Corona is a ritual, a talisman of nostalgia and an ambassador for Mexican culture across the world. Exported to more than 180 countries, it ranks as the world’s most valuable beer brand for the fifth consecutive year, with a brand valuation of US $13.4 billion, according to a 2025 report by Brand Finance. Yet its story is far richer than mere numbers suggest.

Pulque vs. beer

Long before European-style beer arrived, Mexicans had a passionate affair with fermented pulque, the sacred agave wine of pre-Hispanic civilizations. Made from freshly extracted maguey sap, pulque fermented naturally over just a couple of days, producing a mildly alcoholic, viscous beverage central to religious rites and daily life.

Then came the Spaniards. In 1542, Don Alonso de Herrera, an émigré from Seville, petitioned Emperor Charles V for permission to establish the first European-style brewery in the Americas. He set up at the Hacienda El Portal in the Valley of Mexico, and soon enough, he faced the challenges — sourcing barley and hops, royal taxes and logistic hurdles — to produce the colony’s first lagers and ales.

Five years later, his experiment failed. For three centuries, beer remained a European privilege in New Spain, while pulque stayed the people’s drink.

The 19th century reshaped Mexico. The effects of independence in 1821 unleashed aspirations for modernization: Foreign investment surged, railroads snaked across vast distances and mechanized factories promised unprecedented productivity. Yet, these gains primarily enriched a narrow elite, leaving most Mexicans to struggle for basic necessities.

By the 1860s, pulque had morphed from a household staple into big business for Mexico. In Mexico City — then with a population of less than half a million — some 500 pulquerías sold millions of liters weekly. The so-called “Pulque Aristocrat,” Ignacio Torres Adalid, earned 7,000 pesos in a single day while his workers scraped by on pennies.

A marketing coup 

At the end of the 19th century, German immigrants brought brewing know-how to Mexico, alongside a flair for publicity. They cofounded the first Mexican breweries with Spanish, American and local partners, then ran whisper campaigns slandering pulque as unsanitary and morally corrupt. A pulque became seen as “fermented with filth,” while beer was “crisp, light, and hygienic.” The myth stuck and coupled with resentment towards the pulque barons like Torres, beer began to take over.

Between 1891 and 1900, dozens of breweries sprouted nationwide. Cervecería Between 1891 and 1900, dozens of breweries sprouted nationwide. Cervecería Cuauhtémoc began in 1891; Moctezuma in 1894; La Estrella in 1900. By 1899, 72 breweries were registered across Mexico. Enduring names like Victoria (1865), Bohemia (1905), Carta Blanca (1905), Sol (1907), Indio (1912) and Dos Equis (1921), laid the foundations of a national beer culture.

The birth of Corona

On March 8, 1922, baker-turned-industrialist Braulio Iriarte Goyeneche and banker Martín Oyamburu incorporated Cervecería Modelo, S.A., in Mexico City. In 1925, they opened Modelo’s first brewery and launched Modelo pale lager. One month later, they introduced a new recipe: Corona Extra.

Legends persist that Corona’s name derived from the crown atop the Church of Our Lady of Guadalupe in Puerto Vallarta. Yet that church wasn’t completed until 1930, and no contemporary record confirms the tale. It’s likelier that the iconic “crown” evoked European — particularly Bavarian — heritage, reinforcing Corona’s image of regal purity.

Corona’s clear-glass bottle was a stroke of genius: It showcased the beer’s golden clarity and differentiated it from dark-bottled rivals. By 1935, Modelo was acquiring competitors; by 1950, it had emerged as Mexico’s dominant brewer, its secret ingredient a marriage of technical excellence and visionary marketing.

Good beer or great marketing? 

Corona’s marketing playbook reads like a master class in brand storytelling. The clear bottle conveyed “no secrets,” subtly contrasting with pulque’s murky associations. Even today, when pulque is no longer a rival, Cervecería Modelo reinforces the idea of purity and excellence by making crystal-clear beers.

It isn’t just the color that attracts drinkers across the world, though:

• Radio serials associated with the brand starred Mexican icons like singer and actor Pedro Infante. Corona was a unmissable sponsor of Infante’s serial, “Ahí viene Martín Corona,” which wove the brand into Mexicans’ nightly escapism.
• Until two decades ago, Corona-branded tables and chairs turned every taquería, corner store, and beach shack into a pop-up billboard. The clatter of their metal tables and seats became the unmistakable soundtrack of Mexican conviviality.
• Recognizing the beach as its natural habitat, Corona later championed marine conservation campaigns to protect the shores that inspired its imagery.
• No one knows exactly why the lime wedge became protocol. Whether it was to sanitize drinkers’ lips or to enhance flavor, the custom endures as beer’s most enduring garnish.

From Mexico City to Mozambique

Corona’s global takeoff began in 1976, when Grupo Modelo partnered with Canadaigua Wine Company (pre-Constellation Brands) to serve Mexican-American communities. By 1985, Modelo had secured the Corona trademark for the entire United States, unleashing nationwide distribution; South America and Europe followed. Today, Corona graces every inhabited continent.

Half of Corona’s exports land in the U.S. Another 15% end up in Canada, 10% in the U.K., 8% in Australia, and 5% in Japan. Wherever it appears, from Burkina Faso to Uzbekistan,  from Barbados to Russia, it offers expatriate Mexicans — and their friends — a potent taste of home.

A new chapter

In 2008, under CEO Carlos Fernández, Grupo Modelo negotiated a majority-stake sale to global brewing titan Anheuser-Busch InBev. By 2012, AB InBev acquired the remaining shares for US$20.1 billion — one of the biggest deals in industry history.

To satisfy U.S. antitrust rules, American distribution rights moved to Constellation Brands, while AB InBev retained global brewing and marketing outside the U.S. Thus, in the United States, Corona is a Constellation import; internationally, it’s an AB InBev brand — yet its spirit remains distinctly Mexican.

Sustainability and innovation

With millennials and Gen-Z drinking less alcohol and caring deeply about environmental impact, Grupo Modelo created Corona Cero, its nonalcoholic variant. Even more ambitiously, Corona pledges to safeguard Mexico’s precious water resources. Both AB InBev and Constellation Brands have financed watershed restoration projects, committing to replenish more freshwater than they consume. As Corona enters its second century, its sustainability initiatives warrant both scrutiny and applause.

Corona’s century-long saga is, at its heart, the story of how Mexico learned to narrate itself — first to its own citizens, then to the world. From pulque’s agrarian origins to European-style breweries; from local radio dramas to global ad campaigns — Corona embodies a national journey toward modernity without sacrificing authenticity.

María Meléndez is a Mexico City food blogger and influencer.

The post Made in Mexico: Corona appeared first on Mexico News Daily

Can you imagine the world of pastry without chocolate or vanilla? Both are staples of the modern dessert menu, all of them gifts from the pre-Hispanic world. But today, let’s talk about just one of them: vanilla.

Try to picture it. Half the perfumes on earth? Gone. Cakes without that signature warm sweetness? Ice cream with no baseline of vanilla to contrast more adventurous flavors? Vanilla is everywhere — and yet, few people know how deep its roots run.

Tlilxóchitl

A member of the orchid family, this delicate bloom thrived along the Gulf of Mexico, from the lush jungles of Veracruz to the Yucatán Peninsula, and even as far as Michoacán and parts of Brazil. The Totonacs of Veracruz called it caxixánat. The Maya knew it as zizbic. And for the Aztecs, it was tlilxóchitl, or “black flower.”

And yet, unlike corn, beans, or squash, vanilla was never truly domesticated. Pre-Hispanic cultures harvested its pods in the wild, then dried them in the sun, releasing the rich oils responsible for its unforgettable scent and flavor. Then that precious oil was used as perfume, as sweetner to ceremonial cacao drinks and used as medicine — for coughs, digestion, even during childbirth.

In Totonac tradition, vanilla was sacred. It was offered to Kiwikgolo, the guardian god of the forest who presided over all natural life. Over centuries, the Totonacs perfected their techniques: waiting patiently for melipona bees and hummingbirds — vanilla’s only effective natural pollinators — to fertilize the flowers. Once harvested, the green pods were laid out under the sun on cloths, then wrapped in blankets to “sweat.” This laborious process, known as beneficiado, transformed the pods into the dark, wrinkled, fragrant vanilla we recognize today.

Vainilla

When Hernán Cortés returned to Spain in the early 16th century, he brought vanilla and cacao with him. The Spanish court fell in love. Soon after, it swept across Europe. Queen Elizabeth I’s personal physician used it as a spice, believing it to be an aphrodisiac. A century and a half later, Madame de Pompadour — King Louis XV’s famed mistress — did the same.

For centuries, Mexico held a global monopoly on vanilla production. But in 1841, a 12-year-old enslaved boy named Edmond Albius on the French island of Réunion (that tiny dot right next to Madagascar) discovered a method for hand-pollinating the vanilla orchid. This changed everything. France surpassed Mexico in production. Today, Madagascar and Indonesia dominate the market. Mexico, once the heart of vanilla, now ranks third.

 

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Still, real vanilla is extraordinarily labor-intensive — and expensive. That’s where the story takes another turn.

Synthetic vanilla

In 1874, two German chemists synthesized vanillin, the primary compound responsible for vanilla’s aroma and flavor. Today, 99% of all vanilla consumed globally is synthetic. It’s in everything from soft drinks to cookies to “vanilla”-flavored protein powder. That scoop of vanilla ice cream? Probably doesn’t contain a single molecule of the real thing.

Which is why, on days when I’m feeling particularly discerning, I avoid vanilla desserts altogether — unless I’m certain they’re made with the real thing. Of course, by the next evening, I’m halfway through a pint of Ben & Jerry’s Chocolate Chip Cookie Dough. Consistency isn’t my strong suit.

The health benefits of real vanilla (yes, there are some)

Used sparingly, natural vanilla has antioxidant and anti-inflammatory properties. Some early studies suggest it may have anti-cancer potential and cardiovascular benefits. The aroma alone has been linked to calming effects, better sleep, and reduced anxiety.

But moderation is key. Real vanilla extract contains alcohol, and consuming too much could lead to liver damage or stomach upset — not to mention a very strange hangover.

According to researchers at Universidad Veracruzana, the recommended dose of natural extract is up to 25 drops per day, added to coffee, milk, tea, or smoothies. For baking, 3–5 ml per kilo of dough is ideal — or 1–3 grams if you’re using concentrated vanilla paste.

My go-to: Homemade vanilla greek yogurt

I love the creamy texture and health benefits of Greek yogurt, but some days I miss the unapologetic sweetness—and sugar rush—of my childhood favorite: pineapple Danone. For those moments, two or three drops of natural vanilla extract into the tub is all it takes. It’s a small ritual, but one that connects me to a time when I didn’t give a second thought to nutrition labels.

So the next time you taste vanilla — whether in a dessert, a drink, or even a fragrance — pause for a moment. Think about the flower that grows deep in the tropical forest. About the people who first gave it meaning. About the long journey from sacred orchid to synthetic stand-in.

Do you use real vanilla in your kitchen? Or are you just now discovering what you’ve been missing? Let’s talk in the comments.

María Meléndez is a Mexico City food blogger and influencer.

The post Taste of Mexico: Vanilla appeared first on Mexico News Daily

When I was a kid and winter rolled in — or when we inevitably caught a nasty cold — my mom, following doctor’s orders, would hand us little slices of guava drenched in honey and sometimes a splash of lime.

The smell of guava is intense. Some would even call it overwhelming. The flavor? Same story. Bold, unapologetic, and absolutely delicious. That flavor is part of Mexico’s cultural fabric. You’ll find it in candies, desserts, moles, aguas frescas, and, of course, the legendary Boing de guayaba.

Guayabas Before the Conquest

Guava is native to Mesoamerica — specifically, southern Mexico and Central America. We know this because archaeological remains have been found in places like Teotihuacán, even though the guava tree doesn’t grow there naturally. That means it was imported, which also gives us a glimpse into the complexity of ancient trade networks. There’s also evidence of guava in Chiapas dating back to 1000 A.D.

In the Nahuatl-speaking world, guava was known as xolócotl or cuahuitl. I haven’t cracked the etymological code linking those words to “guayaba” yet, but I’m working on it.

In the Florentine Codex, guavas are described as “fragrant little apples, unknown to us, sweet and sour, and quite useful for stopping diarrhea.” A fruit with Renaissance-level multitasking skills.

Other historical records note that both the fruit and its leaves were used to treat digestive issues, infections, viruses, and skin conditions. So while it wasn’t a daily staple like chile, corn, or beans, guava was always there — quiet, healing, and humble.

Guava steals the spotlight

 

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Fast-forward to colonial Mexico, where Spanish culinary techniques met native ingredients. That’s when guava got its chance to shine. It became the star of jams, preserves, pastries — and eventually, the classic ate de guayaba.

When we visited our grandparents and they had no interest in making or buying dessert, they’d play the “Tenemos ate” card. Out came the guava paste from the pantry, along with manchego cheese. Thin slices of each, paired together. Best. Dessert. Ever.

Ate is one of Mexico’s most traditional sweets, born out of the need to preserve fruit long before refrigeration. Think of it as the unholy lovechild of jelly and marmalade, but with a dense, almost creamy texture. A sliceable slab of nostalgia.

Another classic? Atole de guayaba. At some point during the three-century-long colonial period (don’t ask me exactly when), someone had the divine idea to add guava to atole. Whoever that person was — gracias. The sweet, floral guava perfectly balances the subtle acidity of the atole. With its nutritional punch, it’s better than any post-workout supplement on the market.

And then there’s mole de guayaba, a regional dish from the Bajío. Sounds weird, right? Sweet fruit in a savory sauce? But guava’s tart-sweet punch deepens the mole’s complexity. It doesn’t taste like dessert — it just works.

I can’t leave out the most commercial — but no less beloved—way of enjoying guava. In Mexico, we have a long-standing love affair with fruit-based aguas frescas and juices. In the 1960s, the already iconic soda brand Pascual launched Boing, a fruit-based drink made with real pulp. With seven different flavors, guava remains one of the most cherished among us loyal fans. Some might scoff, but trust me—pair a cold Boing de guayaba with tacos from a street stand, and that’s not just a meal. It’s a rite of passage.

Super guava powers

Forget oranges and lemons — guava has more vitamin C than both. Suddenly, my pediatrician’s remedy makes sense: load up on guava and honey.

It’s also rich in vitamin A, B-complex (even B12), and E. You’ll find calcium, iron, potassium, magnesium, and phosphorus packed into its juicy flesh and tiny seeds.

What does that mean for you? Regular guava consumption boosts your immune system, fights oxidative stress, supports your skin and eyes, and even helps your brain’s neurotransmitters do their job (thanks, B6). It’s good for your blood pressure, your nervous system—and yes, if your digestive system is out of whack, guava’s got your back. Pre-Hispanic medicine had it figured out.

Got ulcers? Guava won’t cure them, but it might take the edge off.

What the hell can you do with guava?

Honestly? Anything. Make jam. Blend it into smoothies, aguas frescas, juice, sorbet, jello (pro tip: guava + yogurt = magic), tamales, cakes, pies, eclairs—even meat glazes for that perfect sweet-sour contrast.

But if you want to keep it simple, yet wildly satisfying, here’s one of my go-tos—a little homage to my pediatrician:

Mascarpone toast with guava (serves 2)

Ingredients:

Instructions:

Vegan Version: Whipped Tofu Toast with Guava

Ingredients:

Instructions:

Amigos, guayaba is one of Mexico’s boldest flavors—even if it’s often underestimated. It’s been medicine. It’s been dessert. It’s been here long before Columbus got lost. If you haven’t tasted it yet, now’s the time. And if you have, but somehow forgot about it—welcome back!

María Meléndez is a Mexico City food blogger and influencer.

The post Taste of Mexico: Guava appeared first on Mexico News Daily

The squash plant, or “flor de calabaza” as it is ubiquitously known in Mexico, was a fundamental part of the milpa system for pre-Columbian cultures. But perhaps even more important than the plant itself was the role of its flowers.

In the Mesoamerican cosmovision, flowers were everything. They were medicine, food, decoration, pigment, offering, symbol, omen and poetry.

In societies ruled by agriculture, like theirs, flowers marked the beginning of the agricultural cycle. Because of that, they represented abundance and renewal. Like us, pre-Columbian peoples saw flowers as something delicate, so fragile that they also symbolized the profound respect they held for the balance required by nature — and, by extension, for the gods who manifested through nature itself.

The diverse foundational myths across Indigenous cultures reveal the profound reverence forsacred plants and flowers. Another indication of their importance is the depiction of flowers in murals, pottery, and other archaeological pieces. In Teotihuacan, for instance —the “City of the Gods” — the depiction of flowers was associated with music, poetry, and the beauty of language.

Imagine eating something that carries all those meanings.

Squash blossom

According to archaeological records, the squash was the first plant cultivated by Mesoamericans around 10,000 years ago. And not a single part of it went to waste: the seeds, the flesh, the stem, and of course, the flower were used in some way.

The blossom, known in Nahuatl as ayoxóchquilitl — according to the chronicler Fray Bernardino de Sahagún — commonly eaten, usually cooked, or added to stews.

 

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Harvesting the blossoms was — and still is — a delicate event. You have to pick them early in the morning, before the sun wilts them. They bloom only for a single day, so timing is everything. And you must handle them with care, remembering that ancient respect for the gifts of the earth.

Flor de calabaza today

This humble field food has made a spectacular leap into Mexico’s most high-end kitchens. And it’s no wonder — its flavor is extraordinary: slightly sweet, slightly herbaceous. Its delicate taste makes it a star ingredient in quesadillas, soups, creamy stews, tamales, fritters and any dish you can think of.

My favorite way to eat squash blossoms? In a quesadilla with epazote. But equally satisfying is squash blossom soup with young corn and diced zucchini, commonly known as sopa de milpa. Not only is it delicious — it’s also incredibly nutritious.

Super flower

If you’re looking for the perfect nutritional sidekick to your meal, squash blossoms are it. A small bunch is packed with vitamins A, B1, B2, B3, B9, and C. They also contain significant amounts of calcium, iron, phosphorus, potassium and magnesium, plus flavonoids and antioxidants.

So what does this mean for your health? Squash blossoms can help prevent osteoporosis, promote healthy growth in children, and support strong eyesight. They’re also great for urinary health, boost cardiovascular function, lower cholesterol, support pregnancy, and even help fight the common cold.

In short, squash blossoms are a bona fide superfood.

So, my friends, I know you’re going to want to try this delight for yourselves. Here’s my recipe for Sopa de Milpa — a bowl that’s as comforting as it is meaningful.

Milpa Soup Recipe (Serves 4–6)

Ingredients

Instructions

Notes:

Amigos, I like to think that eating this squash blossom soup isn’t just about honoring Mexican culinary traditions — it’s also a beautiful act of reconnecting with the ancient reverence for nature and its delicate balance.

And, don’t you think there’s something wildly luxurious about eating the colorful and delicious flor de calabaza?

María Meléndez is a Mexico City food blogger and influencer.

The post Taste of Mexico: Flor de calabaza appeared first on Mexico News Daily

This isn’t a rebuttal. I don’t claim to speak for all Mexicans. But I do want to offer another truth — one rooted in experience, memory and place.

Just how expensive has Mexico City become?

I still remember when The Economist’s global cost of living report was published in 2024. Mexico City ranked as the 16th most expensive city in the world — ahead of Milan, Munich and Washington, D.C. My friends and I stared at the screen, speechless. And then we laughed. Bitterly. Now we knew why our wallets felt like black holes where money disappeared, never to be seen again.

Sarah is right: foreigners don’t set the prices. This inflationary spiral has been fueled by policies, incentives and market decisions made by us Mexicans — particularly those in power.

Tourism was always the objective 

The truth is, Mexico didn’t accidentally become a tourism magnet. It was a calculated move and part of a broader economic strategy that began during President Enrique Peña Nieto’s administration (2012–2018). The goal was to diversify our economy, shifting from a manufacturing-heavy model toward services and tourism.

The “Visit Mexico” campaign was everywhere: billboards in airports, glossy spreads in international travel magazines, glowing write-ups in art publications about how the city had become the “new Berlin.” Remember the opening scene from James Bond’s “Spectre,” set in the city’s historic center? It still makes me laugh that we now have an annual Day of the Dead parade inspired not by tradition, but by a James Bond movie.

We laid the groundwork. And now we’re reaping both the benefits and the consequences.

What does gentrification feel like?

My parents met in the early 1980s. At that time, suburban life was seen as the ultimate dream; with just a few years of hard work, one could afford a large home on a quiet street, creating an ideal environment for raising a family. I was born in 1990 and grew up in the south of Mexico City. I attended a private school, spent entire months on long family vacations and enjoyed a comfortable upper-middle-class suburban lifestyle. I was a “niña fresa.”

In 2008, I enrolled in Art History at Casa Lamm in La Roma, a neighborhood already undergoing gentrification at that time. To my parents, it was still a “barrio populachero” (a derogatory term for a working-class area), a far cry from the refined neighborhood they remembered before the 1985 earthquake completely leveled it. For them, my fondness for la Roma symbolized a descent into counterculture, as if I were auditioning for a role in a Kerouac or Burroughs novel.

In 2010, I found a tiny apartment on the corner of Jalapa and Álvaro Obregón. It was a 1970s building, poorly laid out but with a breathtaking view of Reforma’s skyline. Rent? 5,200 pesos, or around US $250 at the time. I rationalized it as a gas-saving strategy, though my parents were skeptical, of course. You’d have thought my sister and I had moved into one of the tenements from “Trainspotting.”

Those were golden years. Friends lived nearby in Condesa. We spent afternoons in cafés and libraries, haunted galleries and bookstores, drank mezcal in old cantinas where office workers, hipsters, artists and intellectuals mingled with a kind of bohemian ease. We felt part of something.

But by 2017, after the earthquake damaged my building, I had to move out.

When I tried to move back the following year, my landlord had turned the apartment into an Airbnb. The new monthly rate? 28,000 pesos, a shade less than US $1,400. Three times what I had been paying during my last year there.

Later, I found another place, on Puebla and Orizaba, and fell in love. One hundred and sixty square meters, two terraces, a dream kitchen, sunlit bathrooms. It cost 32,000 pesos (about US $1,600). I was ready to grow old there, but then came the pandemic. Six months without work and I had no choice but to leave.

The pandemic really marked a before and after in Mexico City’s dynamic. When I returned in 2021, my old apartment was listed at 42,000 pesos (US $2,100). Something had shifted. The neighborhood no longer felt like home.

Rents had exploded everywhere. Beloved buildings, like the iconic Balmori, saw prices triple. More foreigners arrived. My parents, once concerned, were now oddly reassured: the neighborhood looked better to them, more “whitexican” and cosmopolitan.

During the 11 years I lived in Roma, we didn’t just alter the demographics. We erased entire micro-economies, some of them operating since the 1950’s.

Hardware stores, shoemakers, corner bodegas, tailor shops, classic liquor and tobacco shops, tortillerías, fruit shops — all gone. They were replaced by bilingual cafés and curated restaurants, many backed by people like us: whitexicans with connections and capital, and a taste for aesthetic control. Gentrification didn’t descend on us. We caused it.

The protests were fuelled by xenophobia

Unlike Sarah, I didn’t see the “anti-gentrification protest” as a critique of capitalism or inequality. I saw it as something more visceral, more targeted. The majority of the signs didn’t read “Regulate Airbnb” or “Protect tenants’ rights.” They said:

• “Gringo go home.”
• “Kick out the gringo before he kicks you out.”
• “My city is NOT your Airbnb.”
• “Aquí se habla español.”

Why target Americans and not Spaniards, Germans, Argentinians or Colombians?

I think I know why. The perception — fair or not — is that particularly young Americans bring with them a certain kind of entitlement. They don’t try to communicate in Spanish, nor respect our culture, and treat the city like a party spot or a photo booth.

I don’t think this perception is accurate, but I have witnessed things that could be seen to support this.

In my apartment on Puebla, I lived across from an Airbnb that hosted a rotating cast of international visitors. Loud parties on weeknights were normal, and the visits of sex workers and drug dealers were occasional. That event that ended the building’s Airbnb era was a drug-fuelled rampage that culminated in the destruction of the furniture.

I haven’t seen it in a while, but there was a period when if you walked by Plaza Río de Janeiro, you would see a group of tourists sunbathing in bikinis. While they weren’t causing any harm, in a conservative country like ours, it felt disrespectful. Not criminal. Just off. Inappropriate.

Many of us are witnessing our neighborhood transform into something unrecognizable, not just in rent, but in spirit. Experiences like these create the fear that Mexico City will become “the next Tulum.” This fear might be totally misguided, but perception, as we know, can often outweigh reality.

Some friends — who now call me a “sellout”— have asked me in the Taste of Mexico videos we share on Instagram to stop promoting Mexico. I’ve fought with them and defended my work. Yet, I understand where the plea comes from.

I will always defend cultural exchange

Thanks to my multiple degrees in Art History, Journalism, and Sociology (I was unfocused as a student) I firmly believe that cultural exchange strengthens any society. Throughout history, I’ve seen how dedicated many foreigners are in their efforts to learn Spanish, integrate into our communities, show respect and gain a better understanding of this country than the average Mexican. Anita Brenner’s book “Idols Behind Altars” (1929) is one of many examples.

We, at Mexico News Daily and you, the audience, are living proof of the enormous effort and care that can be put into building this bridge between cultures.

So let me say this clearly: if you’ve been mistreated, insulted or made to feel unwelcome in these last few weeks, I’m sorry, not all Mexicans feel the same way. Sarah is right: fear often manifests as violence, but that will never be justification for xenophobia and violence.

These demonstrations — polarizing as they are — have struck a chord that will continue to resonate for some time. They reflect the growing tension points that define modern urban life: overpopulation, inequality, resistance to change, the fear of being displaced and the relentless precarization of, well, everything.

I was part of the first wave of gentrification. And so I find myself asking, not just as a citizen, but as an accomplice: How do you repair a community you fractured, without becoming patronizing or without offering cheap solutions and platitudes that might deepen the wound?

I believe that, like in any relationship, once you become invested, you start to care. This doesn’t mean that you have to agree on everything or always like each other — just ask anyone living with their partner. However, one thing is certain: you do not intentionally destroy or hurt what you truly love.

María Meléndez is a Mexico City food blogger and influencer.

The post Another side of the story: A Mexican perspective on gentrification appeared first on Mexico News Daily

One of the most exotic fruits in the world is the dragon fruit, also known as pitahaya. While many believe it originated in Asia, it actually comes from southern Mexico, Central America, and parts of South America.

The dragon fruit is visually striking, with its unique appearance and vibrant colors, making it stand out among other fruits we’ve explored in this series. Its flavor is just as delightful as its appearance. The fruit went unnoticed for many years until it reemerged in the 1990s and has steadily gained popularity at our tables ever since.

Its mysterious origin

The origin of pitahaya, commonly known as dragon fruit, is surrounded by le mystère. We lack archaeological remains or historical sources that can definitively confirm whether this fruit was consumed in pre-Hispanic Mexico.

The first challenge is that the term “pitahaya” comes from the Antilles and means “scaly fruit,” which means there is no indigenous language name to help trace its cultural use or find references in ancient codices. However, we do know that pre-Hispanic cultures were not averse to eating fruits from cacti, so it’s reasonable to assume they might have consumed dragon fruit.

The second challenge is that it likely did not hold the same significance as other fruits, like the prickly pear (tuna), which are featured in foundational myths and pre-Hispanic rituals.So, apparently preHispanic guys weren’t impressed by it.

Nonetheless, the varieties of cactus that produce dragon fruit are domesticated, and no plant domesticates itself. This suggests that indigenous cultures must have consumed the fruit regularly.

Pitaya or Pitahaya?

 

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Both terms are technically correct; however, in common usage, “pitahaya” typically refers to the Hylocereus undatus variety, which is what we commonly call dragon fruit. You can think of “pitahaya” as the name reserved for the fruit’s exotic and stunning cousin.

On the other hand, “pitaya” usually refers to the Stenocereus varieties. We have much more historical information about these varieties, which have been consumed for at least 9,000 years. They resemble prickly pears — rounder in shape, sometimes spiny and sometimes not—featuring colorful skins and pulp that looks like it’s straight out of a Pantone catalog. If you come across them, don’t hesitate to try one — they’re a showstopper in both flavor and appearance.

Are you prepared for a significant transformation?

Recent chemical studies reveal that dragon fruit offers a variety of health benefits:

1. Goodbye, anemia: Dragon fruit is rich in iron and vitamin C, which enhances iron absorption in the intestines.

2. A must for your skincare routine: With its high levels of vitamin C and antioxidants, dragon fruit helps keep your skin firm, stimulates collagen production, and fights premature aging. Say hello to glowing skin!

3. Powerful antioxidant properties: In addition to vitamin C, dragon fruit contains phenols and betacyanins that support cell health and may help prevent chronic diseases.

4. Immune system booster: It encourages the production of white and red blood cells, as well as platelets, which boosts your body’s natural defenses.

5. Supports a healthy gut: Rich in prebiotics and fiber, dragon fruit promotes digestion and overall gut health.

6. Heart-friendly: Dragon fruit may help prevent arrhythmias and heart issues, lower cholesterol levels, and assist in regulating blood sugar.

7. Strong bones: Packed with calcium, magnesium, and phosphorus, it supports bone health and promotes growth in children.

8. Weight control: With 85% water content, dragon fruit also contains tyramine, which encourages your body to use stored fat for energy. It aids in eliminating excess fluids and toxins as well.

An endless variety

Now that you know dragon fruit is the secret ingredient to looking and feeling your best, let’s get to the exciting part—how to eat it:

• Raw: This is my favorite way to enjoy dragon fruit, as it offers the most health benefits.
• In drinks or smoothies: Consider trying lime water with dragon fruit or a berry smoothie enhanced with dragon fruit for a powerful boost of antioxidants. Don’t forget to add chia seeds for an extra superfood kick!
• In desserts: You can incorporate it into gelatin, mousse, or ice cream, which is my personal favorite (in moderation, of course).
• In salads: I can’t recommend enough this delicious combination: dragon fruit, kiwi, pineapple, almonds, shredded coconut, and mint leaves. For added protein, include tofu, chia seeds, or Greek yogurt. Want something savory? Swap the fruits for avocado and cucumber, and dress it with lemon juice, oil, salt, and pepper. Adding chicken makes it even more delicious!
• Cocktails: I’ve never been a fan of adding salads to cocktails, but I can’t deny that some recipes are refreshing and delicious. I have to confess that the mezcalita de pitahaya, margarita de pitahaya, and pitahaya gin and tonic taste way too good.

Amigos, even if you’re just experimenting, try including dragon fruit in your diet regularly. You might be surprised at how often people start asking what you’re doing to look so youthful and radiant.

María Meléndez is a Mexico City food blogger and influencer.

The post Taste of Mexico: Pitahaya appeared first on Mexico News Daily

In Mexico, one of the classic childhood snacks is a cup of raw vegetables, which typically includes cucumber, carrot, and jícama sticks soaked in lime juice, salt, and chile piquín. In these cups, the carrots are usually the last to be eaten, while the jícama is the first to disappear.

Now, as an adult, when I’m starving, I head to my friend’s fruit cart and buy a large cup of jícama with plenty of lime and mild chile piquín, and that keeps me going for hours.

At local street food stalls, jicaletas are incredibly popular. These are large slices of jícama served on a wooden stick, similar to a popsicle. The jícama is often topped with chamoy or mayonnaise, cheese, and chile piquín. Although these combinations might sound unusual, they are a favorite among many.

Xicamatl

Jícama derives from the Nahuatl word “xicamatl,” which translates to “a root that’s eaten raw and is very sweet.” Although there are few pre-Hispanic records mentioning jícama, it is known to have been cultivated as part of the milpa system, where it supported the growth of nearby crops and acted as a highly effective pesticide.

One example of how cherished jícama was in pre-Hispanic culture can be found in the oral tradition of the Purépecha people of Michoacán. This beautiful story describes the impossible love between the Moon and the Sun. They spent all their time together, resulting in “days full of light with no shadows and nights full of shadows with light.” Mother Nature, who created both the Sun and the Moon, scolded them and reminded them of their true purpose and mission. Although the Sun and the Moon tried to persuade her to let them stay together, she painted a grim picture of what their union would mean for humanity. Ultimately, they agreed to separate.

Devastated by this separation, the Moon shed a single tear that Mother Nature treasured. This is why, today, humans enjoy a white root that is as pale as the Moon, as refreshing as water, and as nourishing as maize — something that satisfies both thirst and hunger.

Jícama

 

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Jícama is technically a legume that produces green pods, which are toxic. What we consume is the root, not the pods. And the root is so healthy that you won’t believe that something that seems so simple has so many benefits.

Jícama consists of 87–90% water, the remaining 10% is made up of minerals, vitamins, protein, fiber, and carbohydrates, making it a very healthy food choice. It is rich in potassium, calcium, magnesium, vitamin C, vitamin E, vitamin B complex, selenium, and beta-carotene.

For those with digestive issues, jícama contains inulin, a carbohydrate that acts as a prebiotic, helping to maintain a healthy gut microbiome. Inulin also helps regulate blood sugar levels and may aid in weight loss.

Some studies suggest that regular consumption of jícama may help in the prevention of osteoporosis. Additionally, its powerful combo of fiber and inluine content is associated with the prevention of type 2 diabetes.

Also, I don’t have real scientific proof, but whenever I eat jícama with lime, salt, and chili, my endorphin levels seem to increase dramatically.

The Jícama to-do list

By now, you can guess that alongside many other endemic ingredients such as nopales, quelites, chayotes, chía seeds, and amaranth, there are a million things you can do with jícama, and I’ve listed a few for you.

1. Salads: The delicate and versatile flavor of jícama makes it an ideal ingredient for any salad. In Mexico, we often grate jícama, cucumber, and carrot, then dress it with lime juice, salt, and chili. However, there are countless other ways to use jícama. A salad featuring kale, mango, pineapple, and jícama is perfect for hot weather. You can also create a delicious combination of almonds, dried cranberries, goat cheese, kale, jícama, and sesame seeds — this is truly a salad to die for!
2. Tacos: Using thin jícama slices instead of tortillas has become trendy in recent years. While I’m not the biggest fan of this alternative because of my loyalty to tortillas, it remains a tasty, low-carb and refreshing option.
3. Aguachiles and ceviches: Aguachiles and ceviches can be made using jícama either as a substitute for seafood or as a complementary ingredient. Jícama aguachile is a must-try! To prepare it, cut the jícama into sticks and add cucumber matchsticks (without seeds) and thin slivers of red onion.
4. Next, blend a sauce using 1 to 2 serrano chiles, a bunch of cilantro, the juice of 4 limes, salt, pepper, garlic, and a slice of onion. Pour this sauce over the jícama and let it marinate for about 15 minutes before serving.
5. Jícama kimchi: Try a twist on the classic fermented dish by substituting jícama for cabbage, or simply add it alongside. Fermented jícama increases the health benefits.
6. Jícama fries: Substitute jícama for potatoes. Season it, then bake or air fry for a low-starch option.
7. Jícama chips: You can use the same approach. Slice jícama thinly, like chips, then season and bake or air fry them. Keep in mind that if you choose to air fry, you may need to prepare several batches. Now that you’re aware of the rich history behind this root, its health benefits, and the various ways to prepare it, don’t overlook jícama! It’s a classic, refreshing, healthy, and delicious treat.

Now that you know the fascinating legend behind this root, its health benefits, and the various ways to prepare it, don’t overlook jícama! It’s a classic, refreshing, healthy, and delicious treat!

María Meléndez is a Mexico City food blogger and influencer.

The post Taste of Mexico: Jícama appeared first on Mexico News Daily

Moreover, the chayote, with its delicate and mild flavor, is often underestimated in Mexico and associated with bland hospital food. This reputation is completely undeserved. Few vegetables deserve as much recognition as chayotes.

Chayote? What are you talking about?

If someone confidently claims that the chayote was domesticated 2,000 or 3,000 years ago, approach this information with skepticism. There is no archaeological or historic record that can confirm when or where it first appeared. What we do know is that the name “chayote” is a distorted version of the Nahuatl word “tzapatliayotli,” which means “spiny squash.”

This vegetable originated in central and southern Mexico. Although it did not attain the cultural significance of corn or beans, it was still valued for its adaptability to various climates and the fact that nearly every part of it can be used.

To date, 365 varieties of chayote have been identified in Mexico and Central America. The most common types include the spiny chayote, the round green variety and the round white variety.

Nutritional information

For many Mexicans, chayote becomes a go-to ingredient when we’re trying to reclaim our summer figures, due to its low calorie content. Composed of around 90% water, a single chayote contains only 40 to 60 calories. Additionally, it is packed with essential minerals and vitamins, including vitamins C, B2, B9, and K, as well as potassium, iron, antioxidants and fiber.

 

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Given its impressive nutritional profile, it’s no surprise that chayote is a common choice for hospital meals. However, this may also explain why it’s not very popular in home kitchens. But incorporating chayote into your regular diet can contribute to better health and help reduce the need for frequent doctor visits:

1. It helps regulate blood sugar levels. Incorporating a salad with nopales and chayote into your diet might just become your new best friend.
2. Its fiber and water content support healthy digestion in a gentle and tasty way.
3. Thanks to its potassium content and low sodium levels, chayote is great for managing blood pressure. It also contains compounds that may lower blood lipids and help prevent cardiovascular disease.
4. It has flavonoids like quercetin and kaempferol, along with vitamin C and carotenoids — all of which are powerful antioxidants.
5. Its diuretic properties help prevent fluid retention and eliminate toxins from the body.
6. The vitamin B6 content in chayote helps keep your nervous system functioning smoothly.
7. Quercetin and myricetin, both present in chayote, have anti-inflammatory and antiviral properties.
8. Chayote is rich in folic acid, which supports healthy fetal development.
9. While it doesn’t cure cancer, researchers in Mexico have been developing a “super chayote” since 2005, designed to target tumor cells without harming healthy ones. Preliminary studies from Mexico’s National Polytechnic Institute suggest that Mexican chayotes may promote antitumor activity. Once the super chayote hits the market, Mexico News Daily will be the first to let you know.

Okay, okay, okay! But does it actually taste good?

The flavor is mild and slightly sweet, often described as watery. Its texture is similar to that of zucchini, cucumber, or even a firm potato. This makes it easy to cook and to incorporate into virtually any meal in your regular diet.

1. You can add chayote to your orange juice, green juice, or even a pineapple smoothie for an extra nutritional boost
2. Soups, broths, and creams are one of the most traditional ways to incorporate chayote into your meals. You’ll find it in dishes like chicken soup, beef stew, or mole de olla. A standout recipe is chayote cream soup: Sauté onion and garlic until translucent, then add two chopped chayotes and two cups of water. Once the chayote is tender, blend everything together with salt, pepper, and your favorite herbs. I enjoy using basil, but you can get creative with your own herb choices. Serve the soup hot or cold.
3. Boil, sauté or fry chayote in cubes or strips to serve alongside other vegetables.
4. Stuff with meat, cheese or vegetables and then bake it in the oven or air fryer.
5. Think of chayote like a squash. You can use it as a flour substitute to make cakes with chayote purée. Chayote jams are a classic, and compotes made with chayote make for a delightful topping for toast.

The options for using chayote are endless. The key is to include it regularly in your diet so later on, you won’t be in a position of “pariendo chayotes” (struggling) to improve your health. Hope you enjoyed my dad joke!

Now, tell me: Have you eaten chayote? What is your favorite recipe?

María Meléndez is a Mexico City food blogger and influencer.

The post Taste of Mexico: Chayote appeared first on Mexico News Daily

Pre-Hispanic Tlacatlaolli

In Mexico, pozole is traditionally eaten during celebrations, such as Independence Day dinner. This practice is believed to be linked to the dish’s predecessor, Tlacatlaolli. The word “Tlacatlaolli” comes from Nahuatl and translates to “maize of man.” It was a ceremonial stew that was consumed only by warriors, important priests, and tlatoanis (rulers). This dish held sacred significance and was made from human meat that was cooked with maize.

Yes, I know — it sounds awful and nauseating. However, within its original context, it becomes more understandable. Unlike our largely secular lives today, Mesoamerican societies were deeply spiritual, and their daily lives were closely linked to their religious practices. This connection is easily understood when you realize how dependent they were on nature. Due to its importance for survival, different aspects of nature were deified, leading them to have gods and goddesses for everything: the sun, the moon, the wind, water, earth, war, rebirth, death, beauty, and fertility, to name a few. Their gods resembled humans in that they were not perfect or eternal.

They believed that human actions were essential for keeping the gods alive. In this context, human sacrifices were seen as a way to “feed” the gods. If the gods were to die, the people would also face dire consequences. Although it may seem contradictory from our perspective, sacrifices were deemed necessary for humans to keep the gods happy and maintain order in the world.

During certain ceremonies — although there is no academic consensus on which ones — priests, as intermediaries between gods and humans, elite warriors, and specific tlatoanis could eat a bowl of Tlacatlaolli to establish a connection with their gods.

From Tlacatlaolli to Pozole

Can you imagine the horror the first Spaniards felt upon witnessing someone being cooked in a pot? They would have been just as horrified as we would be today. These scenes were used as evidence to portray the Aztecs as savages, far removed from God’s grace, which justified the banning of anything indigenous as sinful and the urgence of the Spanish Conquest. However, the friars recognized potential in the dish—substituting warrior flesh for pork.

And so, pozole was born. The word “pozolli” in Nahuatl means “foamy,” which refers to the way maize foams when boiled with lime. This transformation also meant that the dish was no longer exclusive to priests, warriors, or rulers; it became a dish for everyone.

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The Patriotic Dish?

Pozole is a traditional dish that is essential during Mexico’s national holidays, but its popularity isn’t solely due to its cultural significance or any direct connection to Independence Day. A more practical reason is that cacahuazintle maize, or hominy, is harvested in September, making it more accessible and affordable to obtain and buy.

Thanks to modern conveniences, you can enjoy pozole any time of the year, which we are thankful for. Here’s a simple recipe that does take some time to prepare, but it’s worth every minute.

Traditional White Pozole Recipe (4 servings)

Vegan tip: If you follow a vegan diet, substitute meat with sautéed shiitake or oyster mushrooms. Sautéing them beforehand ensures they don’t release too much liquid into the broth.

Main Ingredients:

Toppings:

Preparation:

Friends, despite its dark origins, pozole is a delicious dish that you absolutely shouldn’t miss. It’s perfect for days when you need a little extra comfort. Honestly, it’s so good that

I’ve even started adapting jazz classics to sing its praises.

Isn’t It a Lovely (Pozole) Day?
By Irving Berlin (unauthorized version)

The weather is frightening,
The thunder and lightning
Seem to be having their way—
But as far as I’m concerned, it’s a pozole day.
The turn in the weather will keep us together,
So I can honestly say,
That as far as I’m concerned, it’s a pozole day—
And everything is okay.

Do you love pozole as much as we Mexicans do?

María Meléndez is a Mexico City food blogger and influencer.

The post Taste of Mexico: Pozole appeared first on Mexico News Daily

Several factors contribute to this situation, including changes in our diet over the past few decades and increasingly sedentary and stressful lifestyles. Additionally, we cannot ignore that sometimes foods like chiles, tortilla dough, tamales, or tacos with too much salsa can leave us feeling bloated, as if we might roll around like pandas, accompanied by a mild discomfort in our stomachs, and yet we can’t stop eating them.

Today, we will talk about one of the most classic Mexican breakfasts. This dish is not only delicious but, when prepared correctly, can also be quite nutritious. Yes, we may regret overindulging, but blessed be the chilaquiles.

So, what are chilaquiles?

Chilaquilli

The origin of the word “chilaquil” is uncertain, but we do know that soaking hardened tortillas in sauce is a pre-Hispanic practice — and for good reason. Have you ever left a tortilla out in the open? You may have noticed how it hardens to the point that eating it becomes difficult — and sometimes even dangerous for your teeth. To salvage a hardened tortilla, the best solution is to soak it in sauce, making it edible again.

According to some etymological sources, the prefix “chil-” is derived from the Nahuatl word “chilli,” which means “chile” (bet you never guessed). A philologist once suggested that “aquili” translates to “inserted into something,” which could aptly describe the dish. So chilaquiles means “something inserted into chile”. While extremely accurate, it doesn’t do much to distinguish the contents from most of the rest of Mexican cuisine however, so it may not be a very useful name.

Chilaquiles

 

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The current recipe for chilaquiles has evolved since pre-Hispanic times. Today, it is common to fry the tortillas, soak them in sauce, and top them with cheese, cream, onions, and some type of protein — ingredients that, as we’ve mentioned in previous articles, did not exist during pre-Hispanic times.

According to several sources, the first official record of this recipe appears in an 1828 cookbook titled “Arte nuevo de cocina y repostería acomodado al uso mexicano.” However, this recipe sounds very different from the version we know today. It begins with cooking pork and chorizo. Then, a ”clemole” (a type of mole) is prepared, to which tortillas, sesame seeds, and lard are added.

A few years later, the first cookbook published in an independent Mexico (1831) featured four chilaquiles recipes that more closely resemble the versions we have today. These include chilaquiles blancos, made by mixing red and green tomatoes, cooking them, adding tortillas, and topping with cheese, chorizo, pork ribs, or meat. There are also stuffed chilaquiles, small filled tortillas, as well as chilaquiles tapatíos.

Chilaquiles actuales

In every region of Mexico, the toppings for chilaquiles vary, but they are a staple everywhere. We eat them at celebrations such as “tornabodas” (the afterparty at weddings), baptisms, Sunday family breakfasts, and especially after a long night of cocktails and toasts.

If eating an entire plate of chilaquiles by yourself seems overwhelming, consider sharing them. If you’re concerned that the sauce might be too spicy, ask your waiter which option is milder, and to be safe, you can order extra cheese and cream on the side.

Even better, try making them at home!

If you ever find yourself with too many tortillas at home and aren’t sure what to do with them, try cutting them into triangles and letting them air-dry. In Mexico City, where the weather isn’t very hot, my tortillas typically take about 2 to 3 days to dry completely. This way, you can avoid frying them. If you prefer not to have tortillas drying around the house, you can simply cut them into triangles and fry them in vegetable oil. I usally cut and dry 10 tortillas.

Here are two salsa options so you can choose the one you like best. While you can always buy pre-made salsas, it’s best to adjust them according to your own spice tolerance.

Salsa Roja

Ingredients:

Instructions:

Salsa Verde

Ingredients:

Instructions:

Pro tip: some people choose to skip the traditional salsas in favor of mole, guajillo salsa, or pasilla salsa to coat their tortilla chips, and these options are equally delicious.

Bring them together!

Once you have your salsa and tortilla chips prepared, feel free to add any toppings you like. For a breakfast option, shredded chicken or eggs are popular choices. If you prefer a plant-based version, consider using sautéed mushrooms, grilled tofu, avocado, or squash blossoms. Get creative with your toppings!

To serve: arrange your tortilla chips on a plate, whether they are fried or baked. Pour the salsa over the chips, add your desired toppings, and finish with cream, cheese, and onion if you prefer.Prepared this way, they shouldn’t upset your gut or leave you with a rolling feeling like a panda.

Amigos, this Sunday, join us in our chilaquiles tradition by making them at home and ejoying them with your loved ones.

Do you have a favorite recipe for chilaquiles? Do you eat them often?

María Meléndez is a Mexico City food blogger and influencer.

The post Taste of Mexico: Chilaquiles appeared first on Mexico News Daily