A sweet warmth lies just below the surface of Condesa’s über-cool Angelopolitano. Walking through the front door, we were first struck by the restaurant’s elegant decor, which exists somewhere between hipster chic and business casual. Potted plants sitting beneath framed 19th-century photographs make the space feel more like an art gallery than a place to eat. Such an environment would be off-putting if it weren’t for the staff, who flashed big smiles as we entered and spoke to each other in a familial, teasing tone you’d more expect to hear at a friend’s dinner party than an upscale restaurant.

At 2pm on most weekdays, slickly dressed business people stroll Mexico City’s trendy Juarez neighborhood, lending its streets an air of well-heeled, buttoned-up formality. The polished glimmer of their shoes marks them as the nation’s best and brightest, if not among its wealthiest. These are the white collar workers of the nearby Paseo de la Reforma, let out of their office towers for lunch. Many will choose to spend their breaks cradling greasy street tacos, craning their necks as they eat, careful not to stain or otherwise tarnish their smart suits.

Entering Central de Cacao, one might think it any other café in the hip neighborhood of Roma Sur. Sitting upon stools, customers hunch over their laptops, sipping from steaming mugs. A wide, beautiful geometric design hangs on the high wall behind the counter. To the left of the entryway, colorful products for sale line a stack of long shelves. But upon closer inspection, the sweet nature of the cafe and store reveals itself. The contents of the steaming mug: chocolate. The geometric design behind the counter: molinillos, or traditional Oaxacan chocolate whisks. The products on the shelves: all chocolate. Chocolate-infused honey. 100 percent chocolate bars.

Deep in the trenches of one of the oldest union strongholds in Mexico City, there’s a deeply democratic taquería that manages to bring together office workers, blue-collar workers, locals and tourists alike. When you walk by this place, chaos seems to reign. However, once you step into the current you realize there’s a system that keeps the flow of people, tacos, and drinks under control. Taquería El Progreso started serving beef head, suadero (a cut similar to brisket) and tripe tacos 23 years ago. Javier Ramos, an employee who has been working there since the beginning, told us that at first the taquería was about a third of its current size.

Milky, tart, viscous and slightly foamy. At first glance and sip, there’s little to explain why pulque – a mildly alcoholic drink made by fermenting the fresh sap of certain types of maguey, the same plant used for making mezcal – has remained a trusted companion to Mexican drinkers since Aztec times. Pulque, actually, has not only survived, but, after decades of losing ground to beer and soft drinks and their high-priced marketing campaigns, this workingman’s brew is making a comeback. New pulquerías are popping up in hip Mexico City neighborhoods and attracting a younger crowd while old pulquerías, which endured some lean times, are seeing an influx of new customers, who now sit side-by-side with older generations of loyal pulque drinkers.

Mexico City can be quite lacking when it comes to finding fresh, tasty seafood. At most markets in the city, in addition to the taco places and tlacoyo vendors, there is usually some kind of stand selling seafood, but the quality can be either very good or very bad. Buying from the right place is thus essential, and that’s why we were so happy to discover La Morenita, a standout seafood and oyster restaurant in Colonia Roma’s Mercado Medellín. Established more than three decades ago by Miguel Gardono, La Morenita has become a busy, reliable stop for shoppers.

One feels cooler simply for patronizing La Secina. The architecture of the restaurant seems to evoke a perpetual party vibe. At dinner, individual lights dangle on long lines amid a mesh of vines that gives the cavernous space a homey, DIY feel. The teal and orange on the wall are bright and clean. The stenciled restaurant logo and exhortations of “bienvenidos” feel as organic as they do well designed. Downstairs, picnic tables radiate outwards from a long, inviting bar. Upstairs a dedicated booze closet services a patio that looks out upon a beautiful church across the street. And on weekends, live blues bands play everything from Albert Collins to Muddy Waters to Robert Johnson.

(Editor's Note: In honor of the immigrants and refugees who have made their new home a better place for us all, this week we are running some of our favorite archived stories about those who have left a culinary mark on their adopted land.) Although we’re always hitting the pavement in search of the next good place to eat, sometimes places come to us. Such was the case with Tacos Árabes La Periquita, or “The Little Parrot,” an unassuming taquería in San Rafael that serves a relative rarity in Mexico City: “Arab tacos.”

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.

To call San Miguel de Allende mind-blowingly picturesque is no hyperbole. Cobblestone streets and colonial facades enchant and inspire romantic notions from even the greatest cynic. Called by some “Mexico’s Disneyland for adults,” it’s a coveted destination for lavish fairytale weddings and romantic getaways and for expats and snowbirds to pass the time under azure skies in its dry, temperate climate. The historic center is peppered with fine-dining restaurants, stylish eateries, hipster pop-ups and cafés with picture-perfect open-air terraces. Its weekly farmers’ market rivals those of the “foodiest” towns in the US. So what about the “real” San Miguel?

Mexico is gifted with both a tantalizing array of local delicacies and street stalls beyond count, serving them up for prices designed to feed the masses. It’s paradise for adventurous foodies where the next great meal can be found by simply following one’s nose. Nevertheless, some spots rise to the top, usually building on tradition and a passion for the food itself. Arroces Baby Face In Mexico City, every year brings new discoveries, and I was fortunate in 2016 to discover a gem, parked just out of the way from major tourist footpaths … but only just.

For the most part, Mexico City pampers its citizens with year-round warm, sunny weather, give or take the occasional downpour in the rainy season. And like any spoiled child, chilangos have grown so accustomed to living in such a temperate clime that any slight deviation registers as almost unbearable. At 19 degrees C, pedestrians cloak themselves in winter coats and hurry down the sidewalk, worrying that they will freeze to death on the two-block walk from their parked car to their front door. It’s rumored that chilangos are so unused to seeing their own breath in the cold that they mistake it for their souls escaping their bodies, augmenting their hatred of frigid weather.

On a Sunday morning in Mexico City’s Condesa neighborhood, the few people on the street mostly jog or bike or power walk. Trainers adorn their feet, spandex hugs their thighs, dogs tug their leashes. These paragons of fitness select exercise to combat their hangovers, a choice that reflects the aspirational character of the upper-middle-class neighborhood. Many of the restaurants and cafes in the neighborhood encourage these health-centric lifestyles, as “natural this” and “green that” and “vegan blah blah blah” stores appear on every block. But like a chocolate chip cookie infiltrating a salad, the puesto on the corner of Alfonso Reyes and Tamaulipas stands in open defiance of the neighborhood’s pursuit of physical wellness, opting instead to pursue hedonistic aims.

Mexico City is so vast that there are food places that can reach legendary status and still manage to remain unknown to most people. Take the case of Carnitas El Azul in Colonia Juárez. We had heard rumors about a place so good, Enrique Olvera – a Mexican chef who has also reached legendary status – unreservedly recommended it. However, when we asked around about it, nobody knew where it was or if it even existed. Only one friend, an expert eater, knew the hidden location of this mysterious jewel. “It’s really hard to find,” he said, promising to take us there. The day finally arrived. We met at the Insurgentes roundabout and walked towards the northwest exit.

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?