Market mornings in Oaxaca
Hot chocolate, smoke from the grills and the long, happy confusion of trying to eat everything in one market before noon.
Every morning started the same way: a walk through streets already warm at eight, a turn into the market, and the immediate decision that breakfast would be several breakfasts.
The rules I made (and broke)
| Rule | How long it lasted |
|---|---|
| One hot chocolate a day | Until the second day |
| No more than three tlayudas a week | Four days |
| Always ask what something is first | Surprisingly, always |
| Leave room for lunch | Never once |
What I'd go back for
The smoke alley, where you choose your meat raw, hand it to a griller and eat it at a shared table with whatever salsas you were brave enough to pick. The bakery stall that sold bread shaped like little people. The woman who taught me, patiently and with visible amusement, to order chapulines without making a face.
Markets are where a city tells you what it actually eats. In Oaxaca it was telling me to slow down, sit down, and order one more thing.