Forget Foams, Find Flavor: Why Mexico Does Food Right

If there’s one thing you need to understand about food—and believe me, I’ve thought about it long and hard over a plate of dubious airplane chicken—it’s that no one, and I mean no one, does food like Mexico. Forget your artisanal sourdough from San Francisco, toss out that overly fussy sushi from Tokyo, and don’t even get me started on British cuisine. (If I wanted a plate of boiled misery, I’d go back to boarding school.) No, when it comes to flavor, soul, and outright audacity, Mexico wins every time.

Here’s why.

Tacos

First, let’s address the taco, the Mona Lisa of Mexican cuisine. A taco isn’t just food; it’s a philosophy, a lifestyle, and, if done properly, a transcendent experience. You’ve got your soft corn tortillas, lovingly hand-pressed by someone who knows what they’re doing. None of that rubbery nonsense masquerading as “taco shells” in a plastic box. Fill it with carnitas—pork cooked so slowly and lovingly it practically writes you a love letter as you eat it. Add a dollop of guacamole, a sprinkle of onions and cilantro, and maybe a squirt of lime. That’s it. No frills, no faff, and certainly no shredded iceberg lettuce. It’s perfection.

Then there’s the variety: al pastor, with its glorious pineapple-crowned spit of pork; fish tacos so fresh they practically leap off the plate; and barbacoa, which tastes like someone bottled the concept of comfort and wrapped it in a tortilla. No one does tacos like Mexico because no one else understands that the simplest things are often the best.

Mole

Now, let’s talk mole. If you’ve never had it, imagine a sauce so complex it makes quantum physics look like tic-tac-toe. Mole isn’t just a sauce; it’s a masterpiece. Chocolate, chilies, nuts, spices, and about a hundred other ingredients combine to create something so rich and layered it’s like tasting a symphony. Oaxaca is the mothership of mole, with its famous seven varieties, each one a different shade of brilliance. Mole negro, with its smoky, bittersweet notes, could make even the driest piece of chicken sing. And mole poblano? That’s the sauce that practically built a nation.

You could try to replicate it at home, but unless you have a Mexican grandmother on speed dial, you’ll fail. And rightly so. Some things should remain sacred.

Chiles en Nogada

If mole is the symphony, chiles en nogada is the national anthem. A roasted poblano chili stuffed with a spiced meat-and-fruit mixture, smothered in a creamy walnut sauce, and topped with pomegranate seeds. It’s not just a dish; it’s a celebration on a plate, with the green, white, and red mirroring the Mexican flag. It’s sweet, savory, spicy, and rich, all at once, like someone turned the concept of balance into an art form.

Try finding that level of culinary patriotism in a shepherd’s pie. You won’t.

Street Food

Let’s descend from the heights of fine dining to the bustling, chaotic world of Mexican street food. This is where the magic happens. Mexico’s street food scene makes New York’s hot dog carts look like sad relics of a bygone era. You’ve got elotes, corn slathered in mayonnaise, cheese, chili powder, and lime. It’s messy, it’s unapologetic, and it’s utterly brilliant.

And then there are tamales, little bundles of masa dough stuffed with meats, cheeses, or chilies, steamed in corn husks, and served piping hot. They’re portable, delicious, and the perfect example of how Mexican food combines practicality with flavor. Oh, and don’t forget the quesadillas, which—and let’s clear this up—absolutely do not need cheese to be called a quesadilla. In Mexico, they play by their own rules, and it works.

Salsas

No discussion of Mexican food is complete without mentioning salsa. And I’m not talking about that jarred nonsense you pick up at the supermarket. Real salsa is a revelation. Whether it’s a smoky chipotle number, a bright and tangy tomatillo creation, or a fiery habanero concoction that makes you question your life choices, salsa is the ultimate condiment. It’s not there to coddle you; it’s there to challenge you. And in Mexico, the heat is real. If you’re not sweating a little, you’re doing it wrong.

Tequila and Mezcal

Finally, let’s raise a glass to Mexico’s greatest liquid exports: tequila and mezcal. Forget those cheap shots you regretted in college. Proper tequila and mezcal are works of art, crafted with care and meant to be savored. Mezcal, with its smoky, earthy notes, is the mysterious cousin who shows up to the party and steals the show. And tequila, especially the good stuff, is smooth, complex, and endlessly drinkable. Pair it with your tacos, sip it with your mole, or just enjoy it on its own. Either way, you’re winning.

In the end, Mexico doesn’t just do food right; it does it better than anyone else. It’s bold, it’s unapologetic, and it’s full of life. Mexican food isn’t just something you eat; it’s something you experience. So next time you’re tempted by a sad little plate of blandness, do yourself a favor: go Mexican. And thank me later.