From Guava Rolls to Tequila Shots

 

Wow. Another night where both girls slept through the entire night! I don’t know what Mexico City has done to our children, but I’m seriously considering whether we can import it back to Alaska.

We had a wonderfully lazy morning and eventually brought both girls into bed with us. Evie lay there cooing happily while Joni leaned over, tapped her little sister on the nose, and said, “Boop.” Evie would smile, we would melt, and then Joni would do it again. “Boop.” Heart melting!

Eventually we dragged ourselves out of bed because we had a very important mission: guava rolls at Café Rosetta. Once again, this particular pilgrimage was inspired by our extensive pre-trip research, which mostly consisted of watching television shows about food and immediately adding things to a list.  Café Rosetta was the cutest little café tucked along the sidewalk, and naturally the hostess immediately fell in love with our kiddos and was incredibly sweet and helpful getting us situated. 

Emily and I each took a child, ordered coffees, and finally got our hands on the famous guava rolls. There are simply no words to adequately describe how delightful this pastry was. Flaky, buttery, sweet, filled with guava and somehow worth every bit of hype. We tried not to moan too loudly as we ate them in public. Even Joni started whining for more, which is perhaps the highest culinary honor a restaurant can receive from our family. The walk there and back was equally lovely. It was sunny and pleasant as Mexico City slowly woke up around us, and Joni stared wide-eyed at absolutely everything, particularly the seemingly endless parade of dogs being taken for their morning walks.

Our next stop was the children’s museum, and Joni was in heaven. The very first exhibit was health and medicine, which, given that both of her parents are doctors, meant we behaved completely normally and took approximately one million photographs of her dressed in doctor and EMS outfits surrounded by all the little medical accoutrements. She ran around giggling, examining everything and looking alarmingly comfortable in uniform. No pressure, kid. You can absolutely be whatever you want when you grow up. But also, here are 847 photographs of you dressed as a physician before your second birthday.       

Then we found the bubble station. Joni. Went. Bananas. There were enormous bubbles, tiny bubbles, bubbles floating everywhere, and for reasons known only to toddlers, Joni decided the optimal method for popping them was with her face. She charged through the bubbles face-first, giggling hysterically and repeatedly coming back for more. By the time we left, she had thoroughly exhausted herself, which, as any parent knows, is the true measure of success at a children’s museum. 

After a long morning, the girls went down for their naps while Emily and I rewarded ourselves with some delicious street tacos. Once everyone had recovered, we headed back out for a little antique shopping, during which Joni was introduced to another important piece of Mexican culture: horchata. It was love at first sip. Within minutes, our child had apparently expanded her vocabulary specifically to accommodate her newest addiction. “More horchata.” Over and over. “More horchata.” We may have created a monster. 

Eventually we made our way home for showers and baths, and then our two babysitters returned for our final date night in Mexico City. The girls were happy, the babysitters knew the drill, and Mom and Dad escaped into the night.

Tonight’s reservation was Pujol, one of Mexico City’s most famous restaurants. Maybe Quintonil had simply set an impossibly high bar, but Pujol didn’t come close for us. The food was good, the ambience was amazing, and the staff were lovely, but after the spectacular experience we’d had at Quintonil, this felt surprisingly ordinary by comparison. Still, we had a nice dinner, drank some decent wine, enjoyed some excellent people-watching, and generally appreciated several uninterrupted hours of eating without anyone screaming, vomiting, demanding horchata, or attempting to pop something with their face. 

But when dinner ended, the night was still young, and, more importantly, we still had babysitters for another two hours. It would have been financially irresponsible not to use them.

So I decided we should head to Limantour for a drink, where we met an enthusiastic bartender named Andrea. Somewhere along the way, what began as “let’s grab a cocktail” evolved into me commissioning Andrea to take us on a tasting tour of the best tequilas they had. He seemed delighted by this assignment. The bar wasn’t particularly busy, and we could see that our request gradually became a team project. Andrea enlisted other staff members, discussions were held, bottles were examined, and eventually four top-shelf tequilas materialized in front of us. 

Now, it is worth mentioning that Emily and I were already approximately half in the bag. 

The staff subtly wall-flowered around us while we sampled their carefully selected tequilas and offered what I’m sure were extraordinarily insightful tasting notes. Andrea enthusiastically explained the production methods, agaves, regions, aging, and subtle differences between them in exquisite detail.

I did not understand a word. Freaking Spanish…

But I nodded thoughtfully.

We eventually discovered something neither Emily nor I thought possible: a tequila we actually found not only tolerable, but genuinely enjoyable. This apparently warranted celebration. Andrea and the staff then decided that before we left, we absolutely needed to try a mezcal as well.

Sure. Why not.

Surprisingly, that was delicious too.

And so, five shots of tequila and mezcal deep, we headed back home. 

We arrived back at the apartment to find two peacefully sleeping kiddos and two very exhausted babysitters. Everyone had survived. The girls were asleep. We had eaten incredible food, consumed an irresponsible but educational quantity of tequila, and somehow managed to turn an international trip with two children under two into an actual vacation.

What a life.

Boats and Tacos

 

After last night’s dinner, we slept HARD. And, miraculously, so did the girls. Their babysitters, yes, babysitters, plural, because the company required two people to manage our two tiny humans, apparently had a blast with them. Both girls went down easily, nobody traumatized the babysitters enough to make them flee the profession, and then something truly remarkable happened: both girls slept through the entire night. At least ten glorious, uninterrupted hours. Apparently all it took to fix our children’s sleep was dragging them through three states, multiple missed flights, a night in Texas, and several days in Mexico City.

We woke up feeling suspiciously refreshed and had a relaxing morning with breakfast before setting out for a tour of Xochimilco. Xochimilco is one of those places that feels completely different from the rest of Mexico City. Its famous canals are remnants of the enormous system of lakes and waterways that once covered the Valley of Mexico, dating back to the world of the Aztecs and Tenochtitlan. It is now part history lesson, part floating picnic, and part party, basically exactly the kind of cultural experience the Rosenfeld family can get behind. 

It was an absolutely spectacular sunny day, and we had an entire trajinera to ourselves. We slowly floated through the canals while other colorful boats drifted past us selling everything imaginable. Food, drinks, flowers, trinkets and souvenirs all came floating by, along with entire boats of mariachi musicians ready to pull alongside and serenade you for a few pesos. It was wonderfully chaotic. The girls LOVED it. After several days of carrying children through museums, airports, airplanes, and castles, sitting on a boat while Mexico floated past us felt downright luxurious.

We finished at exactly the right time to race back to the apartment for the sacred nap time. 

Today also happened to be Mexican Independence Day, which is an incredible time to be in Mexico City with one minor logistical complication: EVERYTHING WAS CLOSED. We had ideas. We had plans. Mexico had a national holiday. Mexico won. We tried the National Library, closed. So instead we headed back toward Bosque de Chapultepec, wandered around, and let Joni take in the crowds, music, sounds, and general energy of the city. Honestly, with a toddler, sometimes abandoning the itinerary and just letting her wander around looking at people is probably the better activity anyway.

Eventually, however, we had a mission. We hiked our way across the city toward Maizajo, a taco spot we had seen featured with Antoni Porowski and had subsequently decided we needed to experience for ourselves. When we arrived, there was a long, long line. Under normal circumstances, seeing a massive line while carrying two increasingly tired children would be a clear signal from the universe to go somewhere else. But we had come too far. We were committed.

The girls initially held it together admirably. Then they started fraying around the edges. Then the wheels began visibly loosening. By the time we were waiting for our names to be called, we were down to seconds before a complete dual-child systems failure.

And then they called us.

We sidled up to the counter with two exhausted children in tow and ordered tacos with reckless abandon. At that point I didn’t care what anything cost or how much food we ordered. Just start handing us tacos. 

And let me tell you: they were the best damn tacos I have ever had.

Not “really good tacos.” Not “great vacation tacos.” The best tacos I have ever put into my mouth. After days of eating our way through Mexico City, Maizajo somehow managed to raise the bar again. The tortillas, the fillings, the flavors, everything was incredible.

Apparently Joni agreed. I was feeding her bites when she began attacking each taco with such enthusiasm that I genuinely became concerned for the safety of my fingers. 

And somehow, after the chaos of airports, missed flights, bathtub sleeping, vomiting, bed-diving, toddler meltdowns and the general insanity of hauling two children under two around one of the largest cities in the world, it was a perfect night. We sat at a counter in Mexico City with our girls, absolutely demolishing some of the best tacos of our lives, and everyone was happy.

We made it home just in time for bedtime. Both girls were completely exhausted and went down quickly. Another day in Mexico City successfully completed. We’re getting dangerously good at this. 

Quintonil, Mexico City — Five Stars

 As per usual, I always read a review for great restaurants:

There are great restaurants, and then there are restaurants that remind you why a truly exceptional meal can become one of the highlights of an entire trip. Quintonil was firmly in the latter category. We eat at a lot of ambitious restaurants and have been fortunate enough to experience some extraordinary tasting menus over the years, so our expectations were high. Somehow, Quintonil still exceeded them. It was easily one of our top restaurant experiences of the year. 

From the moment we arrived, the service was exceptional. Our sommelier, Paz, was phenomenal, enthusiastic, incredibly knowledgeable, and genuinely excited to talk about wine. She went into wonderful detail about the bottles, producers, regions, and why particular wines worked with the food. It never felt like someone simply reciting tasting notes or working through a predetermined pairing. Her enthusiasm was infectious, and she made the wine an experience unto itself.

Our waiter, Erin, and Elena, who was part of the support staff, were equally wonderful. The entire team managed that extraordinarily difficult balance of being polished and precise without ever feeling stiff or rehearsed. Dinner lasted about three hours, yet it never once felt long. Instead, it felt as though the restaurant had invited us into its world for an evening.

The atmosphere itself is sophisticated but remarkably warm and intimate, which made even more sense when we learned that the restaurant had once been the chef’s home. There is something wonderfully personal about that history, and that sense of hospitality seems to have remained embedded in the restaurant. 

And then there was the food.

We had the “Our Mexico” tasting menu, and there simply wasn’t a weak course. Every item was executed beautifully, but the meal never became overly intellectual or precious (though Emily and I might have😉). The lime-pickled tomato tostada with jícama kimchi and fennel was a beautiful opener. The mussel tartlet with mole de mar, charred onion reduction and chipotle was intensely flavorful. Fried escamoles with tomato caldillo and guajillo was the kind of dish that reminds you why a tasting menu should occasionally challenge and surprise you. 

The seafood courses were outstanding: kampachi, oyster and blue shrimp from Tampico; steelhead trout from Baja California with adobo de chicatana and seasonal mushrooms; and later coconut sorbet with plankton, physalis and caviar, a combination that sounds almost improbable on paper but worked beautifully. 

One of the most visually memorable dishes, remarkably, was the lettuce course. The lettuces arrived arranged almost like a wreath, delicately and somewhat precariously balanced around the rim of the bowl. Beneath them, at the bottom of the bowl, was the sikil pak pumpkin-seed sauce/dressing, along with Cuadro cheese and celeriac. It was an incredible presentation: architectural, beautiful, and just slightly improbable. It was the sort of plate that makes everyone at the table stop talking for a moment just to look at it.  And then it tasted every bit as good as it looked.

The avocado-bean tamal with Wagyu chicharrón, young corn and plantain foam was fantastic, followed by rib eye with chichilo negro, charred pico de gallo and huitlacoche. The cactus paddle sorbet was a perfect reset along the way. Dessert continued at exactly the same level with Mexican cornbread, rompope de nixtamal, vanilla and passion fruit, followed by dulces mexicanos. By the end of the meal, we couldn’t identify a single course that felt like filler. Everything had a purpose and everything belonged.

Throughout the evening, the kitchen managed to make the food feel unmistakably Mexican while still being inventive, elegant and completely its own. It wasn’t Mexican cuisine filtered through somebody else’s idea of fine dining. The ingredients, techniques and flavors of Mexico were the center of the experience. Most importantly, if you didn’t pick it up from the ingredients, they used ants, and bugs in majority of their dishes. They then came out with Some trepidation to show us.  Examples of the bugs we ate. We were delighted and surprised!

 But perhaps what elevated Quintonil from an exceptional meal to a truly memorable experience were the small, personal gestures. At one point, the staff brought over their own recipe book for us to look through, giving us another glimpse into the thinking and creativity behind the restaurant.

And then there was the time card.

Throughout the meal, the staff had been using a personalized time card to track the progression and timing of our dinner. At the end of the evening, they actually gave it to us.  In all of the restaurants we’ve visited, no restaurant has ever given us the actual personalized time card used to orchestrate our meal. It was such a small thing, but it was phenomenal, a behind-the-scenes artifact from this three-hour experience that suddenly became a souvenir. They even took the time to handwrite wine and bar recommendations for us.

Those details weren’t necessary, which is precisely why they were so memorable. They transformed a technically extraordinary meal into something personal.

That is ultimately what Quintonil does so well. The food is obviously operating at an exceptional level, but the restaurant never seems satisfied with simply putting beautiful plates in front of you. There is a generosity to the entire experience. The staff want to talk about the ingredients, the wines, Mexico, the restaurant’s history, their cookbook, and even where you should go after dinner. You leave feeling that the people taking care of you genuinely wanted you to have a wonderful evening.

Three hours later, we walked out having eaten an extraordinary meal, discovered new wines and ingredients, learned more about Mexican cooking, and accumulated a handful of little memories that we’ll probably talk about long after we’ve forgotten the details of individual courses.

Five stars, without hesitation. Quintonil wasn’t simply an excellent dinner in Mexico City. It was one of those rare meals where the food, wine, service, setting, and dozens of tiny acts of hospitality came together perfectly, and one of our favorite restaurant experiences of the year! 

Mexico City!!

 

Yesterday was… better. Not necessarily good, but after the previous 24 hours, the bar for “better” was lying somewhere on the floor of a Texas airport.

It was a rough night for Evie, who was intermittently awake throughout our already very short night. In her defense, she was sleeping in a strange bathtub in a strange hotel in Texas without any of her normal stuff. Joni, meanwhile, had an exceptionally great night of sleep except for one small, tiny, hardly-worth-mentioning incident where our 1½-year-old may or may not have rolled completely off the queen-sized bed. Apparently kids actually do that. I thought “kid falls out of bed” was mostly something from cartoons and old parenting stories, but it turns out it is very much a real thing. There was a loud BONK, immediately followed by the most pathetic little cry imaginable, and Dad went from unconscious to cradling a toddler in approximately 0.003 seconds. She was fine. 

We slept together after that, which was actually adorable. Joni snuggled up next to me with her cute little snores directly in my ear, almost completely drowning out the intermittent screams of her baby sister across the room. Almost. Ahhh, family vacation. 

Nevertheless, at 5 a.m. Team Rosenfeld rallied again. We made the short trip back to the airport and boarded yet another airplane, this time ACTUALLY headed for Mexico City. I had Evie for this flight and, naturally, ended up sitting next to an absolutely delightful Mexican couple who immediately fell in love with her. They gushed over her and repeatedly offered to hold her for me. I graciously declined while receiving absolute daggers from Emily across the aisle, who had an energized toddler and an entire row to herself. 

But the flight went remarkably well and, finally, WE MADE IT TO MEXICO CITY! Even more astonishingly, in an event that defies both probability and everything I understand about the airline industry, our luggage made it too. This luggage had survived two missed connections, multiple rebookings, an unexpected overnight stay in Texas, and whatever mysterious underground journey checked bags take when their owners’ travel plans completely disintegrate. Yet there it was, patiently waiting for us. Honestly, I was almost proud of it.

We arrived at our Airbnb and it was spectacular. The hosts had left us a tray of Mexican candies, a sombrero, a luchador mask, and an assortment of wonderfully touristy Mexican goodies.  The apartment itself was gorgeous, with beautiful artwork, tons of character, and multiple terraces. After the previous 24 hours, it felt less like checking into an Airbnb and more like being medically evacuated to a resort.  

After a quick siesta, we headed out to explore the Zócalo, Mexico City’s enormous main square in the historic center. Officially called Plaza de la Constitución, it has been at the center of life here for centuries, the ceremonial heart of the Aztec capital of Tenochtitlan was in this same area, and today the square is surrounded by landmarks like the Metropolitan Cathedral and National Palace. We also happened to arrive just as the city was preparing for Mexican Independence Day, so our peaceful introductory stroll through Mexico City was neither peaceful nor particularly stroll-like. The place was PACKED.   Decorations were going up, streets were overflowing with people, music and noise were everywhere, and the entire historic center felt like it was winding itself up for one enormous national party. Joni was awestruck. 

Then Mexico City decided we hadn’t experienced quite enough adversity yet, and the afternoon downpour arrived while we were walking to the grocery store. Because of course it did. Eventually, with wet parents and increasingly exhausted children, we retreated to the apartment, ordered Mexican food, and declared it a chill night.

Unfortunately, Evie appeared to be getting sick again. She vomited twice and transformed into an absolute monster when it was time to sleep. There was screaming, a little more vomiting, followed by considerably more screaming. Eventually whatever tiny reserve of energy had been powering her rage finally ran out and she passed out. Then Joni passed out. Then Emily passed out. Then I passed out. The entire Rosenfeld family slept for 12 HOURS! Apparently the treatment for international travel with two under two is simply unconsciousness.

This morning we woke up feeling like entirely different human beings. I made a nice, relaxing breakfast, both girls looked refreshed, and the adults were functioning again. Today was going to be different. Today we were going to experience culture.

We headed out to explore Castillo de Chapultepec, the spectacular castle sitting high above Mexico City in Chapultepec Park. Built beginning in the late 1700s, it later became the residence of Emperor Maximilian I and Empress Carlota during the short-lived Second Mexican Empire and then served as the official residence of several Mexican presidents. Today it houses the National Museum of History, with ornate rooms, enormous murals, gardens, historical artifacts, and incredible views over Mexico City (AI generated). It is beautiful, historic, fascinating…and, as it turns out, an absolutely terrible place to take a 1½-year-old who has been informed that she cannot eat snacks.

The castle had strict rules: no food, no stroller, children had to be carried, and, importantly, they could not ride on shoulders. So Joni spent approximately three hours on a private historical tour being carried around in my arms while being denied one of the things she values most in this world: snacks. She was displeased. Deeply displeased.  Did I mention she was not happy?? I attempted to appreciate centuries of Mexican history while holding a squirming toddler who seemed determined to communicate directly to the Mexican government that their snack policy was barbaric (I had to keep her from shouting Vive la revolution!). Emily, meanwhile, carried Evie, who peacefully slept through most of the tour. Of course she did.  Despite Joni’s increasingly militant opposition to cultural enrichment, the castle was absolutely beautiful and the tour was fantastic. 

Afterward, we started making our way back toward the apartment and stopped at a taco spot, where I had some of the most mouthwatering tacos I have ever eaten. I ordered a margarita, which was also amazing, and the waitresses immediately fell in love with the girls and gushed over them while Emily and I sat there eating tacos, drinking, and relaxing. For the first time in several days, I had the strange sensation that we might actually be on vacation.

We eventually wandered back to the apartment for an evening siesta. The girls are sleeping, the parents are resting, we have our luggage, and nobody is currently stranded in Texas. Tonight we are heading to a five-star restaurant. 

Stay tuned.