That morning we wandered through the arid streets of Veracruz's capital. The atmosphere no longer smelled like the sea, or maybe it did, but from a distance. Erik Guerrero and I waited at a small metal table covered with a beer logo as a tablecloth. The promise was seafood that, according to one of the most important chefs in the port and founder of Nuestra Pesca, had no competition. “Even Enrique Olvera comes here,” he assured me. Fifteen minutes later, a thick, steaming clay bowl of rice a la tumbada emerged from the kitchen of Ay Apá. With each stir of the spoon, potatoes and seafood floated in that sort of red ocean with aromas of epazote. 

I remember that after burning my tongue, the broth informed me about the taste of the sea, about the justice that good preparation does to its fruits. That was not the only time. That sensation came with the octopus cocktails presented to me by Jonatán Gómez Luna in Tulum, or the Chinese clams that chef Nico Mejía let us try at the lagoon of Cuyutlán, Colima. Years earlier, I also felt it in front of La Quebrada in Acapulco. I was not yet four years old when I realized that Mexico's seafood is worthy of a poem in hendecasyllables. 

The 1,592.77 km2 of the Mexican coastline provide ample space for an endless celebration of regional dishes that combine seafood in unique ways. Northerners, coastal dwellers, or Chilangos know that an overflowing glass of shrimp or a plastic table with vinegary sauces in the center is the prelude to a pleasure reserved for the seasoned, for those who know the national cuisine from its depths.

One must feel completely Mexican and confident to risk one’s life at a seafood stand in front of the metro in Mexico City – and even then, it’s likely that the find will be successful. And if that happens in the heart of the country, miles away from the sea, the journey along both sides of the Mexican coasts deserves to buckle up for a ride, only to unbuckle later.

The first stop would be in Mazatlán, where one should order a burrito of marlin stuffed with beans in front of a beach shack. In Tampico, the journey is short when there are stuffed crabs from Los Curricanes involved, which can be taken home as a souvenir in their frozen version properly stored in a cooler.

The green aguachiles from the north awaken sweat and the desire to quench it with ice-cold beers as refreshing as the Humboldt currents, while the black ones from Yucatán captivate us with the ashen flavors of their recado. Ceviches, anyone? There’s as much variety as there are traditional kitchens. As you know, a ceviche from Nayarit is not the same as one from Jalisco or Guerrero. A red mole with shrimp? One must make a stop in the Oaxacan Isthmus.

As for oysters, the ones from Sonora are best served with Parmesan cheese. One must arrive in Rosarito for the steamed lobsters that are then fried and wrapped in freshly made flour tortillas. Beans, sauce, and butter, boom! Straight to the sea, and also to heaven. From there, one can go for chocolate clams in La Paz or all kinds of shells in Baja: on some succulent tostadas, in La Guerrerense; on dishes with Baja-Med touches and clean techniques at Fauna, Deckman’s, or Villa Torél. 

Erik Guerrero says that the best from the Gulf is its fish, and from the Pacific, seafood such as shrimp, shells, octopus, snail, squid, and lobsters. He invites us to venture outside the port for a unique reward: the seafood from Doña Tella in Alvarado. I suspect I will take his advice. After his recommendation of Ay Apá, I would believe him if he said the moon belongs to Veracruz.

If you can’t travel this year, it’s okay. Lent has already begun, and with it a gastronomic season where fresh preparations, spicy recipes, and seafood that will take you to the Mexican beaches with just a couple of ingredients are a must. Ready for the tour?