From trash to tasting menu: The market that feeds Mexico City's best restaurants

How Central de Abasto, the world's largest market hidden in Mexico City's so-called "trash district", has become the unlikely backbone of its fine-dining revolution.

Mexico City's status as one of the world's top culinary capitals is often credited to the creative tasting menus and celebrity chef collaborations found in its upscale Roma Norte neighbourhood. But the flavours served on those affluent, tree-lined streets often begin their journey to the plate at dawn – in a sprawling, chaotic market in one of the city's poorest boroughs.

Located in Iztapalapa, Central de Abasto is the largest wholesale market in the world, covering 3.27 sq km – roughly the size of New York City's Central Park – and supplying 80% of the capital's produce. Between 04:00 and 08:00, the sprawl feels like a scene from Blade Runner, with buyers elbowing their way through narrow paths to haggle at thousands of warehouses and slapdash produce stalls. Diableros (hand-truck porters) sprint through the maze of crowds and beeping trucks, careful not to bump into colleagues balancing wooden crates on their heads. Whenever I hear a trilling whistle, I jump aside to let a "little devil" race past with a comically overloaded bundle.

Central de Abasto opened in 1982 to replace La Merced, CDMX's colonial-era trading centre. Every day, it welcomes half a million visitors and handles more than 30,000 tons of produce from across Mexico. The ramshackle vibe is characteristic of Iztapalapa, historically derided as a "trash district" for its landfills and prisons. Today, 43% of its two million residents live in moderate to extreme poverty, making it one of the capital's poorest boroughs. Yet Central's pivotal role in feeding the capital's world-class restaurants is shifting perceptions.

Although home shoppers also visit, Central's focus is on large-scale buying – with supersized displays to match. I gawk at a wall of watermelons piled higher than my head and a giant stacks of carrots. I smell the garlic shop before I see it: it has boxes of bulbs stacked to the ceiling, braids dangling from the rafters. Then, I follow my nose to a vendor hawking juicy tacos campechanos (grilled beef and sausage with cactus, potatoes and pico de gallo). The sheer variety of the mercado's selection reflects Mexico's multitudes of microclimates, and vendors come from all over the region to sell uniquely Mexican produce.

Rey Lopez

Chefs have long bought staples at Central de Abasto, but over the past 10 to 15 years a new wave of fine-dining pioneers began coming not just for bulk produce, but for rarer, organic and indigenous ingredients. Farmers like Alfredo Cruz Camacho illustrate the shift. At one of the market's many long tables, he proudly displays candy cane beetroot with red and white inner rings and glossy baby heirloom tomatoes. His specialty crops caught the attention of Michelin-starred chefs browsing the stalls, including Israel Montero of Siembra Comedor. "He invited me to his restaurant in [the upscale neighbourhood of] Polanco, an area unknown to me as I only lived off the chinampas in Tláhuac [floating farms pioneered by the Aztecs]," Camacho recalls.

Soon, five-star restaurants were asking Camacho to grow microgreens he'd never heard of, like shungiku and sorrel. "Chefs are always looking for ingredients that make a dish unique, like a distinctive stamp on a canvas," he says. "That's what I provide to help them finish their masterpieces."

As I drive 45 minutes northwest to Roma Norte, Iztapalapa's concrete grit gives way to elegant Art Nouveau architecture and tree-lined avenues buzzing with hipster cafés and bars. In this upscale area, tasting menus start at 2,000 pesos (£80) – quite the jump from my 50-peso (£2) market tacos. 

I exchange my trainers for heels to dine at Michelin-recognised Lorea, set in a tranquil, industrial-chic multilevel space. Most chefs send their staff to stock the kitchen, but Lorea's Oswaldo Oliva wakes up at dawn to do it himself.

Rey Lopez

"It's my favourite part of the week," he tells me. "Standing in front of the market stalls, watching the hustle and bustle, smelling the fresh produce, chatting with the vendors – it's like an adrenaline shot every time."

Oliva arrives at 06:00 and browses for two hours. "How I decide what to buy? Honestly, it's intuition," he muses. "When I see the produce, a mental roadmap just appears in my head."

The spoon-shaped green purslane that caught my eye at the market also got Oliva's attention, appearing on his menu as smoky stems atop a tamal floating on shrimp bisque. He also found fresh huitlacoche (blue-grey corn fungus), which became a bonus course on a handmade charred tortilla.

The next evening, I step into a 19th-Century mansion with a spiral staircase and oval cut-out windows straight out of a Tim Burton movie. Paula Campos manages World's 50 Best-ranked cocktail bar Rayo on the top floor and oversees the produce at Fónico, the upscale Mexican restaurant downstairs.

"Over the years, Central de Abasto has become more dynamic," Campos tells me. "There's a stronger presence of organic and small-scale regional farmers bringing rarer items [as well as] a growing number of high-end buyers." Cultivating close relationships with vendors gets her first dibs on seasonal treasures. "For example, they might reserve a small batch of finger limes or wild herbs before they're gone," she says, which level up Rayo's indigenous-influenced craft cocktails.

Rey Lopez

As I eat my way around Roma Norte, I increasingly spot connections between the seemingly disparate worlds of market labourers and luxury diners. Baby corn has just come into season and I see the trending vegetable on several tasting menus. Maíz Tinto chars the kernels with truffled mayo and meco chilli; while Barolo gives them an Italian twist with a dab of Taleggio cheese and a dust of grasshopper powder.

The unlikely relationship between a gastronomic hub and a working-class district has grown stronger thanks to a visionary government social project. Since 2019, CDMX has established 15 "Utopias" or community centres, in Iztapalapa. Beatriz Cervantes, coordinator of Utopia Meyehualco, beams as she shows me around brightly painted public spaces that offer free music and recreational classes, health consultations and other services that support vulnerable locals, including workers at Central.

Six Utopias have Wellbeing Dining Halls, which run from Tuesday to Saturday and serve about 160 daily takeaway meals for a nominal fee of 11 pesos (£0.40) each. In line with its recent commitment to reducing waste, "Central de Abasto makes donations of supplies, especially food that is left over but still usable for cooking," Cervantes tells me. "Menus are based on a meal plan generated weekly in coordination with the cooks and a nutritionist. They consist of rice, beans, lentils or soup and a main dish [that changes daily]."

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The collaboration has been a success, whittling down the piles of organic refuse at the market while giving families access to nutritious, high-quality food. Utopias are also powered by renewable energy generated from more 30,000 solar panels on the market's rooftops, forming the largest solar farm in the world and further instilling pride in the community.

Rey Lopez

Few tourists visit Central de Abasto, despite being welcome – yet almost every CDMX diner indirectly experiences a connection to it. As Olivo puts it, "[They are] two sides of the same coin. Our Mexican identity is reflected in the food we serve, and that is directly linked to where we buy our ingredients."

Camacho echoes the sentiment, calling his clients "brave alchemist warriors" for opening his eyes to rare herbs and encouraging him to experiment with crops. This market-to-table culture of mutual admiration and resourcefulness is what makes Mexico City one of the world's finest food destinations.

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