My jaded chef’s palate was awoken in Oaxaca – and I’ve brought so many ideas home

Two moments come to mind when I think of our recent trip to Mexico. One was standing in a field on a beautiful organic farm outside Oaxaca with the chef Rodolfo Castellano. He plucks what looks like a tall blade of grass and hands it to me: “Chepiche,” he says. I bite into it and suddenly everything in my mouth lights up. My mind races for a point of reference – it tastes a bit like … it reminds me of … But nothing comes to mind. Chepiche tastes like chepiche. My jaded chef’s palate had been jolted awake by something completely new to me, something I could never taste anywhere else.

Later that day, still on that farm, Rodolfo made us a soup – with corn, squash and an infusion of chepiche and other local herbs – that quietly changed everything I thought Mexican food could be. It was pale in colour with specks of green, soulful and soothing, the kind of thing you’d make for a child or a convalescent. Simple, but with a depth and complexity that I can taste still. I saw how he made it, but I know I could never recreate it at home. Not only because I can’t get chepiche, but the corn and the squash in England taste different, too. His guacamole with garden tomatoes and chepiche (above), meanwhile, was a riot of colour and summery freshness.

The other moment I remember just as clearly was in the airport in Mexico City. I’m at the airline desk, exhausted in body and soul, shaking with frustration and rage. Our flight had by then been delayed by 120 hours, or five full days. I was furious, but in truth, I had never felt more powerless in my life.

Back home, I was determined to hold on to that first moment in Oaxaca. I tried my hand at replicating Rodolfo’s soup, and though I had no chepiche and the corn tasted all wrong, it was still good and deeply comforting. It brought back that day on the farm and reminded me of all the magic we had found in Mexico: the extraordinary people we met, the mind-blowingly good food we tasted. We gained an ear for mariachi and reggaeton, fell hard for the poetic architecture of Luis Barragán and the art of Gabriel Orozco, and discovered that few things are more electrifying than watching lucha libre wrestling live.

Every time we pack our suitcases and get on a plane, we open ourselves up to the unknown. Travel, after all, is a leap of faith – an invitation to experience things beyond our comfort zones: unfamiliar tastes, unexpected encounters, moments of awe, and sometimes moments of utter frustration. Not every journey is smooth; some days are long, some nights sleepless, and some experiences – like standing helpless at an airport desk – feel almost too much to bear.

But it’s the other moments that stay with us. The ones that surprise us into wonder – like tasting chepiche for the first time, or watching a soup come together with the gentlest of ingredients and the deepest of care. Those are the memories that quietly but powerfully remind us that the world is vast, varied and, more often than not, generous.

Sometimes, the best journeys don’t require a suitcase. Just a chopping board, a good knife, and maybe a bag of spices you’ve never used before. Because travel – real, heart-stirring travel – can start right in your kitchen. It’s there, stirring a pot of freekeh soup from Jerusalem, or folding paperthin börek from Istanbul, that the world starts to unfold.

You can smell Marrakech in the spices of a lamb and apricot tagine – sweet, savoury, soul-warming. Or hear the streets of Tehran in the sizzling, saffron-tinged crust of a tahchin, with its creamy rice, golden crust and gentle aromas. And you can capture Jerusalem’s essence in a freekeh dish, channelling that ancient Levantine smoke and wheat with every spoonful.

Some recipes carry you farther than a flight ever could – not just to new places, but to new ways of seeing. You find yourself wondering about the woman who first rolled that dough, or the grandfather who taught his grandson the perfect spice ratio for harissa. And then there’s the surprise – that with just your hands and a humble kitchen table, you’ve made something that tastes like a far-off city at sunset. That’s the magic. That’s why we keep cooking. Because sometimes the best way to explore the world is one bite at a time.

Culinary journeys | We got to that field with Rodolfo and to many other places we would otherwise have never seen, tasting things we would have never tasted, by joining a Milk Street culinary tour in Oaxaca. Well-organised and absolutely delicious on every level, these tours are not cheap but they deliver tremendous value. We have been on its website ever since we got back, planning the next adventure.

Brunch, sorted | Our go-to for Mexican food has always been the inimitable Thomasina Miers. Her chilaquiles recipe is made on repeat at our house, and perfect for hot weather.

Taco time | Enrique Olvera is a legend, and his new book, Sunny Days, Taco Nights, is not only full of doable taco recipes, but it’s also a love song to Mexico City and its taco culture.

• Itamar Srulovich is hosting a talk with Jimi Famurewa, the author of the food memoir Picky, on Wednesday 9 July at Honey & Co Studio, London.

Bangkok Diners Club, Manchester | Many restaurants claim to be new and innovative, but this spot actually is. Ben and Bo Humphreys have opened this “authentic, boundary-pushing, a little odd” spot upstairs in their elegant 19th-century pub the Edinburgh Castle. Artichoke and golden beetroot massaman curry was one highlight for our reviewer, and expect dishes such as a nam tok salad with salt-aged beef and bone marrow aïoli or roast pork belly phat phet with rhubarb stir-fry. “This is a cracking little progressive, family-run place that has hit the ground running,” writes Grace Dent, “and will no doubt soon be one of Manchester’s hottest dining tickets.” Read the full review.