Third day in Mexico City. Hopped off the bus at what looked like a centrally located and very large, but uninteresting intersection. With six streets connecting, surely one of them was going to lead me to a populous area where I could get my bearings. I’m phoneless, by the way so no map. I realized I was at an old convent, Ex Convento de San Hipolito, so I’ll check it out. That lasted about 90 seconds as there was nothing to look at or do—chapel closed, empty interior, dusty stairs leading to a second level with only closed doors. I exit off the side onto the plaza and bought a religious trinket as a charitable offering of a whopping 600 pesos.

On my wander across the plaza to the next unplanned stop, a waft of simmering fresh seafood piqued my olfactory senses. You could smell the unique freshness from far away, it intermingled a simmering warm tomato scent. I couldn't help but investigate—at least for discovery's sake. I peeped around the corner behind an ugly walled parking lot reluctant to take any step closer since my belly was already full. Looks like it’ll rain soon and I’m a long walk to the tourist-filled center of transportation where I can orient myself and find my way back before nightfall. If you haven’t guessed, Mexico City is not a place for a women to walk around at night.

Worried about getting home, but also persuading myself to eat now and avoid overpriced-cornercutting-mainstream fare, I kept walking toward this mysterious silver cart. A few moments of me interloping, I was kindly greeted. Unabashedly using my customized dialect of mangled Spanish, I asked for a bowl of stew that I had noticed on a fellow diner’s table. 'Medio pequeno size por favor’ (proof of the language massacre).

While it was being prepared, I chose the only empty table in front of the large silver cart; unsettlingly close to the old man blaring his harpsichord to no recognizable tune. When the soup was ready, the young waiter ushered me to what was considered the best seat in the house. He set me up with a very hot bowl and placed a rolled up towel beneath the rim tilting it forward, inviting me to look inside. I saw the most beautiful rust-colored liquid still boiling along the edges, filled with treasures waiting for me. A slight stir brought these jewels to the surface like a mermaid offering up pirates' booty. Plump pulpo, crab, fish, mussels and three different sizes of prawns—even those the size of your hand with heads, antennae and full shell begging you to go all in with soupy hands to peel away your reward. I paused and took a moment.

The young man who took my order spoke some English. I was able to find out this foodstand has been here, in this spot, for 27 years—four days after his sister was born. “Papa” doesn't slow down for births apparently. Essentially, Obed, the young waiter, grew up on this 30ft stretch of rear plaza of this not-so-impressive convent. Papa, in the "kitchen", made me a special treat I will describe as a Mexican empanada: a tortilla folded in half, filled with spicy pork and tomato mixture, a speck of cheese and not skimping with the fresh avocado inside. After stuffing, it was pinched all around so as to keep the filling tucked nicely in and then a quick bath in hot oil to toast it up without turning the avocado into mush. It was divine. The loaf of bread I tried to refuse sat in front of me. Papa motions that he should stuff it with avocado for me to make it more tasty. Oh how I couldn’t say no—three dishes with avocado! Alas I did, for fear I really would explode.

My seat, parked essentially in the kitchen like it would if I was an outspoken opinionated member of the family here to comment on every step of the cooking, I noted how much everyone loved this simple setup. Lots of casual waves as old friends walked past or some strong characters lobbing loud comments on next week’s game. (Or something like that. Language deafness again for me.) The cutest part was a man wearing a chef's uniform, possibly from the fake food tourist mecca I was headed to earlier. In navy blue, "Patrizio's Restaurant" was embroidered on his shoulder. He walked up to Papa's grill counter and stood chitchatting while Papa made him his special torta. Yes, the guy from fancy pants restaurant kitchen would rather eat food from the Ramos family, than what he prepares himself. It was that good.
The comfort of the seafood stew eased my mind some since the day before was spent on an unsuccessful phone replacement. (Did you know Mexico has only two network carriers? Unless you sign a fresh contract, you are incommunicado.) After my 'woe is me, mi telefono was robado' one-way discussion with the diners at my table (language challenged again), Obed offered his iPhone 10 to use. The iPhone 10! To some ridiculous, overly talkative, nonsensical American girl. Hijo, you are trusting. The photos you see were taken with this borrowed device of which he later emailed the pics to me.

Hard-working, humble, caring individuals make up these moments of adventure. Taking a chance to be outrageously pleased. Sweet family graciousness, even without many words shared. This was a gem of Mexico City. Yes, the unending reservoir of beautiful travel experiences is there for everyone, this one was my discovery. Afar, Suitcase, Away, Conde Nast Traveler: listen up! The Ramos family food cart (official name is Eben-Ezer Ostioneria; don’t ask me why) is your 'insider's guide to eating in Mexico City'. Your readers will thank you for it while Papa sparkles that smile and keeps on pushing the avocado.