The town’s central market is in full swing when we reach Tlacolula de Matamoros, around 18 miles east of Oaxaca City. Through a fog of sun-lit smoke, I see women —their black, plaited hair threaded with green and gold ribbon to their waist —throwing slabs of meat onto fire-licked griddles. Tripe, tongue and strings of chorizo hang beneath white strip lights, while—a Oaxacan sweet bread similar to brioche —into bowls of frothy hot chocolate.
