Que le vaya bien.

Over the last three years I’ve traveled often to a little coastal town in Nayarit, Mexico called Bucerías. There’s plenty to see and do there, from art galleries to ecotourism. But by far my favorite is the walking food tour led by My Mexican Kitchen, the beautiful life work of owners Edgar Garcia Cordova and Travis Dietz.

As the U.S. stares down the twin barrels of xenophobia and nationalism in the hands of the new administration, it feels important to tell stories of international partnership, of cultural immersion, and of small businesses with big hearts. My Mexican Kitchen is a story of all three.

It began 17 years ago, when Edgar (a native of Puebla) visited Bucerías on vacation, met Travis (an expat from Oregon), and stayed to open MMK. Over the years, the business has grown to include cooking classes, private dinners, and food tours. Edgar and Travis have wide knowledge of regional foodways, and deep roots in the local community.

The Tepic-Puerto Vallarta Highway cuts through Bucerías. On the west side–the beach side–visitors enjoy upscale souvenir stores and pricey seaside dining. Across the busy road, the east side is home to the builders, vendors, shop owners, resort staff, and other people who serve and support the tourist trade. Tourists rarely venture from the “gringo” side to the local side. And what a shame, because that’s where the treasure of Bucerías lies, in the form of exquisite, hand-prepared food.

If you want a slick, alcohol-fueled carouse, this tour is not for you. Edgar and his team, Carmen and Jonathon, lead the tours gently, with warmth, genuine humor, and a deep respect for the cooks they partner with. If you go with the understanding that the My Mexican Kitchen guides are not your entertainers so much as your educators and interpreters as you move through a living, breathing neighborhood and its stories, you will be a welcome guest.

People come from all over Mexico to work in the region, so the east side of Bucerías is home to many regional foods: Sinaloan, Poblano, Oaxaqueño, Chiapaneco, and others. There are few places wealthy, white Americans would call restaurants in this neighborhood. Instead, food is sold from unnamed stands, stalls, and portions of homes. English is less spoken on the east side, but even visitors who speak Spanish won’t necessarily know where to go without a navigator. So My Mexican Kitchen provides an invaluable experience for those of us who prefer authentic food and human interaction to the curated cultural performance we often find in tourist destinations.

Edgar will tell you that everyday food should be sencillo y economico (simple and economical). Eastsiders must be able to grab a breakfast or lunch with a hit of protein, fat, and carbs, and quickly return to work–for under 80 Pesos (~$4). But simple doesn’t mean boring. The determining factor in choosing an eatery are the “3 Bs”: bueno, bonito, y barato (good, pretty, and cheap). MMK vets the cocinas (kitchens) carefully for the 3 Bs, and their relationships with the cooks are clearly based in mutual respect.

The food I ate was uniformly terrific: I drank the best agua fresca of my life; I tried my first huitlacoche (the fungus that grows on corn, a delicacy in Mexican cooking); I discovered the difference between a gordita and a sope; I learned what tacos sudados “sweaty tacos” are (delicious is what they are). 

And it was just as rich to meet the people who fed us: the owners of a 4th-generation birria restaurant. The small boy who helps his father (who can’t read or write) run the agua fresca stand in the morning and goes to school in the afternoons. The woman who came to town with her construction worker husband, and started her gordita stand as a side business: it did so well that her husband quit building and came to work for her. 

And here is a compelling–and telling–detail: in a Mexican restaurant, one of the most offensive things a server can do is to bring the bill before it’s called for. Cooks believe that you should be able to sit and enjoy your food for as long as you like. Unless you ask for la cuenta, it won’t come. 

I speak functional, but rusty, Spanish. One thing that trips me up frequently is the gender of nouns: masculine nouns generally end in o, feminine generally in a. So la cuenta means “bill,” but el cuento means “story.” In restaurants, I will sometimes, embarrassingly, ask for el cuento. But after a tour with MMK, it struck me that it’s not too far off. The bill is in some ways the story of the food you ate, the place you ate it, the people who prepared it.

When taking leave of you, the cooks on the tour might say adios or gracias. But they also might say que le vaya bien: “I hope it goes well for you.” As we move into a most uncertain future, I hope that you keep learning, keep sharing meals, keep listening to each other’s stories.

And I hope it goes well for you.