Maize here is not a food, it is a civilisation: cooked with lime for three thousand years, it becomes a tortilla. Oaxaca counts its moles and distils its mezcal, the Yucatán opens its cenotes in the limestone. Mexico City set its cathedral on the Aztec Templo Mayor, and the whole thing is still sinking. And the taco al pastor owes its spit to the Lebanese. Sixty-eight languages, only one Spanish.
