From street tacos to sweet breads and legendary fondas, Santa Tere Market captures the essence of everyday life in Guadalajara – loud, delicious, and full of heart.

On a neighborhood back street, hemmed in by cars on both sides, sits a house-turned-secret dance club, a girl selling Maruchan soup-in-a-cup under a pop-up tent, and La Chubechada – a tiny storefront with a cutout window just big enough for Maria Guadalupe to poke her head out and take your order. When your drink comes up and she hollers out your name, you better be quick on your feet to go pick it up. For tourists venturing out of the center of Mexico City, La Chubechada feels far from the trendy spotlight and more than a little intimidating, but upon arrival the place hums with a neighborhood vibe – kids hanging out and getting tipsy on the sidewalk with their friends, locals stopping by to say hello.

We know that spring has arrived in Mexico City when street carts crowned with whole mangoes begin to roll into town. While wandering the Centro Histórico’s bustling streets just last week, we bumped into Maria, a seasonal worker whose cart is currently laden with this favorite springtime fruit. Intrigued, we stopped to watch as she deftly skewered the mango in her hand with a stick, peeled off the skin, made decorative cuts to transform the bright orange flesh into a beautiful flower, which she then brushed with chamoy, a classic Mexican sauce, and dipped in one of the brightly colored powders stored in plastic boxes: salsa tajín, chamoy, salt, chile or everything mixed together.

It’s finally hot in Mexico City. We’re smack dab in the middle of that two-month window between March and April that brings a dry, summer heat before the snow has even started to melt in some northern climates. The city is steaming, and chilangos are hunting down their favorite cool foods and the ubiquitous agua frescas sold in outdoor markets. We’re scouring the market, too, in search of our favorite hot weather treat, a cold chicozapote. A palm-sized oval with a rough brown exterior and an interior similar to a cooked pear in consistency, the chicozapote is not a fruit you find outside of many tropical or sub-tropical climates. Called a different name in almost every Caribbean and Central American country, this fruit and its cousins trail down the continent.

“You can’t call yourself Mexican if you don’t eat rosca de reyes,” jokes Rafa Rivera, head baker and owner of Forte Bread and Coffee in Mexico City. Distracted, he stops grating orange peel long enough to muse about the king’s cake he is making. Only 29, he already has several businesses under his belt, and is about to open a second Forte location in Colonia Juarez. Rafa opened the flagship Forte in the Roma Norte neighborhood, serving up delicious pastries and coffee, with beans from Pólvora Coffee Roasters – where his brother Julián is the lead roaster. (In 2017, Julián won first prize in the Mexican Brewers Cup Championship with his Pólvora beans.)

2022 has been another challenging year in countries around the world. Mexico is no exception, but here in Mexico City we’ve seen our megalopolis gradually return to the normal chaos we are used to. We were happy to see museums opening their doors, busy neighborhoods, streets teeming with people, businesses coming back to life, tourists in the trendy barrios and colonias, and more tour requests as Covid-19 restrictions were lifted little by little. People seemed anxious to get back out in the streets, parks and open spaces. Probably one of the few good things about the lockdown here was that many restaurants were allowed to set up tables on the sidewalks or even on the streets.

Pastel de tres leches is beloved throughout much of Latin America, and yet its origins remain a mystery. Some people claim that it was first baked in Nicaragua, others that the recipe was first printed on the label of a well-known brand of canned condensed milk in Mexico. Tres leches is usually a sponge cake soaked – as you might have guessed from the name – in a mixture of condensed, evaporated and regular milk, which might be flavored with vanilla, rum and cinnamon. The cake is baked and soaked in the milk mixture while it’s still warm and in the pan. It sits overnight so that the milk and flavorings thoroughly saturate every bite.

As you step into one of the gleaming chocolate-colored booths and slide along the ruby-red upholstered cushions, the nostalgia that permeates La Opera Bar is palpable. From an intimate corner booth you watch the hustle and bustle of the dining room, but remain inside your own dining world. One of the few centenarian businesses in Mexico City, the booths of La Opera have served as the meeting place of notable journalists, politicians, scoundrels and authors. Gabriel Garcia Marquez once refused some fans an autograph on a napkin, left the bar and returned an hour later with signed books for them. A faded newspaper clipping on the wall shows Carlos Monsiváis, José Luis Cuevas, Fernando Benitez and Carlos Fuentes seated around a table, deep in discussion.

It’s hot in Mexico City and Gerardo Vazquez, head chef of Nicos Restaurant, is thinking about cooling off. “Spring in Mexico City is hot,” he says, “And for me, it is very connected to Lent…so, fresh foods, cool things, vegetable-focused dishes.” Tostadas are on the menu at Nicos today – crunchy baked tortillas, one with a cobia fish ceviche, and another with smoked trout, yogurt, arugula and tomato – as well as an Acupulco ceviche with olives and capers, and a cool mango ceviche.

Sunlight filters through turn-of-the-century stainglass windows as the Cardenal waiters descend in but-ton-down white dress shirts and black vests. They offer a coffee, a concha, a hot chocolate – and in a flurry of dining activity you suddenly feel like the only person in the room. One of Mexico City‘s most well-loved eating establishments, El Cardenal overflows with extended families having Sunday lunch, tourists gawking at the restuarant‘s dining room murals, and long-time clients greeting the hos-tess by name as they pass by on the way to their favorite table. There’s a reason why El Cardenal is always mentioned in the best of the best restaurants in Mexico City. From humble origins, the restaurant has transformed into a veritable institution and has remained an iconic part of the community for over 50 years.

Cafe Allende’s manager, Roberto Hernandez, stands behind the counter, serving customers pan chino out of a display case grown foggy from the warmth of the fresh pastries inside. “The idea was to come and study, finish school, and work as a technical engineer. But it didn’t work out that way. This pulled me in,” he says, gesturing around the cafe. “Now it's my life.” Roberto had come to Mexico City as a boy, moving in with a sister 20 years his senior and her husband, Jesús Chew, a Chinese immigrant and the owner of Cafe Allende. Welcomed into their family as another son, Roberto worked at the cafe and spent many evenings with Jesús, learning Mexican-Chinese recipes like the varieties of pan chino, which means “Chinese bread” in Spanish.

Barbacoa – pit-roasted lamb or goat – is a Mexico City weekend essential. Stands pop up all over the city on Saturdays and Sunday selling the soft-as-butter meat on a warm tortilla, topped with a sprinkling of cilantro and raw onion and one of the many smoky salsas that generally accompany this dish. Even more, barbacoa broth is a well-known hangover cure, among the ranks of menudo (tripe soup) and pozole (hominy and meat soup). Before the city’s Roma neighborhood became the hip, bohemian mecca that it is now, Moises and Norma Rodriguez opened El Hidalguense, an unassuming spot on one of the neighborhood’s quieter streets. Now, 30 years later, it is known far and wide for roasting some of the best barbacoa in the city.