Oaxaca doesn’t reveal itself all at once. You’ve got to work for it—wander off the main streets, ask the right questions, trust the wrong map. Our crew—Maria, Carlos, and me—landed in Oaxaca City with an open schedule and empty stomachs, chasing the kind of experiences that leave stains on your shirt and sand in your hair.

The Food That Stays With You

First stop: Las Quince Letras. This place isn’t on some influencer's hot list, and thank God for that. Chef Celia Florian runs the kitchen like a poet wields a pen—calm, deliberate, and utterly commanding. Her mole negro hits like a symphony: smoky, sweet, bitter, rich. We learned that she’s been perfecting it since she was a kid, taught by her grandmother, who probably had her own secret ingredient she never shared.

Across town, we hit Levadura de Olla, the kind of place that feels less like a restaurant and more like a love letter to the Mixe region. Chef Thalía Barrios Garcia grew up in a tiny village, and you can taste that connection to the land in everything she makes. Her tlayudas—those oversized, crackling tortillas topped with beans, cheese, and charred meats—are pure Oaxacan soul food.

The mezcal was flowing by this point, so we lingered, dipping into conversations with locals about everything from the changing cityscape to how the region’s culinary traditions are surviving modern tourism. Oaxaca has this way of making you feel like you’re part of something bigger, but only if you take the time to listen.

Off the Grid: Surfing at Barra de la Cruz

Two days later, we were down on the coast, chasing waves. Puerto Escondido? Too obvious. Instead, we loaded up the truck and headed toward Barra de la Cruz. No signs, no directions, just vague hand gestures from locals and a dirt road that felt like it led nowhere. And then it opened up—this perfect, empty beach where the waves peeled like they were made to be ridden.

Carlos was the first to paddle out, cutting through the water with that determined look only surfers get. The rest of us set up camp under a palm tree, drinking cold beers and swapping stories with a couple of fishermen who’d just come back with their haul. Barra’s a place where time doesn’t matter, where life feels simple and unhurried.

By sunset, our shoulders were sunburned, our bodies aching, but the smiles on our faces said it all.

Bringing It Back to the Table

Back in Oaxaca City, Maria decided we should try making tlayudas ourselves. We found a bustling mercado and grabbed everything we needed: handmade tortillas, Oaxacan cheese, creamy avocados, and paper-thin slices of tasajo.

Maria took the lead, slathering each tortilla with refried black beans before layering them with queso fresco, fresh salsa, and grilled meat. Then came the pièce de résistance—Milaluna Salsa Roja. Its smoky, slightly spicy depth tied the whole dish together, like it was meant to be there all along.

We ate in silence at first, the way people do when food demands your full attention. Then the stories started flowing again—about Chef Celia’s mole, Carlos’s wipeout, the fisherman’s advice to avoid Zicatela because the tourists were taking over.

Why It Matters

Oaxaca is a place that makes you earn its treasures. It’s not a postcard; it’s a real, living thing, full of stories and contradictions. You have to taste it, feel it, live it. From the mole at Las Quince Letras to the secret waves at Barra, to the tlayuda we made and doused in Milaluna Salsa Roja, this trip wasn’t just about discovering hidden gems. It was about letting them change you.

Because that’s the thing about Oaxaca: you leave, but it stays with you. In the salt on your skin, the smoke on your palate, and the memories you carry home.