Some places pull you in with their beauty. Others with their energy. Ensenada does both.

It’s the scent of salt and fresh seafood, the way waves crash against the malecón while mariachis play somewhere in the distance. It’s fishermen gutting their morning catch at Mercado Negro as abuelitas press tortillas just a few feet away. It’s loud, raw, alive. And for a few days, we let it take us in.

We arrived, as usual, with no itinerary, just an appetite. First stop, La Guerrerense. Street food royalty. The kind of place where time slows because every bite deserves your full attention. We ordered tostadas de erizo—sea urchin so fresh it tasted like the ocean itself, topped with avocado and a spoonful of pata de mula (blood clams). And, of course, salsa. The kind that fuses with everything, brightening, deepening, balancing. The kind that makes a meal unforgettable.

As the sun dipped, we made our way to Cuatro Cuatros, where Valle de Guadalupe meets the Pacific. The breeze carried the scent of the ocean, the sky stretched wide and endless, and mezcal warmed us from the inside out. Some places invite you to be a spectator. Others pull you fully in. Ensenada was the latter.

Mornings tasted like birria tatemada—slow-roasted beef, smoky, tender, dripping with consommé. We found ours at a roadside stand where the line moved fast, but the meat took hours to perfect. We soaked it all up with fresh tortillas, the salsa cutting through the richness, bringing everything into balance.

The road took us inland, into Valle de Guadalupe, where vineyards stretched toward the horizon, dust rising behind us, the sun painting everything gold. At Fauna, we sat at a long wooden table, eating food that felt both ancient and new—grilled quail, handmade cheeses, vegetables bursting with the taste of the earth. The simplicity of patience and care. The reminder that the best flavors aren’t rushed.

Back at the coast, the air smelled of the sea and fresh ceviche. We ducked into Doña Rosa’s, a marisquería with no sign, no menu—just trust. She handed us bowls of caldo de mariscos, thick with shrimp, clams, and a broth that had been tended to for hours. We squeezed lime, added salsa, let the steam hit our faces

This is why we chase food the way we do. Not just for the taste but for the feeling—the connection to a place, to the people who have perfected something over generations, to the slow, careful hands that make a meal mean something.

Ensenada stays with you. In the salt on your skin, in the breeze that carries the scent of the ocean, in the flavors that remind you that the best things in life take time.

Photo: @avdidit