Has Mexico City's Food Been "Americanized"? I Don't THINK so...
Mexico, as the New York Times would have it
I read a recent, misguided article in the New York Times about the so-called “American” influence on Mexico City’s food scene with growing dismay. As a food writer and Mexican citizen living in the capital since 1998, I have spent more than two decades documenting the city’s evolving tastes. This piece paints a caricature that oversimplifies—and distorts—a far more complex reality.
Mexico City has long been a cosmopolitan capital where global flavors coexist with Mexican tradition. There have existed European-style cafés, German beer halls, Spanish tabernas for decades. Spanish and French restaurants were here as early as the 1940s. Cafés de chinos, founded by Chinese immigrants, have operated for over a century. Sanborn’s grew from a small U.S.–style lunch counter into a nationwide chain. Thirty years ago, there was a good if small, representative of many “world” cuisines in the capital. These examples predate mass tourism and the arrival of “digital nomads”. In other words, the phenomenon described is neither new nor uniquely American. Nor do “Italian cafés,” an Indian–Mexican fusion restaurant, or the chef-driven taquería cited in the piece fit the simplistic narrative.
What has truly fueled the diversification of the city’s dining scene is not a few thousand foreigners but a new generation of Mexican diners—citizens who travel, study abroad, and return with a sophisticated appetite for international cuisines. Over the past twenty years, demand for everything from regional Chinese and Italian to Noma-style tasting menus, artisanal pizza, and high-end sushi has grown steadily, driven mainly by Mexicans themselves. Hype from Michelin and social media may attract visitors, but most of the seats in these restaurants are filled by Mexican customers.
The article also leans heavily on the term “locals,” a label that sounds neutral but is imprecise and polarizing. “Local” is an adjective, not a noun. Does it mean working-class residents? Anyone born here? People who’ve lived here for decades? By that measure, am I not a “local” after twenty-six years and citizenship? What about my friends from Guadalajara or Monterrey who have long called the capital home? Such shorthand invites stereotyping and sets up a false binary between “real” residents and outsiders.
It’s also worth noting that Condesa, Roma, and Juárez—the neighborhoods mentioned—were conceived as enclaves for the urban elite from the beginning.
Equally troubling is the uncritical repetition, as in an earlier, dreadful article, of anecdotes about street-food vendors “dumbing down” recipes for American palates. This is simply not true in my experience and unsupported by evidence beyond a few aggrieved anecdotes. Mexico City’s street food remains as vibrant, varied, and spicy as ever. Individual chefs and taqueros adjust their menus for many reasons—ingredient costs, changing tastes, health regulations—but attributing every change to Americans is lazy and misleading.
What the reporter practiced here is a form of parachute journalism: dropping into a complex city for a few days, interviewing a handful of people with a chip on their shoulder, and spinning their comments into a sweeping statement. Mexico City deserves better.
Globalization and culinary cross-pollination are not “colonization.” They are how cities evolve. Mexico City remains one of the world’s great food capitals precisely because it preserves tradition while embracing innovation—a process driven as much by Mexicans as by any foreign influence. Rather than framing this as a story of blame, we should recognize it as a story of growth, diversity, and shared taste.
