“Watch out—the green one is hot,” cautions the elderly Zapotec woman at the wobbly, oilcloth-covered table. At the weekly market in Oaxaca, a tlayuda—a tortilla-based dish and local specialty—is served with a choice of salsas: a spicy salsa roja made from tomatoes, onions and chiles, and the often more treacherous salsa verde, which, despite its mild green color, is guaranteed to make an unaccustomed diner break a sweat. One breathtaking bite, and you are hooked.

New restaurants open every week in Oaxaca City. The world’s best chefs flock here to discover ancient ingredients, traditional cooking methods and unique flavors. But to experience the true soul of Mexican food, it is necessary to leave the hotel walls behind and head to the weekly farmers’ markets.

The markets

Oaxaca’s markets, known as tianguis, are a serious affair, especially on Sundays. Traders choose their best produce to sell, housewives prepare endless shopping lists, children are scrubbed clean and entire families arrive in their Sunday best. The market offers more than a chance to stock up; it is also an opportunity to dress up and be seen. People-watching is a secondary pleasure, though, because Oaxaca is the place to sample the flavors that have made it a go-to destination for master chefs.

The markets are the essence of the region. These open-air events are where you can see traditional ice cream being made, smell freshly pressed tortillas, watch cocoa beans being turned into chocolate paste and learn how to clean cactus paddles, as the Zapotec people have done for centuries. The tianguis feel like another world—a place to pity live turkeys held upside down in bunches and marvel at Indigenous men wielding machetes against innocent pineapples.

There are numerous markets across Oaxaca, each known for different specialties, including poultry and cheesemaking. Each one is held on a different day of the week, but the principles are similar wherever you go. The village’s main streets are covered with temporary tarpaulin roofs for the day and lined with stalls bowed under the weight of the produce. Every corner is occupied by pop-up tables displaying the best Mexico has to offer, from cilantro straight from abuela’s garden to tomatillos still scented by sunshine. Dried and fresh chiles are piled high above shoppers’ heads; lime-flavored crickets roast on a temporary stove; and stringy quesillo is wound into yarn-like coils at the cheese stall.

The shopping experience is accompanied by homegrown musicians carrying guitars. The cacophony of vendors promoting their fresh produce blends with ubiquitous renditions of “La Cucaracha” and the piercing sound of steel being sharpened. Knife sharpening is another local specialty.

On Wednesdays, in Villa de Etla, Andrea Luna Bautista sells her world-famous queso Oaxaca, surrounded by the market’s pop-up kitchens. She is a third-generation cheesemaker who inherited a small farm from her mother and has taken on the challenge of promoting local artisanal food to the wider world.

Every Friday, she runs the El Pochote organic market, a small co-op on the edge of Oaxaca City’s historic center. Each stall represents one step on a journey through the state’s varied food traditions, from the lemony ginger of the Pacific shores to the high-mountain honey of the Sierra Madre. Here, however, it is not all about food—there are also vibrant silk scarves for balmy valley evenings and handwoven ponchos for chilly highland climates.

Back in Etla, Andrea’s other cheese, queso fresco—the Latin American cousin of ricotta and feta—is used liberally on quesadillas at a nearby stall. Local women sit around a large stove while the vendor skillfully flattens blue-corn dough, spreading bean paste and freshly shaved cactus paddles, known as nopales, on top. Customers sit on mismatched, colorful plastic stools and choose their toppings. Meat is always popular, with chicken and pork competing for the top spot. Squash blossoms and cubed pumpkin are also available for a lighter bite.

A stream of mobile vendors flows around the diners through the market’s main aisles. They sell pastries, braids of garlic and, of course, agua fresca served in plastic bags with straws. The choice of flavors creates an instant fear of missing out—it would take more than a day to try them all.

Beyond traditional tamarind and agua de jamaica, made from dried hibiscus flowers, there are sweet strawberry, refreshing pineapple and comforting coconut, as well as more unusual flavors such as soursop, prickly pear and alfalfa flower. Mexicans do not skimp on serving sizes—a regular cup holds a full liter and costs a fraction of what it would in Oaxaca City.

Late in the afternoon, when the pineapples are running low and all the fish has sold out, shoppers head to the nieves stalls. They pick up a cupful of ice cream and a gaznate—a pastry filled with cloud-like meringue—to enjoy while chatting in the shade.

In Oaxaca, the most popular ice cream flavors are burnt milk and dragon fruit. Both are sweeter than condensed milk mixed with powdered sugar. Another favorite, especially among the youngest marketgoers, is mango nieve doused in spicy salsa and sprinkled with chile salt.

No wonder traditional Mexican cuisine was the first to receive UNESCO recognition as Intangible Cultural Heritage. From a young age, locals are encouraged to experiment with all the key elements of complex flavor—sweet, salty, sour and spicy—often in a single inexpensive snack.

Whole towns are transformed into markets, and seemingly everyone from the nearby pueblos arrives to stroll around town. Visitors spend much of the day walking up and down the shaded avenues and buying a week’s supply of juicy oranges, bright tomatoes and shiny peppers. Most importantly, they meet neighbors, friends and family to exchange the latest news and village gossip.

Mothers breastfeed infants as they watch their older children play with toy cars; fathers take their sons to watch cockfights; sisters queue for freshly made tortillas; and teenagers gather in the main square, awkwardly enjoying their spicy mango sticks.

It is the end of the day in Oaxaca.

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