By Marco Shalma

Mexico City hits you in the chest the second you step off the plane. The air, the noise, the food everywhere you look. It feels like the city is constantly trying to feed you something better than the last thing you ate. Anyone who’s been there walks around with a little nostalgia stuck in their teeth. You taste something great in New York and your brain whispers remember that mole or that pastry or that whole afternoon sitting in a café in Roma thinking life might be alright.

Not everyone can fly out for a plate of tuna tostadas though. Life gets loud. Flights cost more than rent sometimes. People burn weekends on laundry. So here’s the good news. CDMX flavor has already leaked into this city because New York steals everything worth stealing.

Start in Greenpoint. Oxomoco. Walk in and you’ll smell the wood fire before you even sit down. They drop tuna tostadas on the table and for a second you swear you’re in La Condesa. The whole fish comes out looking like it was meant for a magazine cover. No plane. No gate changes. Just take the G.

When your stomach starts remembering Pujol the way people remember their first love, go to Cosme. Same chef. Same level of calm confidence that makes you slow down and pay attention to every bite. The mole there has the same sort of quiet power. The kind of cooking that shuts people up mid-sentence. Quintonil’s energy sits in that room too. You don’t need three connecting flights for that.

If you need Rosetta’s charm, that soft Italian thing wrapped in Mexican instinct, head to the West Village. I Sodi or Via Carota. Pick either and let the room do the work. There’s a warmth there. Not the same kind of mansion energy you get in Mexico City but close enough that you stop caring.

Then there’s Blue Hill. If Máximo Bistrot makes you feel something, Blue Hill does that with New York soil. Everything on the menu speaks in a simple language. No tricks. Just cooks who respect ingredients.

For pastry cravings, if you’ve been dreaming about those guava rolls from Panadería Rosetta, hit Supermoon or Daily Provisions. You’re not getting the same exact bite. That’s fine. You’ll still walk out smiling.

And if the only thing you want is a proper al pastor, go straight to Los Tacos No. 1. They studied the real thing until they could stand next to it. Order two. Maybe three.

Here’s the point. Go to Mexico City. Everyone should go at least once. But if life is life and you’re stuck here for now, you can still chase those flavors. This city is wild like that. It gives you little windows into other places without asking you to do much more than swipe a MetroCard.