What is the AriMexico Field Guide?

The AriMexico Field Guide is a free, living guide to the Arizona and Mexico City corridor — curated destinations, recipes, and makers across both deserts, written by Raquel Guardia.

Is the Mexico City travel guide free?

Yes. The online field guide and the Polanco + CDMX Weekend Guide are free to read and download. Paid digital guides and the AriMexico Kitchen cookbook are available in the shop.

What does the free weekend guide include?

The Polanco + CDMX Weekend Guide is a two-day itinerary covering where to sleep, eat, and wander in Mexico City's Polanco and Roma Norte neighborhoods — delivered as a printable PDF.

Does the guide cover Arizona too?

Yes. The field guide covers the Arizona side — Phoenix, Tucson, Sedona, and Scottsdale — alongside the Mexico City side, with curated places and Sonoran-inspired recipes.

Who writes the AriMexico Field Guide?

Raquel Guardia, a designer and writer living between Arizona and Mexico City, curating the places, recipes, and makers she personally visits across both deserts.

The AriMexico Field Guide

two deserts,one design language.

A living field guide to the corridor I call home — the mineral restraint of the Arizona desert and the saturated craft of Mexico City. Adobe and adobe. Mole and mesquite. Honest material on both sides of the border. This is where I eat, wander, and steal ideas for the work.

The Arizona side

the desert, held in light.

Arizona — adobe walls, mesquite smoke, turquoise mornings, and the long golden hour that makes a patio worth building.

Destinations

01Eat

Lux Central — Phoenix

USA

A landmark Phoenix coffee shop and workspace in a converted auto showroom — the place I write from when I'm in town.

02Eat

El Charro Café — Tucson

USA

A Tucson institution since 1922 — the original Sonoran Mexican restaurant and the home of sun-dried carne seca.

03Stay

L'Auberge de Sedona

USA

A luxury creekside resort at the base of Sedona's red rocks — cottages on Oak Creek for a slow desert weekend.

04Eat

Talavera — Four Seasons Scottsdale

USA

A Sonoran steakhouse at the Four Seasons Scottsdale — mesquite grill, mountain views, the special-occasion table.

05See

Desert Chapel Road

Arizona, USA

The long road south of Tucson — saguaro silhouettes and a sky that turns every color.

From the kitchen

Sonoran Chile Colorado — Slow-Braised Arizona Comfort Food

Arizona / Sonoran

Every Arizona kitchen has a version of this. A deep red chile sauce, a slow braise, and the smell of home. Mine uses dried guajillo and ancho, a little mesquite honey to round it, and whatever tough cut is cheap at the market.

Arizona Citrus & Mesquite Flour Pancakes

Arizona / Sonoran

Mesquite flour is the Arizona pantry ingredient most people haven't met — sweet, nutty, a little smoky. Folded into pancakes with local citrus, it's a weekend breakfast that tastes like the desert in bloom.

Prickly Pear Margarita

Arizona

The Arizona sunset in a glass — a margarita stained magenta with prickly pear cactus syrup, which tastes like watermelon kissed by strawberry. It's the drink I make on the patio when the desert cools down and the sky goes pink. The color alone is worth it.

Sonoran Mesquite Sun Tea

Arizona

The drink of a Tucson summer — tea brewed slow in the sun on a back porch, with a smoky whisper of mesquite and a bright hit of citrus and mint. No boiling, no rush. The sun does the work over a few hours, and the result is smooth, mellow, and never bitter.

Tucson Green Chile Posole

Arizona

Southern Arizona green chile posole — born of Tucson kitchens where Hatch chiles meet Mexican hominy and slow-cooked pork. It's the bowl that defines a Tucson winter: green, brothy, and deeply restorative. Top it with cabbage, radish, and a squeeze of lime and let the steam do the rest.

Mesquite & Prickly Pear Glazed Ribs

Arizona

Sonoran desert on a plate — pork ribs smoked over mesquite and lacquered with a glaze made from prickly pear cactus fruit. The fruit tastes like a cross between watermelon and bubblegum, and when it reduces it turns the most impossible magenta. Sweet, smoky, and unmistakably Arizona.

The Mexico City side

color as architecture.

Mexico City — hand-fired clay, volcanic stone, markets that hum, and the kind of mole that takes two days and feeds the whole street.

Destinations

01Wander

Chapultepec

Mexico City, Mexico

The great green lung of Mexico City — a castle-topped hill, forest trails, and a lake where families row on Sundays.

02Eat

Café Avellaneda — Roma Norte, Mexico City

Mexico

A small specialty coffee bar in Roma Norte — the espresso anchor of my Mexico City mornings.

03Eat

Rooftop at Centro

Mexico City, Mexico

String lights, slow mezcal, and the city laid out below like a circuit.

04Eat

Pujol — Polanco, Mexico City

Mexico

Mexico City's flagship modern-Mexican fine dining in Polanco — the years-old mole is the reason to go.

05Wander

Coyoacán Market — Mexico City

Mexico

A historic Mexico City market and plaza in Coyoacán — mole pastes, tortillas, and the spirit of old Mexico City.

06Wander

Polanco

Mexico City, Mexico

Mexico City's most polished neighborhood — leafy Avenida Presidente Masaryk, world-class galleries, and the best dinner reservations in town.

07Shop

Bazaar Sábado — San Ángel, Mexico City

Mexico

Mexico City's premier Saturday artisan market in San Ángel — the source of the clay and folk art that fill my rooms.

08Wander

Condesa, Mexico City

Mexico

The leafier, quieter sister to Roma Norte — Art Deco apartments, dog-walkers in the park, and a brunch scene that spills onto every sidewalk. Walk slow.

09Wander

Roma Norte, Mexico City

Mexico

Tree-lined boulevards, Art Nouveau facades, and the best third-wave coffee in the city. Wander toward Parque México at golden hour, then duck into a mezcaleria that has no sign.

From the kitchen

Oaxacan Chocolate Tres Leches — Burnt-Milk Soak

Oaxacan (Mexican)

There is a little panadería in Oaxaca where the chocolate is ground fresh and the air smells of toasted cacao and cinnamon. This is my after-dark version of their tres leches: the sponge is soaked in three milks darkened with real Oaxacan chocolate, and the whole thing finishes under a cloud of cream and a ribbon of cajeta. It is the dessert I make when the table has gone quiet and someone asks for something sweet but not too sweet — the kind of last course that makes a long evening feel complete.

Sonoran Arroz con Leche — Canela & Lime-Peel Rice Pudding

Sonoran (Mexican)

This is the rice pudding my grandmother kept on the back of the stove, a clay pot of it, with a cinnamon stick and a curl of lime peel floating on top. It is plain and honest and exactly what a hot Sonoran afternoon wants — cooled down, dusted with cinnamon, eaten with a spoon from a bowl you've had since you were small. I cook the rice slowly in the milk so it goes creamy without any eggs, and I finish it with a little canela and a pinch of salt. It keeps for days, and it is better cold the next morning for breakfast.

Oaxacan Sopa de Guías — Tender Squash & Corn Stock

Oaxacan (Mexican)

Sopa de guías is the soup the markets in Oaxaca make in the late summer, when the squash plants are heavy with young fruit and the vines and blossoms are all still tender. It is a clear, light broth — nothing creamy, nothing heavy — built on a good chicken stock and finished with squash, corn, and a handful of the tender vine tips themselves. I make it on the first cool evening of the year, when you want something warm in the bowl but you are not yet ready for anything deep or dark. It is honest cooking: the soup that reminds you a garden is enough.

Sonoran Albóndigas — Chipotle Meatball & Vegetable Broth

Sonoran (Mexican)

Albóndigas is the soup I grew up on, the one that was on the stove when you came in from the heat of a Sonoran afternoon and the kitchen smelled like cumin and toasted chile. It is a clear broth with small, soft meatballs bound with rice, and whatever vegetables the garden gave up — carrots, potatoes, a little calabacita. I simmer a chipotle in the broth so it carries just a whisper of smoke underneath, not heat. It is the bowl you eat with a tortilla in your other hand, the one that makes a plain Tuesday feel like a small celebration.

Sonoran Flour Tortillas — Lard & Hot-Griddle Pressed

Sonoran (Mexican)

A Sonoran flour tortilla is a different creature from anything you buy in a store — big, thin, and soft, with a few charred blisters and a faint taste of lard and wheat. I learned to press them on a cool morning with a wooden tortilla press and a cast-iron griddle already heating. The secret is the warm water and the rest: you let the dough sit so it relaxes, and then you press it thin enough to see your hand through. Eat them hot off the comal with butter and salt, or wrap them around machaca, or tear one into a bowl of albóndigas. There is almost nothing in cooking that is more worth it.

Mexico City Conchas — Vanilla-Shell Pan Dulce

Mexico City (Mexican)

The concha is the pan dulce of every Mexico City morning — the one in the basket on the corner bakery counter, the one you tear open while the coffee is still brewing, the one with the crackled sugar shell that breaks like a little roof over the soft, buttery bread underneath. I make the shell with vanilla and a touch of orange zest so it perfumes the whole loaf, and I let the dough rise slow so the crumb stays tender. They are best eaten the day they are baked, warm, with a cup of café con leche — there is almost nothing simpler, and almost nothing better.

Mole Poblano — Sunday Table Style

Puebla (Mexican)

This is the mole I make for a Sunday table — the one with the dark, almost black sauce that clings to the chicken and leaves a sesame-seed dust on every bite. It is not the quick version; it is the slow one, the one where you toast the chiles until the whole kitchen smells like dried earth and warm chocolate, and you fry the blended paste until the oil rises to the edges and tells you the flavor has turned. We serve it from heavy earthenware bowls, a few sesame seeds and a tuft of cilantro on top, with warm tortillas to swipe up every last drop of sauce. It is the kind of dish that makes a long afternoon feel well spent.

Terracotta Paloma — Rosemary & Smoked-Salt Rim

Mexican Cocktails

There is a courtyard in Mexico City where they serve palomas in rough terracotta cups, and the clay leaves a faint, mineral edge on every sip. This is my home version of that cup. It is a paloma built for candlelight — mezcal and fresh grapefruit, a smoked-peppercorn and chili salt rim, and a rosemary sprig torched just enough to release its pine. Served over crushed ice in the heaviest clay mug you own, it is the drink I pour when the mole is on the stove and the table is set for a long, slow night.

Sonoran Carne Asada — Mesquite-Grilled, Arizona Backyard Style

Sonoran Mexican

In a Sonoran backyard, carne asada is not a recipe — it's a gathering. The grill is mesquite, the fire is already going before anyone's hungry, and someone is always stationed with a beer and tongs, turning thin cuts of beef over the flames while the conversation runs long. This is the version I cook on a Sunday in Phoenix: skirt steak marinated in citrus and fire-roasted chiles, grilled hot and fast over mesquite so the edges char while the center stays juicy. Plate it with charred green onions, fresh pico de gallo, and lime — nothing more. The whole point is that you stand by the grill with the people you love.

Mole Negro — The Two-Day Sonoran-Oaxacan Version

Mexican

This is the mole I make when a Sunday turns into a Monday. It's the dish that taught me that color belongs on the plate — black as volcanic glass, slow as a long table, and worth every minute. I learned it in a Mexico City kitchen and brought it home to Arizona, where I swap in a little mesquite-smoked chile for the Sonoran side of the corridor.

Mesquite-Grilled Street Corn (Elote) — Arizona–CDMX Style

Mexican

The corner elote is the first thing I crave landing in Mexico City — and the last thing I make on a Phoenix patio in summer. A little mesquite smoke from the grill, crema, cotija, and chili: five minutes, a thousand memories.

Mezcal Paloma — Mexico City's Smokier Grapefruit Cocktail

Mexican Cocktails

The Paloma is the drink Mexico City actually orders — not the margarita. This version swaps tequila for mezcal for a little smoke, fresh grapefruit, and a salted rim. It's what I pour friends on a Roma rooftop at golden hour.

Slow-Roasted Cochinita Pibil — Yucatán-Style, Sunday in Mexico City

Mexican

Achiote, bitter orange, and banana leaf — cochinita is the slow Sunday I make when I want the whole apartment to smell like Yucatán. It asks for patience and pays it back tenfold.

Mole Poblano — San Angel Inn Style

Mexican

The mole from San Angel Inn in Mexico City — the centuries-old restaurant in a former monastery in San Ángel where I first understood what mole could be. Not bitter, not sweet — a deep, dark sauce of twenty-plus ingredients where chiles, chocolate, nuts, and spices melt into something that tastes like the whole history of Mexico in a spoon. This is my recreation of that bowl, poured over poached chicken. It takes a day. It's worth every minute.

Agua de Jamaica

Mexican

Agua de Jamaica — the deep ruby hibiscus agua fresca found in every Mexican taquería, ladled from a glass jar over too much ice. It's tart, floral, and thirst-quenching in a way nothing else is. I brew it strong and sweeten it just enough; the lime at the end makes it sing.

Mezcal Margarita

Mexican

The margarita I make when I want to taste the agave — smoky mezcal, fresh lime, a whisper of agave nectar, and a salt rim that's been kissed with Tajín. No blender, no shortcuts. Just a shaker, good ice, and the best limes you can find.

Esquites Callejeros

Mexican

Esquites — corn off the cob, in a cup, on a street corner at midnight. This is the version I make at home: sweet corn toasted in a dry pan until it spots, then drowned in crema, lime, cotija, and a dusting of Tajín. Eat it with a spoon, standing up.

Tijuana-Style Birria de Res

Mexican

The birria I learned from a Tijuana street vendor — beef slow-braised in a dried-chile consomé until it shreds itself. Dip the tortilla, dip it again, then crisp it on the comal. The consomé is the whole point; don't skip the dip.

The Cookbook

the AriMexicokitchen.

60+ recipes from my table to yours — Arizona classics, Mexico City moles, and the long-table Sundays in between. Hand-written notes, a pantry field guide, and film photography from the places where it actually happened.

Printed on demand·Hardcover $48 / Softcover $32·Ships worldwide

Pre-order the book Browse the shop

Free field guide

The AriMexicoField Guide.

A free field guide to living well between Arizona and Mexico City — the rooms I'd design, the tables I'd pull up to, and the corners I'd send a friend. From desert modernism in Phoenix to the old walls of Roma Norte. Drop your email and it's yours.

The AriMexico Weekend Guide — a free Mexico City travel guide by Raquel Guardia

your field guide, on the house.