flavor is warm and nostalgic-cornbread, caramel, and smoke intertwined. Bartenders across Mexico City use it in inventive cocktails, often blending it with mezcal or coffee liqueur, but it's just as beautiful sipped on its own over ice.

Nixta reminds you that maize isn't just food-it's identity, memory, and the soul of Mexico in liquid form.

Follow the whistling sound that drifts through Mexico City's streets at night-it's the call of the camotero, a vendor selling roasted sweet potatoes and plantains from his steaming cart. The whistle isn't a gimmick; it's the sound of the pressure escaping the old metal oven where the camotes cook until caramelized and soft.

Served hot and sliced open, camote is topped with condensed milk, strawberry jam, or honey-simple, nostalgic, and deeply comforting.

It's more than dessert; it's a living ritual of the city. One bite, and you taste a century of smoky sweetness echoing through the neighborhoods.

They call it the chocolate pudding fruit, but that hardly does it justice. Zapote negro is one of Mexico's most surprising gifts from the tropics-a fruit that ripens into a dark, silky flesh with the taste and texture of cocoa mousse, yet completely natural.

Native to southern Mexico, it's a cousin of the persimmon, long adored for its soft sweetness and subtle earthiness. You'll find it in traditional markets when it's in season, often sold beside other forgotten fruits like mamey and chicozapote.

Eat it chilled with a spoon, or mixed with a touch of orange juice or vanilla. It's the kind of discovery that makes you fall in love with Mexico all over again-unexpected, indulgent, and ancient.

Born from an old Puebla recipe and revived for modern palates, Ancho Reyes is a chili liqueur that captures Mexico's smoky soul. Made from handpicked ancho chiles-dried poblanos-it balances heat, sweetness, and a slow, lingering warmth that feels both rustic and elegant.

The flavor is layered: notes of caramel, cinnamon, dried fruit, and gentle fire. It's the perfect addition to mezcal or tequila cocktails, adding depth without overpowering them.

In a city where tradition and innovation constantly blend, Ancho Reyes stands as proof that even a humble chile can become liquid art.

Long before beer or mezcal, there was pulque-the original drink of the gods. Made from the fermented sap of the maguey plant, it's slightly viscous, tangy, and alive, still fermenting as it's poured.

Once sacred to the Aztecs and later dismissed as a peasant's drink, pulque is now making a quiet comeback in Mexico City's pulquerías-vibrant, mural-covered bars filled with laughter, jukebox music, and foamy glasses of this ancient elixir.

Try the pure, milky-white natural version, or the colorful curados flavored with guava, oat, or celery. It's not just a drink-it's a conversation with centuries of Mexican history, still bubbling in the present.

When evening falls in Mexico City, you'll see the steam rising from carts on almost every corner-tiny clouds that smell of roasted corn, lime, and chile. Those are esquites: tender kernels of corn simmered with epazote, butter, and sometimes a touch of bone marrow or chile oil, then scooped into a cup and finished with mayo, cheese, lime, and chili powder.

It's messy, delicious, and social-best eaten standing among friends, talking, laughing, and blowing on each spoonful.

Esquites are proof that Mexican street food isn't fast food at all-it's slow food disguised as a snack, built on patience, flavor, and joy.

Soft, sweet, and impossibly comforting, the concha con nata is Mexico City's most poetic breakfast. A freshly baked concha-the iconic shell-shaped bun-is split open and filled with thick, chilled nata, the rich cream that forms on fresh milk.

It's a simple pairing that feels like luxury: the warmth of the bread meeting the cool, velvety cream. You'll find it in old-school cafés and panaderías that open early, when the air still smells of butter and coffee.

It's not just breakfast-it's nostalgia served on a plate, the kind of flavor that makes even a weekday morning feel like a memory.

Tropical opposites that meet in Mexico's markets: the guanábana is all fragrance and light, while the chicozapote is earthy and caramel-deep.

The guanábana-known abroad as soursop-has soft white flesh that tastes like a blend of pineapple, coconut, and strawberry. It's juicy, perfumed, and almost floral, the kind of sweetness that feels like summer in liquid form.

The chicozapote, on the other hand, hides its beauty behind a rough brown skin. Inside, the flesh is dense and amber, tasting of brown sugar, pear, and honey. It's the flavor of patience and shade, of trees that take years to fruit.

Try them both at a local market or blended into licuados. Together, they tell the story of Mexico's tropical abundance-two fruits, two moods, one same sun.
The fruit's white, custard-like flesh is eaten with a spoon or blended into juices, licuados, and nieves. It's refreshing yet rich, tropical but balanced-one of those flavors that cools you instantly under the city's afternoon sun.

Find it in local markets or juice bars, where it's often served in tall glasses with ice. It's sweetness with soul: bright, fragrant, and unmistakably from the tropics of Mexico.

This tropical fruit, with its salmon-colored flesh and velvety sweetness, is one of Mexico's best-kept secrets. Native to southern Mexico, mamey tastes like a cross between sweet potato, pumpkin, and almond cream-rich, dense, and nostalgic. Locals eat it fresh, blend it into smoothies, or turn it into nieves (sorbets) sold at traditional markets.

Try it at a neighborhood frutería or in a scoop of nieve de mamey. It's a flavor that captures the warmth and depth of Mexico in a single bite.

Location:

Colorful, cold, and endlessly refreshing, aguas frescas are Mexico's answer to the heat and chaos of the city. Made by blending fruit, flowers, or seeds with water and just enough sugar, they capture the country's flavors in their purest, most joyful form.

Classic choices like agua de jamaica (hibiscus), horchata (rice and cinnamon), and tamarindo line the streets in big glass jars, but you'll also find seasonal versions like guava, mamey, or lime with chia. Try them at a market stall or a neighborhood fondita-they're an everyday pleasure that feels like a small celebration.

Location:

When a gastronomic scene starts following trends too closely, it begins to lose its soul. Lately, many restaurants in Mexico City have embraced the global "natural wine" craze-often to please tourists. The unintended effect? Mexican wine has been quietly pushed aside. Some places don't even carry it anymore, or they'll feature just a single label.

Yet Mexican wine has deep roots: it was the first produced in the Americas, and the country continues to craft exceptional bottles. Whether natural or not, it's worth exploring. The more visitors ask for it, the sooner it will reclaim its rightful place on the city's tables.

Location:

A new generation of Mexican soda, Orita reinvents the country's beloved aguas frescas into sparkling form. Made with natural ingredients and inspired by traditional flavors, it bridges nostalgia and modern craft.

Try flavors like Rosemary-Hibiscus, Chili-Tamarind, Mint-Lime, or Cola Chida-each one a playful take on what a Mexican refresco can be. You'll find Orita in trendy restaurants, gourmet shops, and cocktail bars across Mexico City. It's refreshment with a sense of identity and style.

Location:

Imagine a beer born from the land itself - Monstruo de Agua is Mexico City's answer to sustainable craft brewing. This ?agro-beer? is made with local, agroecological ingredients - not just brewed in Mexico, but from Mexico.

Their creations are hybrid beers that merge barley, traditional herbs, native fruits, and even agave sap into striking, expressive flavors. No pasteurization, no filters, no coat of uniformity.

Head to their taproom, Agrotaberna Monstruo de Agua in Condesa, to taste the full experience. In that cozy, nature-infused space you'll feel the soil, the botanicals, and the spirit of Mexican terroir in every sip.

Location:

Few dishes express Mexico's complexity like mole. Thick, layered, and deeply aromatic, it's a sauce that can take days to prepare and a lifetime to master. Dozens of regional variations exist-from the famous mole poblano with chocolate and chili, to green and black moles made with herbs, seeds, and spices.

In Mexico City, you can taste it in elegant versions at contemporary restaurants or in its most soulful form at traditional markets and family-run fondas. Every spoonful tells a story of blending worlds-indigenous, African, and European-until they become something entirely, and unmistakably, Mexican.

Location:

If one dish captures the poetry of Mexico's seasons, it's chile en nogada. Served only from late July to early September, it celebrates the harvest of nogal nuts, pomegranates, and poblano peppers.

A roasted chile is stuffed with a delicate mix of meat, fruit, and spices, then covered in a creamy walnut sauce and sprinkled with bright red pomegranate seeds-the colors of the Mexican flag on a plate.

It's a fleeting pleasure, tied to the rhythms of the land and the nation's history. Try it during its short season, when restaurants and fondas across the city proudly declare: ya hay chile en nogada.

Location:

Born from Mexican corn and crafted with reverence for ancestral techniques, Nixta Licor de Elote is unlike anything else. Made in Puebla, it's a golden liqueur that captures the sweet, roasted essence of maíz, Mexico's sacred grain.

Its flavor is warm and nostalgic-cornbread, caramel, and smoke intertwined. Bartenders across Mexico City use it in inventive cocktails, often blending it with mezcal or coffee liqueur, but it's just as beautiful sipped on its own over ice.

Nixta reminds you that maize isn't just food-it's identity, memory, and the soul of Mexico in liquid form.

Location:

Follow the whistling sound that drifts through Mexico City's streets at night-it's the call of the camotero, a vendor selling roasted sweet potatoes and plantains from his steaming cart. The whistle isn't a gimmick; it's the sound of the pressure escaping the old metal oven where the camotes cook until caramelized and soft.

Served hot and sliced open, camote is topped with condensed milk, strawberry jam, or honey-simple, nostalgic, and deeply comforting.

It's more than dessert; it's a living ritual of the city. One bite, and you taste a century of smoky sweetness echoing through the neighborhoods.

Location:

They call it the chocolate pudding fruit, but that hardly does it justice. Zapote negro is one of Mexico's most surprising gifts from the tropics-a fruit that ripens into a dark, silky flesh with the taste and texture of cocoa mousse, yet completely natural.

Native to southern Mexico, it's a cousin of the persimmon, long adored for its soft sweetness and subtle earthiness. You'll find it in traditional markets when it's in season, often sold beside other forgotten fruits like mamey and chicozapote.

Eat it chilled with a spoon, or mixed with a touch of orange juice or vanilla. It's the kind of discovery that makes you fall in love with Mexico all over again-unexpected, indulgent, and ancient.

Location:

Born from an old Puebla recipe and revived for modern palates, Ancho Reyes is a chili liqueur that captures Mexico's smoky soul. Made from handpicked ancho chiles-dried poblanos-it balances heat, sweetness, and a slow, lingering warmth that feels both rustic and elegant.

The flavor is layered: notes of caramel, cinnamon, dried fruit, and gentle fire. It's the perfect addition to mezcal or tequila cocktails, adding depth without overpowering them.

In a city where tradition and innovation constantly blend, Ancho Reyes stands as proof that even a humble chile can become liquid art.

Location:

Long before beer or mezcal, there was pulque-the original drink of the gods. Made from the fermented sap of the maguey plant, it's slightly viscous, tangy, and alive, still fermenting as it's poured.

Once sacred to the Aztecs and later dismissed as a peasant's drink, pulque is now making a quiet comeback in Mexico City's pulquerías-vibrant, mural-covered bars filled with laughter, jukebox music, and foamy glasses of this ancient elixir.

Try the pure, milky-white natural version, or the colorful curados flavored with guava, oat, or celery. It's not just a drink-it's a conversation with centuries of Mexican history, still bubbling in the present.

Location:

When evening falls in Mexico City, you'll see the steam rising from carts on almost every corner-tiny clouds that smell of roasted corn, lime, and chile. Those are esquites: tender kernels of corn simmered with epazote, butter, and sometimes a touch of bone marrow or chile oil, then scooped into a cup and finished with mayo, cheese, lime, and chili powder.

It's messy, delicious, and social-best eaten standing among friends, talking, laughing, and blowing on each spoonful.

Esquites are proof that Mexican street food isn't fast food at all-it's slow food disguised as a snack, built on patience, flavor, and joy.

Location:

Soft, sweet, and impossibly comforting, the concha con nata is Mexico City's most poetic breakfast. A freshly baked concha-the iconic shell-shaped bun-is split open and filled with thick, chilled nata, the rich cream that forms on fresh milk.

It's a simple pairing that feels like luxury: the warmth of the bread meeting the cool, velvety cream. You'll find it in old-school cafés and panaderías that open early, when the air still smells of butter and coffee.

It's not just breakfast-it's nostalgia served on a plate, the kind of flavor that makes even a weekday morning feel like a memory.

Location:

Tropical opposites that meet in Mexico's markets: the guanábana is all fragrance and light, while the chicozapote is earthy and caramel-deep.

The guanábana-known abroad as soursop-has soft white flesh that tastes like a blend of pineapple, coconut, and strawberry. It's juicy, perfumed, and almost floral, the kind of sweetness that feels like summer in liquid form.

The chicozapote, on the other hand, hides its beauty behind a rough brown skin. Inside, the flesh is dense and amber, tasting of brown sugar, pear, and honey. It's the flavor of patience and shade, of trees that take years to fruit.

Try them both at a local market or blended into licuados. Together, they tell the story of Mexico's tropical abundance-two fruits, two moods, one same sun.
The fruit's white, custard-like flesh is eaten with a spoon or blended into juices, licuados, and nieves. It's refreshing yet rich, tropical but balanced-one of those flavors that cools you instantly under the city's afternoon sun.

Find it in local markets or juice bars, where it's often served in tall glasses with ice. It's sweetness with soul: bright, fragrant, and unmistakably from the tropics of Mexico.

Location: