This was supposed to be a post about food. Which it still is, mostly. Food blogging wasn’t really on my To Do list, but I’ve had multiple requests from friends and family to document some of the great meals we’ve had.

So… sure.

How hard can it be to write about food? Eat, take pretty pictures, write a few words about how delicious it is, lather, rinse, repeat.

It turns out, at least for me, that it’s hard to talk about food divorced from the cultural context in which that food is produced and consumed. It may be easier to ignore this in other places, but Oaxaca forces you to acknowledge context.

The state of Oaxaca has an incredible diversity in climate and biome, driving a wider range of crops than would be expected based on size alone. That pairs with an incredible cultural diversity. It’s estimated than more than 50% of all of Mexico’s population that speaks indigenous languages is in Oaxaca state, representing 16 officially recognized indigenous peoples. Unsurprisingly, that agricultural and cultural diversity makes for some truly outstanding, and very specific, cuisine. Oaxacan food is positively marinated in terroir.

Oaxaca’s mercados, especially Central de Abasto, offer a dizzying range of locally grown produce and ingredients specific to the region, from moles to chiles, spices, and vegetables. That makes for great homecooked meals. At the other end of the spectrum, Oaxaca boasts world class restaurants with chefs devoted to honoring tradition while pushing the boundaries, such as Criollo and Origen. In between is a thick stew of street food and more modest sit down and takeout restaurants. As eating towns go, Manhattan has more diversity, but Oaxaca is every bit as dense. And that’s saying something.

So there’s the context in which Oaxacan food is produced. The context in which it’s consumed, though, has much to do with the consumer. Like us, for example. Our relationship to la cocina tipica Oaxaqueña is by definition different than a local’s.

Curiously, the context that’s been most thoroughly deconstructed for us in Oaxaca is that of the United States. Sometimes you have to step outside your environment to see it clearly. We expected this adventure to teach us about the places we haven’t been, not the place we came from. Go figure.

Diversity and Monocultures

We all talk about the value of diversity, but I don’t know how much we think about how that diversity manifests itself in our day to day lives. OK, I haven’t. I’m sure you’re all much better people than I am.

Honestly, I’d never even thought to define the value of diversity in concrete terms until we came to Oaxaca. It was an almost entirely abstract value. Diversity good. Monoculture bad. What’s true for your yard is true for your community.

But Oaxaca is not a diverse environment, at least not in the sense that we tend to use the term. Yes, it has its 16 discrete indigenous populations, and each of those peoples has contributed something specific to the Oaxacan culture at large. Given enough time and knowledge, you could decode the contributions to cuisine and art back to the peoples who contributed those ingredients. This part is Zapotec, this part Mixtec, this part Mazateco…

But as an outsider, Oaxaca reads like a monoculture. Different flavors, in both food and art, may bubble up and provide a distinctive top note traceable to a specific group, but the cultural stew itself has become its own specific mélange.

Part of this has to do with the unique physical structure of the state of Oaxaca. Much of it is rugged terrain (only 9% of the land is arable), leading to isolated communities. That isolation made it harder for the Spanish to consolidate top down control, letting the indigenous peoples of Oaxaca maintain much more of their cultural identity than other parts of Mexico were able to under Spanish rule. Over time, these separate strands have been woven together into a tapestry that is distinctly Oaxacan.

I know there’s a ton of nuance here that I’m not just glossing over, but am actually incapable of seeing. But my point here isn’t actually about Oaxaca. OK, maybe it’s a little about Oaxaca. While we can celebrate the diversity that the region’s indigenous peoples have brought to the local culture, there isn’t a lot of diversity here across racial and geographic dimensions.

Case in point, a local chain called Tlayudas el Negro. Their logo is so appalling, even I won’t share it. Google it if you must, but that’s on you. I wondered how they could possibly get away with something so blatantly racist, and then realized that in the three months we’ve been here I’ve seen precisely two Black people. And they were both clearly tourists.

Which takes us back to the US, and to the dimensions of diversity that we’ve taken for granted, because they’re such an ingrained part of the environment. Even in a podunk little town like St. Louis (which we love, while recognizing that it lacks the richness of a New York or Chicago), you can walk down a street and see a Jamaican restaurant next to a Brazilian restaurant, next to an Ethiopian restaurant, next to a Greek restaurant, next to a Thai restaurant, next to a Bosnian restaurant, next to… the rest of the UN.

If it sounds like what we miss is international dining, that’s not wrong, and it’s what led to this topic. But it’s more than just the food. Because that Thai restaurant is run by Thai people who live in the community. As are the Greek, Jamaican, Brazilian, Bosnian, and Ethiopian restaurants, and all the others. Every American city is flavored and enriched by the transplants who’ve moved there.

And we didn’t just benefit from those expats when we went out to dinner. When we had a shop on Cherokee Street in St. Louis, members of those communities walked through our doors and were customers, bringing us their own particular perspective on what dressing well meant. We could hold very still and filter feed, and the whole world came to us.

That’s so much the norm, in every city we’ve lived in, that it seems unremarkable. But it’s not. It may seem like wallpaper, but having that wallpaper stripped away has made us super conscious of its absence, and the ridiculous value of its presence.

It’s hard to pick a favorite Zora Neale Hurston quote, but one that’s stuck with me over the years is, “I feel most colored when I am thrown against a sharp white background.” We’re all defined, in many ways, by contrasts. For all that much of this adventure is about fleeing the US and some of its less pleasant aspects, being in Oaxaca has made me feel more American than I thought possible.

But you came here for food pictures.

Fine Dining

Casa Oaxaca

To cap off our day at Hierve el Agua, we decided to treat ourselves to a fine dining experience. Casa Oaxaca had come highly recommended, but we had no idea what was in store for us. This was not merely the best meal we’ve had in Oaxaca, we all agreed that it was one of the best meals we’ve had in our lives. For real.

We were so full after two appetizers each that we couldn’t do dessert. But after what they did with the food, we have to go back and see how they create magic with sugar.

Tierra del Sol

Our anniversary dinner on December 17th was derailed by poor planning, so we made up for it, in style, on the 19th at Tierra del Sol. The rooftop terrace was beautiful, and the food was amazing. It didn’t hurt that the bill, including two delicious cocktails and tip, came to $58.

Terraza Istmo

The rooftop restaurant/bar is a feature of Oaxacan dining, and Terraza Istmo’s is lovely. Nothing better on a warm evening than dinner and drinks al fresco. Terrazzo Istmo did not disappoint.

Boulenc

Boulenc is both a bakery and a cafe. There are a ton of bakeries in Oaxaca, but the local style of bread is really… white. It may look like a crunchy baguette, but it’s just a different shape of white bread. Boulenc makes a beautiful multigrain loaf, traditional sourdough baguettes, and really excellent pastries. Their sister shop next door, Suculenta, also specializes in non-local foods. They offer Greek yogurt, crunchy peanut butter (with nothing but peanuts), mango jams, bresaola, and all manner of delicacies. It’s an islet of other in a sea of tipico.

Boulenc’s cafe also specializes in non-Oaxacan cuisine. I’ve never really grasped the concept of comfort food before, but I ordered a ribeye cheeseburger and Dorothy had lasagne. It was yet another lovely rooftop setting, and food that genuinely comforted.

Zandunga

I just love saying Zandunga. It sounds like one of those mystical board games that captures unsuspecting children in kid movies. Truthfully, we ate there because of the name. For the same reason we make a cocktail called the Chupacabra.

As it happens, it’s a lovely courtyard restaurant serving up delicious takes on classic cocina tipica. That’s shrimp ceviche on the left, and a mixed platter that we shared on the right. Tamales, empanadas, garnachas, molotes… Every one a treat.

Oaxaca Te Amo

We’d sought out most of the restaurants above based on articles and reviews, but we just wandered into Oaxaca Te Amo because we were hungry and it looked quiet. The food here was beautifully plated and subtle, and very much a delicious surprise.

Street Food

If we didn’t have to occasionally sit down to eat someplace other than a curb or planter, I might only eat street food here. It’s axiomatic that in most places the street food is great (not looking at you, Sabrett), and we’re just at the beginning of the journey… But Jesus the street food in Oaxaca is amazing. I’m sure I’ll eat these words, happily, but it’s going to be hard to top.

Hamburguesas

The street cart hamburguesas are so amazing, and so particular, they require their own section. I’ll just come out and say it: best hamburgers I’ve ever had. They have to be. They have everything. We ordered them con todo, but without the hot dog. Curiously, the todo includes a hot dog. Truthfully, better without. Otherwise, perfection. Come see one built, a layer at a time on the grill.

Elotes & Esquites

Elotes and esquites also warrant their own place of honor in the street food pantheon. Elotes are ears of corn grilled and slathered in Cotija cheese or queso fresco, mayonesa, chile, and lime. Esquites are pretty much the same, except the corn has been removed from the cob and it’s all mixed together and served in a cup. Which is why it’s also known as elote en vaso. Or, as they were referred to more simply on Cherokee Street, our St. Louis Mexican neighborhood, vaso elote. Extra toppings can include various salsas and spices, as well as all the chapulines you can eat. Which in our case is none. My favorite sentence in Spanish? “Sin chapulines, por favor.”

Like hamburguesas and tlayuda, elotes y esquites are quintessential Oaxacan street food. And orders of magnitude better than a simple recitation of their ingredients makes them sound.

Tlayudas

Rounding out the street food trifecta is the humble Tlayuda. Reduced to its component parts, a tlayuda is just a Oaxacan tostada. It’s an exceptionally large tortilla, crisped on a traditional comal, a large flat griddle. Toppings vary, but the common denominators are asiento (settled pork fat), refried beans, quesillo (Oaxacan string cheese), and lettuce. You can add your meat of choice, which for us is usually tasajo (flank or skirt steak that’s pounded super thin and then cured in salt before grilling) or the local chorizo, which is spectacular. Sometimes served flat, sometimes folded, it is so much more than a mere tostada.

Foreign Food

A few years back we spent the holiday season in Cajun country. We went to this back country bayou roadhouse for New Years, having been tipped by a local that the music would be hopping. We went expecting a killer Cajun band, and found a Top 40 cover band instead. They do the zydeco every day. On a special occasion, they want something different.

The same holds true in Oaxaca. When they’re not in the mood for the usual, they love their pizza, fried chicken, and Chinese food.

Pizza

When we lived on the Upper East Side in New York there was a Mexican restaurant on the corner. We used to joke that the kitchen was full of Chinese cooks and photographs of Mexican food, because the food came out plated to perfection and tasting nothing at all like Mexican food. If you could get over your mouth expecting it to taste like it looked, it was fine. It just wasn’t Mexican food in any sense but visually.

And so it is with Oaxacan pizza (or, for that matter, St. Louis pizza). Pizza seems to be Oaxaca’s most popular food that isn’t traditional cocina, and it certainly looks the part. But it isn’t pizza.

There’s nothing wrong with it. I’m a thin crust guy, and this is a little Chicago-ier than I like it, but that’s just a personal preference. And the ingredients can be interesting, although I’d never have picked hot dog as a pizza topping. But the biggest gap is that there’s no tomato sauce. It’s basically an open-faced toasted flatbread sandwich. There’s an array of salsas available to squirt on top, which definitely makes for a better open-faced toasted flatbread sandwich. Just so long as you don’t expect it to taste like pizza just because it looks like pizza.

Pollo Kentucky

The Central de Abasto mercado near us has several vendors that make the most amazing roasted chicken. We had a craving the other day but didn’t feel like braving the Abasto, so we tried the Pollos Broaster a few blocks away, promising Pollo Kentucky. Roasted, broasted… How different could they be?

So. The pizza, kind of meh. We had takeout Chinese on Christmas Day (Tradition!) that was perfectly plausible. But the Pollos Kentucky? We’ve finally had our first (and likely only) actually bad meal here. Gray is not a food color and grease is not a flavor. Only look at the last picture in this slideshow if you have a strong stomach. Or have made a New Year’s resolution to never eat fried chicken again.