A vegan cooking class in Itzel's mountain home in San Cristóbal de las Casas

One of the most magical experiences from our time in San Cristóbal de las Casas was cooking class with the lovely Itzel, an amazing chef, herbalist, and all-around general fairy. She was happily able to accommodate our requirement for a fully vegan class.

What added to the preciousness of the class, apart from Itzel herself, was its beautiful location in her mountaintop home, with panoramic views from the kitchen down to the valley below.

We met Itzel at Chocoleto, a small cacao spot just a short walk from our coliving space, Co404. Before heading onward to the market to pick up fresh produce for the class, we enjoyed a lovely cacao, sweetened naturally by the fruit of the cacao plant itself.

Shopping for local produce

From Chocoleto, we began walking with Itzel toward Santo Domingo Market, letting the quiet of the café fade into the movement of the streets. The city shifted around us as we approached the market, its colors and sounds gathering like an opening scene.

Before we began shopping, Itzel paused, noticing movement near the floor. A tiny kitten, barely the size of a handful, nudging at some boxes. Its mother, she learned, had recently had babies, and the vendors were offering them away for free. The kitten blinked up at her with an innocence that seemed to echo her own soft way of seeing.

We followed Itzel through the aisles, gathering oyster mushrooms, chayote vines, spices, herbs, and fruits we had never tried before. Tamarillos that were tart and bright, somewhere between tomato and citrus. Banana passionfruit with its gentle perfume. Beans in deep shades of purple.

Itzel inspected everything with calm intuition. She knew what belonged together.

Up the mountain

When our bags were full, we followed Itzel to her home. The walk upward was a slow ascent, each step revealing more of the mountains that cradle San Cristóbal. Her house sits above the city, surrounded by green. 

You can hear the river. It moves through the valley below house with a continuous murmur, as if telling an old and patient story. Atop, the air felt cooler and the light felt softer.

Itzel's home is one of those spaces that seems built as much by the land as by human hands. There were natural objects placed everywhere: stones, branches, dried plants, and small talismans. A true fairy garden. 

She showed us clay she had gathered from the river, which she uses to make ceramics. It felt like everything in her life was part of the same cycle of making.

Her room held a small and beautiful altar, arranged with care.

She told us stories about each item.

Preparing the meal

We began the cooking part of the class by making a salsa. Itzel roasted jalapeños on the open fire of her stovetop until they blistered and softened.

The scent filled the room, smoky and bright. She then peeled several cloves of garlic and began to smash everything with a mortar and pestle.

The texture was imperfect in the best way. She added her own homemade vinegar, which deepened the flavor.

Itzel then toasted several tortilla-like disks that were made of nothing but pure corn. They were dense, soft, and elemental.

The final bite was rich and flavorful.

Between steps, she offered us small things to try. A sapote fruit she’d mashed into an ice cream. Cacao truffles she had made herself. Everything she shared seemed to follow the same logic: if it can be made by hand, she will make it by hand.

We then made some salsas with fruit from the market: tangy tamarillos and banana passionfruit.

Next, we prepared hibiscus water next, pouring hot water over dried red petals in a glass jar. The color bloomed instantly, an infusion of deep crimson.

We left it to steep while we cleaned greens and filled the table with the abundance we had gathered from the market.

The curly chayote vines were absolutely beautiful.

An abundant table

The table became almost ceremonial—beans in purple hues, leafy vines curling like calligraphy, fruits we hadn’t tasted before. It felt like a small map of the region’s generosity.

We roasted squash and corn. We cooked the chayote vines, their tendrils turning delicate and soft, almost like a green spaghetti. We seasoned everything with a deep sea salt that tasted sharper, truer.

With the oyster mushrooms, we made a rich mole. Itzel fried the mushrooms until they browned, then combined them with a paste we had picked up that morning. The mole turned glossy and fragrant, bitter and sweet all at once.

We assembled a salad with the fresh greens we had washed, letting their colors do most of the work.

And the meal was complete with a fresh guacamole.

The final plate

By the time everything was prepared, the table was heavy with food. The final plate was a mixture of textures and colors and flavors—roasted, fresh, spicy, and sweet. But more than anything, it tasted like the day itself. Slow, abundant, and intuitive.

We ate while looking out over the mountains. The river continued its quiet monologue below. Light shifted through the leaves, patterning everything.

Itzel generously packed the leftovers for us in small containers, tucked with the same care she gave to cooking.

We brought them back to Co404, our digital nomad coliving space, and shared them with friends, who immediately understood why the day had moved us so deeply.

A quiet kind of magic

What stayed with us wasn’t just the food. It was Itzel’s warmth and her relationship with the land. Her instinct for making things from scratch. Her ability to turn ordinary gestures into small rituals.

It felt like we had stepped, briefly, into the rhythm of someone’s authentic life in San Cristóbal de las Casas. Not the city seen from cafés or coworking spaces or the usual paths, but the city as lived by someone who is attuned to its quieter layers.

The distance from town, the stairs we climbed, the river singing in the background—all of it created a feeling we’re still carrying.

And if anything remains from that day, it is the sense that cooking with someone is always more than cooking. It's entering their way of being. Seeing the world, briefly, from their vantage point. Letting their rhythm brush against your own.

In the mountains of San Cristóbal, with Itzel guiding us, that rhythm was gentle, abundant, and full of small, luminous care.