Mexico City: Mind, Belly, and Soul

If you’re planning a trip to Mexico City and you’re not planning your itinerary around food, you’re doing it wrong. You know, like bringing a sombrero to a sauna or wearing flip-flops on a hike. In other words, completely and utterly wrong.

Mexico City isn’t just a place where people eat food. It’s where food lives, breathes, and probably knows how to dance cumbia better than you do. In Mexico City, food isn’t just fuel, it’s the centerpiece of community, a source of pride, and a national treasure.

But where, oh where, do I even start?  Well, let’s take it to the streets, shall we?

Here’s the thing about Mexico City’s street food. It doesn’t ask for your attention. It just shows up, smells amazing, and before you know it, you’re standing at a sidewalk cart with salsa on your shirt and an existential smile on your face.

I started, like any unhinged food romantic should, with tacos al pastor. If you’ve never seen one of these vertical spits in action, you’re missing out! The meat is glistening, there’s the Holy Trinity of tomatoes, cilantro, and onion adorned on top like a sexy, spicy little crown. It’s basically edible performance art. Watching the taquero flick a sliver of pork onto a tortilla, slicing off a perfect chunk in a single flick of the wrist, is culinary magic. You eat it standing up, napkin in hand, salsa running down your arm like it’s your birthright.

Then there are the tlacoyos. These are thick, oblong discs of masa stuffed with refried beans and topped with nopales (cactus), crumbled cheese, and salsa so fresh it probably had dreams last night. They were served off a griddle in the middle of a busy intersection and tasted like my abuela (if I had an abuela) made them.

Every corner in Mexico City has something. You can get elotes slathered in mayo and chili, tacos de suadero that made me question my loyalty to all other foods, and not the kind of quesadillas you're thinking about, but ones with fillings I couldn’t pronounce, like huitlacoche, but would absolutely fight for. And yep, I never thought I’d be fighting for corn fungus either, yet here we are!

Before I tell you about the fancy cocktails and beet mole (yes, that’s coming), let’s pause for a second.

Mexican cuisine isn’t just a thing to do. It’s an identity. A conversation. A prayer. It dates back thousands of years, blending Indigenous traditions with Spanish influence and evolving into one of the most complex, colorful cuisines on Earth.

You don’t eat food here, you experience it. You live it. You talk about what your abuela made for you growing up, how many kinds of mole your family recipe includes, and why your corner taquero’s salsa verde is the best on the planet and everyone else is wrong.

Even UNESCO agrees! Traditional Mexican cuisine is quite literally on the Representative List of the Intangible Cultural Heritage of Humanity. If that doesn’t say ‘take this taco seriously,’ I don’t know what does.

Now let’s zoom in on Antolina Condesa, the bougie-but-still-warm restaurant where, to the dismay of my boyfriend, I briefly considered moving in or proposing to my cocktail. Perhaps both.

This is the kind of place that makes you want to whisper sweet nothings to your food. My meal began with a Carajillo, that glorious fusion of espresso and Licor 43, which tastes like a caffeinated sunset on the beach. Bold. Sweet. Energetic. Like me when I remember there’s dessert later!

My boyfriend, Omar, had the Hibiscus Mezcala. It tasted like a smoky flower made a deal with the devil and came out chic. It was bold and floral, like drinking a garden that has a penchant for a Marlboro Light.

Then the food. Ohhh, the food…

Aguachile Verde: Picture shrimp bathed in a citrusy green chili marinade, scattered with cucumbers, red onions, and some magic I can’t describe. It was fresh, spicy, and alive, like a ceviche that went to Burning Man and came back enlightened.

Roasted Tomato & Kale Soup: Yes, I ordered soup. In Mexico. On a warm night. But I love soup, and this wasn’t just soup. It was rich, earthy, and somehow soulful. Like a cozy sweater for your mouth.

Hibiscus Flower Flautas with Beet Mole: Look, I didn’t know beet mole was a thing, so now I’m just mad that no one told me sooner. The flautas were crispy little cigars of tangy hibiscus flowers, smothered in a sweet-earthy beet mole that made me emotional. And I don’t say that lightly.

Antolina is where modern Mexico pulls up a seat next to tradition and says, “Let’s do something weird and kooky that’s delicious.” And it works.

We’d heard good things, so were desperate to find some decent ramen in Mexico City. I love ya, Puerto Vallarta, and yes, there are ramen options. But we wanted RAMEN ramen, know what I mean? That kind of ramen that makes you fist pump the air in some moment of discovery glory.

World, meet Deigo Ramen. A happy, happy, happy surprise with chopsticks and a personality.

From the moment we walked in, I knew this was not your average noodle joint. It was cool, quiet, and filled with the scent of slow-simmered broth and possibility.

Omar ordered the Tantanmen ramen — spicy sesame broth, noodles with a perfect bounce, ground pork, and a soft egg that looked like it belonged in an art gallery. It was deeply satisfying, comforting, and just weird enough to feel like fusion, but still respectful of its roots.

I opted for their Vegan Ramen. The finely crafted noodles were made from wheat flour, and did they ever soak in that delicious broth! With additions like pumpkin, carrot, onion, cremini, shiitake, sprout, and scallion, it was as though Thanksgiving paid my mouth a visit and stuck around as it half watched a football game and half napped. You know, perky and attentive, but with a dreaminess about it.

Oh, and let me tell you about the personal-sized matcha dispenser. Yes, you read that right. One side dispensed cold matcha. The other, hot. FOR FREE. Right in front of your bar-style seat. I drank six cups. One hot, one cold on repeat. I’m pretty sure I’m now 70% noodle and 30% antioxidant.

You know what tied all this food together? Joy. Food in Mexico as whole is a joyful thing. It’s not rushed, it’s not sterile, and it’s definitely not eaten at your desk while refreshing emails.

It’s shared. It’s loud. It’s vibrant. And it’s full of stories, and pride, and love.

I saw strangers offering people bites of their lunch. I watched three generations of a family argue over tamale techniques at a street corner. I ate things I couldn’t pronounce, and then I asked for seconds. The food was incredible, yes, but the people, the culture, the life behind it? That’s what fed me most.

Mexico City isn’t just one of the world’s greatest food destinations. It’s a living museum of flavor, memory, and identity. You can learn as much from a street corner taco as you can from a five-course tasting menu. And honestly, you should try both.

Whether you’re sipping a hibiscus mezcal cocktail in Condesa or wolfing down tacos like a feral animal in Tepito, every bite tells a story. And not just stories of ingredients and chefs, but of generations, resilience, creativity, and joy.

So, if you go to Mexico City (and you should, immediately), bring your curiosity, your appetite, and several shirts you don’t mind staining with salsa. Because food isn’t just eaten there, it’s celebrated. And honestly? You’ll leave full, both physically and emotionally, but somehow, hungry for more.

Go be a part of the celebration. You can thank me later for the tip. By bringing me back some beet mole, of course!