Escondido Oaxaca

Oscar Wilde famously wrote, 'Life imitates art far more than art imitates life.' He meant it as an argument about perception — that we only really see a foggy London street because the Impressionists taught us how to look at one — but he could just as easily have been writing about what it feels like when a place is so visually coherent, it starts to feel like a set.

This was a thought I returned to often in Oaxaca City. It began with a wall once painted cherry red, now faded and crackled, as an old Volkswagen Beetle, known locally as a vocho, idled beside it. For a moment, it could have been a still from Paris, Texas — if that had been set across the border. If you like the sound of this feeling, a stay at Escondido Oaxaca is a must.

There’s an intentional serenity to this design den. Despite its central location in Mexico’s culinary capital, even its almost-hidden doorway is a statement of quiet. Proceed along a cobbled corridor towards the leafy patio garden and the sounds of the city are left behind. 

The hotel flows between curated and organic with such ease that I almost forgot anyone had designed it at all. Which is exactly the point, and exactly the skill — the star architect Alberto Kalach concealing a Brutalist tower behind a colonial façade and seamlessly bringing them together. Concrete and wood feel like an extension of each other, rather than radically different forms. And that's before you settle into the sabino-wood furniture, and feast your eyes on the handwoven textiles.

The rooms feel just as considered, delivering almost monastic levels of calm, with high ceilings and unadorned, polished plaster walls. They're warm, textured, alive with shadow and light. Through sliding wooden doors, which open on either side, you'll find the sun cutting across concrete, and plants sketching themselves onto the walls. My surreal mood kept lingering. Even the small details, such as a fudge-like soap of oatmeal and honey, felt slightly unreal. 

You can read more about my culinary explorations in Oaxaca, but a highlight was my meal at the Michelin-starred Levadura de Olla, just a 10-minute walk away. The friendly security guard at the door (who remembered my name throughout my stay) validated my pre-trip research — when I told him that's where I was headed, he smiled and made a chef's kiss gesture in approval.

A booking is hard to get, but it's essential. The dining room hums and moves with ease, and Thalía Barrios García's food isn't just profoundly delicious, it stirs you, connects you to a land with extraordinary ancestral depth. You'll taste all manner of herbs and beans for the first time, as well as corn, avocado and tomatoes as you've never known them: wild varieties of the former, served as agua, or nixtamalised into multi-coloured tortillas. Aguacates criollos are sweeter, smoother and you can eat their skin; and tangerine-hued tree tomatoes carry the explosive tropicality of a mango alongside a spellbinding umami and complex bitterness — my waiter told me they taste more like guava when overripe, and papaya when under.

And that's just the produce. Those tomatoes appear in a famously kaleidoscopic salad celebrating Oaxaca's native varieties, dressed with a fruit vinegar and accompanied by a beetroot purée that confirmed to me that García is a genius. I also loved the requesón tamal with squash blossom and two moles; and an especially exciting dessert of four types of nopal, finished with citrus granita and flor de sal. I drank lots of mezcal, both neat and in cocktail form, with camomile, house vermouth and Aztec marigold.

After a day exploring (and eating), it was heaven to dip into the rooftop pool and relax on a day-bed, smoky margarita in hand. Only evenings here disturb the hush, as discerning gourmands, sated with suckling-pig tacos from the buzzy eatery downstairs, head up to the roof for after-dinner cocktails and chilled beats. 

At breakfast the next day, I managed to resist the pastries — which kept arriving, trailing that warm, freshly baked scent: cinnamon buns with lemon icing and zest, chocolate rolls and a dulce de leche twist with jam. Maybe it was the lingering memory of the mango-like note in the tree tomato, but I couldn't resist the golden tropical jam spooned over my yoghurt.

Walking around Oaxaca City, the courtyards just off the street reminded me of those you see in Spanish and Italian cities. But as you tuck into memelas and empanadas from street stands — or simply luscious mango, chopped and dressed with lime juice and a dusting of Tajín — there's no doubt you're in the heart of Mexico. Escondido Oaxaca helps that feeling stick.