I came to Guatemala with a few predisposed ideas about the food; it was bound to be similar to what I know of Mexican (so TexMex, essentially), with lots of rice and beans, and good fruits. As with most predisposed ideas, I was selling the cuisine short. Mama Cony, one of the best cooks in Xela in my opinion, introduced me to Guatemalan food when I lived with her family for my first two weeks.

She would call us to the cow-print covered table with, “A comer!” (Come to eat.) In the nippy mornings, we were given steaming mugs of cinnamon tea. There were always pan dulces (sweet buns) or franceses (plain, powdery rolls) from the bakery, scrambled eggs, and one thing I did get right, frijoles (black beans). After soaking overnight, the frijoles were served morning, noon, or night; boiled, flavored, and with a dollop of sour cream or crumbly queso on top, alongside bread or warm white or black tortillas. Homemade salsa and salsa picante were always within easy reach at the table.

Our favorite breakfast was Mama Cony’s banana pancakes. Hot from the griddle, a neat stack was placed on our plates again and again, faster than we could eat them, with honey, syrup, or homemade strawberry preserve. At lunch, we had fresh juice. A favorite here is mora. Squeezed blackberries strained, sweetened, and stirred, reduced into a rich magenta.

Mama Cony spoiled us with different soups; international dishes like chow mein, beef patties, pasta, fruity pies and tarts; her well-renowned pizzas baked in the brick oven built by Papa Carlos; and more. However, trying Mama Cony’s flavorful local dishes was a real treat. One favorite was tortitas de arroz. Torta means patty and the suffix, ita, indicating little, is affectionately added to almost every word. These patties were a cheesy blend of rice served with guacamole and thick blue-black tortillas. We sometimes had tamales made from rice (or potato), wrapped and steamed in a big, waxy leaf. The best dessert is the local favorite, pie de queso. Unlike New York-style cheesecake, this is light and airy, fluffy and warm, and impossible to turn down.

On February 1^st I moved into an apartment. The first thing I placed in the fridge was a jar of Mama Cony’s homemade salsa picante. Admittedly, I don’t really cook. But I’m going to blame it on the historical center of Xela’s small but excellent café and restaurant scene. There is street food, such as the Quetzaltenango Taco stand (which I boycott because the name should clearly be Quetzaltacos) that are crunchy and satisfying after a long night. (Update: since I left, one of my close friends from my time in Xela, has opened up TaCorazon!) There is also diverse and refined restaurants such as Sabe Delis (a French crêperie; open, warm and inviting, run by a tall Frenchman and his sparkle-eyed wife and daughter) and Sabor de India. As they say here, you are given a monton of delicious food. Even licuados or fruit shakes are served in giant goblets.

There are a number of cafes. I’ve mentioned Café Red – our socialist themed, sunny go-to lunch spot. Café La Luna has an eclectic collection of moons, indoor plants, and a small-scale museum of historical items and photographs. On its menu, made from old record album covers, it offers several types of the local staple: hot chocolate. One is served with tiny marshmallows, which are adorably called angelitos. At Al Natur, my favorite fair trade shop, Mario serves the hot chocolate in Maya-style mugs: tiny ceramic pitchers (jarras), with a cookie on the side. Doña Pancha has the best pure chocolate; classing up the traditional chocobanano snack (a frozen banana dipped in chocolate). Café La Luna’s night-time tavern counterpart, Baja La Luna, offers delectable wine and cheese. A La Gran Pizza has amazing 2-for-1 deals all week long. Artesano, has bagel/sandwiches that easily rival New York’s. Every Friday, some of the boys from the office wake early to go to the Mennonite bakery, open only twice a week, for their sweet and savory breads.

To my amusement (due to my ignorance), I found on trips to the grocery store that salsa is not just various forms of finely diced tomatoes. It is any sauce, which is why it is used to describe different condiments. Enchiladas are not big carb-rich meals with rice and beans on the side either. Here, they are fried and crunchy ground corn tortillas, the size and shape of CDs, topped with pickled beets, vinegar-scented lettuce, rings of translucent onion, slices of egg, and sprinkled with grated cheese.

I got another surprise on the way to work one morning after dropping my laundry off at a lavandería, when I decided to get some fresh squeezed orange juice to drink. After accepting my 1 quetzal and 25 cents, a young girl had me select my orange from the heap and then cranked a peeler to skin it, so that the orange globe was striped with white rings. She sliced it perfectly in half and then asked me if I wanted it “with everything.” “This is juice, right?” The little girl nodded. I glanced at her mother, who was handing back change to someone, and she nodded too. So shrugging, I said yes, with everything. Separating the two halves of the orange, the girl slathered on each surface ashy pepper, some salt, and chili powder, put the halves back together like a sandwich, and handed it to me. My juice. I took it in my hand and walked straight to Mama Cony’s house, and when I was greeted at the door, said, “I don’t know how to drink this.” I still don’t know how others slurp liquid out but I sat at the table and ate the whole thing while the others laughed, juice dripping down my wrists.

The produce here is abundant; whether at the grocery store, the vast Minerva market alongside the bus depot where you have to scoot to a side for cart pullers and get distracted by a spread of thousands of mangoes, or the open-air sellers closer to the town center. Lined under umbrellas, the vendors sit with their goods in front of them – the colors and shapes and sheer quantity doing most of the work. They hand you fruits based on when you want them ready (right now, tomorrow, etc.) I learned that it’s typical to find out the price by asking “cómo están los aguacates?” (how are the avocados) instead of asking how much they cost. A stack of tortillas or several rolls costs just 1 quetzal, showing how much every coin here matters for a family.

Alterna, where I work, is an offshoot of Estufa Doña Dora, which creates and provides efficient, clean, and safe wood-fired stoves. They have an amazing pitch. They take a stove to a cooperative of rural or peri-urban women, gathered in a circle. Placing the stove in the center, they ask the women how long it usually takes to get their stove-fire going and hot enough to cook for their families. As the women answer individually, the Doña Dora representative builds the fire in the stove and lays out some tortillas to warm, unwraps a lump of queso, and brings out frijoles. The overall consensus of the women is that it takes 20 minutes to get the fire hot enough and then they are ready to cook. In the same 20 minutes that it takes the group of women to answer this, the Doña Dora stove is built and blazing, the tortillas are heated, slathered with the toppings, and passed around for the women to eat.

When we went to visit César, an Alterna client, and entrepreneurial organic farmer, he showed us several unique recipes. Lulu, his wife, had prepared a horchata beverage, from the organically grown amaranth seeds. After toasting the seeds, along with cinnamon, vanilla extract, cocoa, wheat, soaked rice, barley, soya, and garbanzo, she ground each finely, mixed them all together with water, and served it cool with a little sugar. After the refreshment, we went around their rustic farm and saw the chickens and a turkey, and two very, very smelly pigs. César had an interesting process for growing mushrooms organically. To see, we walked through a tray of flour to “disinfect” our feet. He lifted 2 thick sheets of black tarp for us to pass through into a dark shed. Once adjusted to the dimness, I saw rows of eaten corncobs on sticks, shrouded by plastic bags. César had planted fungus on the cobs and was cultivating them. He and Lulu told us how once grown, they’d sautée the mushrooms in garlic, slice other veggies julienne, and serve with chicken and broth.

Someone always provides avocados at our work team potluck lunches on Thursdays. When A left Alterna, T took on the role of bringing empañadas flavored with cinnamon and chili flakes from Comida Taiwanesa, a stall that cooks ups Guatemelteco-Taiwanese fusion street food. Others bring homemade dishes, moist cakes from the bakery, and fresh fruit. The taller employees heave a table over their heads to push onto the rooftop, others take up our plastic chairs and utensils, and gather to eat with the hills of Quetzaltenango around us.

There are a few things that I am still waiting to try. When I went to a football game, while standing in line for a giant cup of beer, the smell of churrascos (barbecued meat) on the grill was tantalizing. I’ll have to try some the next time I go. I’m also excited for some of the specialties that are saved for Semana Santa (Holy Week) when the whole country is said to transform in celebration.

This morning I stopped in at Al Natur for a mango and banana smoothie, which came with a side of advice from Mario. In Spanish he said, “The secret to nutrition is to eat breakfast like a king, lunch like a prince, and dinner like a beggar.”