Cooking Classes Oaxaca with Agustín

A Market Tour and the Craziest Cooking Class Ever

Have you ever been in a situation that you voluntarily got yourself into, where weird stuff is happening, and you’re trying to make eye contact with the other strangers around you to see if they also think that yes, in fact, everything is nuts?

Yeah, that’s how “Cooking Classes Oaxaca” is with Agustín. And truly, that is the creative name he decided to go with for his cooking classes. But Agustín’s not fancy. Self-admittedly, he is a cocinero, not a chef! And his cooking classes are a lot of fun… non-traditional, but A LOT of fun.

I’ll be honest. I picked this class because I read many a TripAdvisor review that said “the beer and mezcal were flowing” and “Agustín is hilarious.” This all turned out to be very, very true. At first, however, we had our doubts…

Agustín met us at our AirBnb home in Oaxaca on foot with one of the other students in our class, Kyle, a bartender from NYC who’d quit his job to travel for a while. Agustín’s a goofy, balding guy with a bit of a limp. Upon meeting us, he laughed and said he thought we were going to be a couple of old people. I guess “Rachel and Charlie” has an elderly ring to it? (Agustín also told us he thought that one guy in our class, Kyle, was a girl prior to meeting him, giving his name the Spanish pronunciation of “Kee-Leh.”)

The three of us walked together towards the zócalo, learning a little about Agustín’s background and his gout problem from eating so many rich Mexican foods. He told us he’d snuck across the border around Tijuana and worked as a farmer in the United States, as well as a cook in San Francisco for several years. Now he was working on re-opening his restaurant in Oaxaca – a cheap buffet place for the working class – and giving cooking classes in the apartment above his restaurant.

We met up with the other students in our class, Rena (British) and Áine (Irish), two girls who traveled to Mexico together from England. Can you guess what fabulous job they have? They are, in fact, the chef and manager of one of Jamie Oliver’s cooking schools in London. I know, incredible. Here we are taking a cooking class with an actual chef… a fact not revealed to Agustín until after we watched him marvel at Rena chopping an onion at lightning speed.

Together we followed Agustín to the markets to pick up all the groceries we would need for our day of cooking.

Unfortunately, we didn’t need any chapulines (fried grasshoppers or crickets) for our dishes, but Agustín encouraged us to try them from the many smiling women offering them up.

Agustín made our purchases at Mercado 20 de Noviembre and Mercado Benito Juarez, while giving us a sporadic, bumbling, random-factoids-galore, sort of “tour” of the markets. He told us where to eat menudo, buy good mezcal, and introduced us to all of his friend-vendors at the market, complete with lots of jokes he had at the ready. (Don’t read these if you’d rather be surprised!) Like lots of self-deprecating fat jokes about Mexicans, including how they don’t drown because they all have “inner tubs” around their waists.

We bought vegetables and a chicken from women in the market that he knew. Agustín makes jokes about the chickens being yellow because they are Chinese… just kidding, it’s because they eat marigolds (Okay, a reader actually informed be it’s because of a disinfectant). We bought chilies and Oaxacan cheese, and then he even picked up a bag of spicy pickled jalapenos, carrots, and onions for us to snack on while we cooked and drank. Agustín makes (not a) joke about how he does not have his liquor license anymore so we cannot talk about booze in any online reviews we may leave.

Cue lots of odd looks at each other… lots of whispering, “What the hell is going on?! Is this real life?”… and lots of nervous laughter. Whatever, we were in it for the long haul now, so we just continued to follow him through the markets and down the streets.

So the tour wasn’t a crazy educational experience, but we did get a good walk around the markets of Oaxaca, which is a super colorful, smelly, loud, and interesting cultural assault on the senses. The food is so fresh, which is part of what makes Mexican food amazing. Also, the spices and chilies!

Agustín filled up his bag with homemade tortillas from his chosen vendor and grabbed limes and fresh chilies from another lady in the alley. Seeing where and from whom all the food comes was especially cool, as was checking out all their clever displays of produce.

We also stopped by the Mayordomo chocolate factory and store to pick up the chocolate for the mole we’d be making later and taste a little sample. After that, Agustín rallied us across a street through traffic to get on a local bus back to his apartment/restaurant.

Once at Agustín ‘s place in an outer neighborhood of Oaxaca, he invited us to check out his soon-to-be restaurant with a decor that can only be described as “posters of American musicians from the 70’s and 80’s.” We all then climbed up a not-sketchy-at-all iron spiral staircase leading into the bachelor pad style apartment where Agustín teaches his cooking classes.

There’s writing all over the walls from former students showing their love (that’s a good sign right?), a couch, coffee table, and an average kitchen (not restaurant quality or anything, but totally adequate). There were leftover pots of mole on the stove from a previous class which he kindly gave to his next door neighbor after letting us taste it to see what we were going for. He’s also got a great rooftop patio with a table and chairs for your dining pleasure.

We all washed our hands and Agustín distributed aprons amongst us. Makes jokes about the color of your apron coordinating to your sexual preferences. He put on some music and asked if we maybe wanted some beers.

Finally, I thought you’d NEVER ask! (I’m going to pretend this was everyone’s mindset and non-verbal reaction, not just mine.)

The fun began. Agustín draped Rena in a tablecloth and showed her how to clean dishes. He then told us we would all be working hard today if we wanted to eat and that we’d need bus boys as well as cooks and waiters. Whenever anyone slacked off and just started drinking and watching the others cook, he would point to them and say, “There’s the restaurant owner!” (Sorry, Agustín, I’m giving away all your jokes right now.)

We made guacamole, to which Agustin insisted we add tiny slices of habanero pepper. We made quesadillas with lots of Oaxacan cheese, which he distributed amongst the tortillas in MASSIVE quantities. Upon opening one that we purposely made a little less cheesy, he gasps, What is this?! This is nothing! and added a big handful of the stringy cheese while we all cracked up.

We were also introduced to Agustín’s intensely cute dog, Michael Jackson. The dog’s name right there tells you the kind of guy Agustín is – he’s hilarious, sincere, and doesn’t take himself too seriously. When Rena began laughing because the dog was um, humping her leg, Agustín shouted at her, without losing a beat, Oh no, it’s okay, Michael Jackson only likes little puppies!

Soon enough, we got around to making the mole – the thing I’d been waiting for. While normally Agustín’s classes make either black or red mole, because we couldn’t decide, he let us make both. The process involves a list of many, many ingredients which he has written on a chalkboard for his students. We labelled each of the chilies for future reference and snapped some photos, and then Agustín guided us through the very un-scientific process of measuring the ingredients (a lady pinch here, a man pinch there) and throwing them into the frying pan. Agustin strongly suggested that I take notes, because sometimes his students complain online after the class that he doesn’t give real cooking instructions. (Author’s comment: They obviously take themselves too seriously and/or didn’t drink enough during their class.)

Apparently the process of making mole involves setting fire to tortillas, an integral part of the recipe. Then you must burn everything in the frying pan and force an evacuation of the kitchen due to spicy, spicy smoke. We coughed our heads off from all the chilies, even Michael Jackson, but it was really hilarious when we all escaped to the patio to let the frying pan cool down. Maybe we put one of you in there with smoke, you tell us all your secrets!

Each time we finished making a dish, we migrated outside to the patio to eat it as a group, Agustín rarely partaking due to the gout, but always making sure we were having a good time. You find a better cooking class in Oaxaca, I would like to see it! When Rena needed cigarettes, Agustín even offered to go fetch them from the store. Did we also want some tequila while he was out? Um, did we? Maybe some beer too? Yes, Tecate works!

Commence rowdiness.

A little later, the purposely burnt mole ingredients went into the blender with water. They were then strained and set on the stove in a pot to reduce and receive more seasoning and the addition of chocolate paste. We were all encouraged to take pictures with the pot while tossing in salt or stirring and smiling. Meanwhile we toasted with multiple shots of tequila as we made red and green table salsas from tomatoes, tomatillos, garlic, and chilies. Don’t fuck the blender! is the hilariously translated instruction we were repeatedly given during this step.

Things started to get a little silly and we all ended up spending more time on the patio cheers-ing, talking, and eating than in the kitchen, while Agustín cooked, hollered at us to come shred the chicken, and offered to go get us more tequila. Yes, please.

We came inside to roll chicken enchiladas, covered them with our red and green salsas, and sprinkled them with queso fresco. And finally, finally, we plated our pollo con mole, complete with sesame seeds and more queso fresco. Everything really looked and tasted incredible. Our group went outside and shared all of the dishes on the rooftop, played with Michael Jackson, drank some more beverages, and listened to some very ridiculous tales from Agustín’s past.

We finished off our experience with Cooking Classes Oaxaca by piling into a cab with Agustín (and a leash-less Michael Jackson, of course) who accompanied us to an ATM in the city center because, as usual, we didn’t bring enough pesos (story of my life in Mexico). We hugged Agustín goodbye, thanked him for his class and amazing hospitality, absurdly over-tipped (a recurring theme in Mexico, nothing to do with the  tequila I’m sure), and headed off into the Oaxacan evening with our new friends, Áine and Rena, in search of mezcal and Día de los Muertos celebrations…

While Agustín’s cooking class isn’t for the luxury traveler, the easily offended, or those who intend to learn the exact science (um, measurements) behind Oaxacan recipes, we had an absolute blast with him. Of course, having a group of fun-loving young people didn’t hurt, but the intimate setting, Agustín’s hilarious personality, and his genuine love of cooking made this an unforgettable day. We definitely overstayed our allotted time with him, but he didn’t seem to mind at all. I can’t remember what I wrote on his wall at the end of the day (because tequila), but I have nothing but the highest recommendations to give for this ridiculous cooking class.

Update: It’s 2018 and this post has really gained some traction! I’m happy to say that Agustín is still giving cooking classes in Oaxaca and I’d still definitely recommend him!

Cooking Classes Oaxaca cost 700 pesos ($48 USD) per person (in 2015), but Agustín includes the booze if you request it. You can contact Agustín through his email address listed on the website and he is very good about emailing back and forth to answer any questions you may have – forgive his English, he speaks it better than he writes it. He’ll pick you up from your accommodations or meet you in the city center. The class includes a trip to the markets and the chocolate factory to shop for ingredients and then a full day of cooking multiple Oaxacan dishes, including at least one mole sauce, which is an all day affair in itself. Come open-minded and prepared to laugh a lot and party a little bit.