Tag Archives: french

From Baguettes to Bolillos: A Story of Cultural Exchange & Evolution

By Kary Vannice—

Walk into almost any panadería in Mexico and you’ll notice it right away. The glass cases are full to bursting with colorful rows of conchas, cuernos, orejas, and empanadas. Trays are constantly being swapped out. It smells like sugar, yeast, and warm bread, and it feels very Mexican. And it is. But there is also something else going on that most people don’t think about.

Bread in Mexico did not always look like this. Before wheat became common, food was centered around corn. Wheat came later during the colonial period, and baking slowly developed from there. But a bigger shift happened in the nineteenth century, around the time of the French intervention in Mexico.

What changed was not so much the ingredients. These largely stayed the same. What changed was how things were made.
French baking brought a different level of precision to the process. Dough was handled differently, fermentation was more controlled, and techniques like layering and shaping became more intentional. These influences were adopted into the Mexican kitchen and affected the texture, consistency, and final result.

This French influence didn’t replace what already existed. It changed the way things were done.

A simple example of this is the bolillo. At first glance, it looks like a basic roll, but if you pay attention to the crust, the inside texture, and even the way it is scored, you can see the connection to the French baguette. Over time, it became a part of everyday life in Mexico. Today, it’s used for tortas, served at meals, and found just about everywhere. Most people wouldn’t think of it as French, but the influence is still there.

What happened next is what makes this interesting.
Mexican bakers didn’t try to copy French pastries exactly. Instead, they used those techniques as a starting point and built something new. This is how pan dulce really started taking shape. The variety that exists today didn’t come from just one tradition. It came from a system that allowed for experimentation.

Different regions created their own versions and varieties. Shapes, toppings, and recipes evolved over time. And this created the modern-day Mexican bakery culture that is both consistent and highly varied at the same time.

Another change that came with French technique is the focus on texture. Texture was always important in Mexican food, but these new methods expanded what was possible. After the incorporation of these techniques, softer interiors, crispy outer layers, and pastries that pull apart in layers became more common. These details may seem small, but they change how the food is experienced.
Today, the panadería is its own kind of space. It is not a French bakery, but it is not completely separate from that influence either. It runs on a structure that came from French technique, but everything about how it looks and feels is Mexican. There is more volume, more movement, and it is part of daily life, not something reserved exclusively for special occasions.

And this system is still changing. New techniques are introduced, ingredients shift, and bakeries and recipes adapt and evolve over time. At the same time, certain staples like the concha remain consistent, which keeps a sense of continuity and groundedness in the uniquely Mexican bread culture.

When people talk about this connection, they often call it influence. But that makes it sound like one culture affected another and that was the end of it. In truth, that’s not what really happened.
Instead, French baking provided a new framework. Mexican bakers used it, changed it, and expanded on it, and eventually made it their own. What exists now is something different. We tend to think of influence as something that moves in one direction. One culture gives, the other receives. But that’s not what happened here.
What started as a set of techniques became something entirely different once it moved through Mexican culture. It wasn’t just adopted; it was reworked into something that now feels completely original.

Most people won’t think about any of this when they walk into a bakery. They’ll just pick what looks good and move on with their day. But what looks simple on the surface is actually the result of a much bigger story that’s still unfolding in everyday life.

Perhaps after reading this, you’ll see more than just bread on your next trip to the bakery. You’ll see history, collaboration, and evolution in that bolillo or concha in your hand.

Bon appétit & buen provecho!

Kary Vannice is a writer and energetic healer who explores the intersections of culture, consciousness, and daily life in Mexico.

A Little Bit of France in Mexico

By Alicia Flores—

Being Mexican is not just one thing. Mexican culture has been shaped by several influences, and one of the most fascinating is France. During the late nineteenth and early twentieth centuries, especially under Porfirio Díaz, French culture became associated with elegance, progress, and modernity. That influence can still be seen today in architecture, in food, and entire communities.

And if you know where to look, you can experience a little piece of France without ever leaving Mexico.

One of the most refined examples is Quinta Gameros in the northern state of Chuihuahua. This mansion was commissioned in 1907 by Manuel Gameros, a wealthy mining engineer who wanted a residence that reflected status and European sophistication. Designed by Colombian architect Julio Corredor Latorre, the house is one of the best examples of Art Nouveau architecture in Mexico. Its carved wood interiors, stained glass, and ornamental ironwork reflect the influence of French decorative arts that were fashionable at the time.

Construction began during the height of the Porfiriato, but history intervened. The Mexican Revolution forced Gameros to leave the country before he could truly enjoy the home. Over the years, the building has served multiple purposes, including as a federal building and later as part of the University of Chihuahua. Today, it houses a museum, where visitors can admire not only the architecture but also period furniture that helps recreate the atmosphere of early twentieth-century elite life in Mexico.

With the Torre Eiffel de Gómez Palacio, located in Durango, the French connection takes on a more symbolic form. This replica of the Eiffel Tower was installed in the early 2000s as part of a broader effort by local authorities to revitalize the city’s public spaces and create a recognizable landmark. Gómez Palacio has long been an industrial and railway hub, and the decision to build the tower reflects both civic pride and a desire to connect with a global icon of engineering and modernity.

Although it is not connected to Gustave Eiffel himself, the structure captures something powerful: the way the Eiffel Tower has become a universal symbol of innovation, romance, and aspiration. For residents, it represents more than a replica—it is a point of gathering, a visual landmark, and a reminder that global culture can be reinterpreted in local ways.

For a deeper and more immersive experience, the town of San Rafael , along with nearby Jicaltepec, offers a living legacy of French immigration in the state of Veracruz. Jicaltepec was established in 1833 as an agricultural colony by French settlers, who were drawn to the fertile lands nourished by the Nautla River. Many of these immigrants came from regions such as the Alps and eastern France, bringing with them farming techniques, baking traditions, and a strong connection to the land. They established agricultural communities, cultivating crops such as vanilla, citrus, and bananas.

Over time, the settlements of Jicaltepec and San Rafael grew into a unique cultural enclave where French and Mexican traditions blended. Even today, this heritage is visible in the local food. The region is known for its bakeries, as well as artisanal cheeses and dairy products influenced by French techniques, adapted to the tropical climate and local ingredients. Walking through the area, you can feel a quieter, more rural rhythm shaped by agriculture, tradition, and a history that connects Veracruz to Europe in a very tangible way.

These places remind us that Mexico’s identity is multi-faceted. French influence arrived during a time of ambition and transformation, leaving behind not only buildings but also traditions, flavors, and ideas that continue to evolve.

To travel through Mexico with this perspective is to see beyond expectations. It is to notice the details, the curve of an iron railing, the elegance of a façade, the taste of freshly baked bread—and to recognize that even here, far from France, its presence still lingers in quiet and surprising ways.

Manta Raya: Where French Design Meets the Soul of Oaxaca

By Cathy Bergamo—

Since its inception a little over five years ago, Manta Raya has strived to capture the essence of Oaxaca in a unique way, merging the Oaxacan textile tradition with the modern vision of a brand born from a passion for fashion and textiles. My path toward creating Manta Raya was not something planned, but rather a result of my love for the art of fashion and the destiny that brought me to Mexico, specifically to Oaxaca and the coast of Huatulco.

Although my life is now deeply connected with Oaxaca, I was born in France, a country that has marked my personal history and creative vision. It was thanks to a university exchange program that I came to live in the city of Oaxaca, and my first encounter with this city and its people was a revelatory moment. The cultural richness of this state, its traditions, and especially its textile history captivated me immediately. During my time in the region, I fell in love not only with the vibrant landscapes and the endless shades of the sea, but also with the warm beach lifestyle that permeates Huatulco. The picturesque bays, its endless open-water beaches, the radiant sun, and the perfect climate inspired me to create something that reflected that magic.

This is how Manta Raya was born, a Mexican brand founded in Bahías de Huatulco, which honors the textile tradition of Oaxaca while celebrating the coastal lifestyle. Our main focus is to pay homage to the natural beauty of Oaxaca and remind people of what it means to live in harmony with the environment, encouraging more outdoor moments, and creating high-quality, handcrafted products. The pedal loom technique, which we use throughout the manufacturing process, is a tradition that has endured for generations, and through Manta Raya, we aim to preserve this legacy while adapting it to the needs and tastes of the contemporary world. We combine contemporary designs with the vibrant color palette that nature gifts us in this very special place.

The blues of the sea, the golden hues of the sun, and the greens of the mountains are the colors we seek to reflect in each of our products. Each blanket is unique because it is handmade.

As a Frenchwoman, I can’t help but carry a piece of my origin with me, and that influence is also reflected in our designs. The French Touch of Manta Raya is definitely present in our creations, based on stripes and color combinations. A clin d’oeil to our French roots.

Manta Raya is not just a brand, but an extension of my own story and connection with the beach. As the wife of a surfer, I spend a lot of time on the beach, seeking ways to stay comfortable and enjoy the environment to the fullest. The need for something practical yet beautiful, something that would accompany me on my getaways, was what drove me to create pieces that were not only useful but also a reflection of the relaxed, free lifestyle of the coast. Today, Manta Raya is perfect to carry in your bag wherever you go; it is made to be an essential for your beach days, to accompany you in your yoga class, or to use at home as a versatile blanket, on your sofa, or as a bed runner, adding a special touch to your spaces.

The philosophy of Manta Raya is clear: Slow Fashion.

Our brand identity is based on a connection with the sea and a design that celebrates outdoor living. In a world saturated by fast fashion, we bet on conscious production that respects both the environment and the artisans and our customers. We believe in the importance of creating durable products, not only in style but also in quality. Each piece of Manta Raya is made to withstand the test of time, offering something more than fashion: an object that tells a story and has a profound meaning that connects us with the land.

To purchase: http://www.mantarayamexico.com

The French Food Connection

By Marcia Chaiken and Jan Chaiken—

We love the food in Mexico. We arrive every year hungry for moles, dorado and huachinango, ripe papayas and mangos right from the trees, juicy piña, ceviche, and hamburguesa de pescado. But sometimes we have a yen for French cuisine — the kind we enjoy in Paris and throughout gourmand-pampering France. We want French food, not fusion — French-European, French-Mexican, or French-Vietnamese interpretations. When in Mexico City, this yen is more than satisfied by a meal at Au Pied de Cochon.

Au Pied de Cochon is one of several excellent restaurants in the Intercontinental El Presidente Hotel in the Polanco area. When we’re in CDMX for a short stay, we reserve a room at El Presidente not only for its location near Chapultepec Park and the National Auditorium, but also because of its ready access to our favorite French restaurant. The restaurant’s 24-hour schedule meet our ever-changing schedule, so we’ve been there for breakfast at 6am and late after-theater desserts as well as for lunch and dinner. One year, our stay at El Presidente occurred after surgery in a nearby hospital and coincided with Christmas. The Au Pied de Cochon staff was kind enough to set up a table close to the entrance that could accommodate a wheelchair.

Canadians often think that the Polanco restaurant is related to Au Pied de Cochon in Montreal. It is not. Nor is the restaurant of the same name in Geneva related. Only one restaurant is related — Au Pied de Cochon in Paris-to be more specific, the mother restaurant in Les Halles, the former central food market of Paris that existed for more than 800 years ago. The Les Halles restaurant is not as old as the market and was opened in 1947. It catered to blue-collar workers who arrived after their post-World War II shifts and was noted for its hearty onion soup and pork dishes including, of course, pig’s foot. Today the original Paris restaurant, as well as the Mexico City offshoot, is still noted for delicious onion soup but is much more upscale.

It was Grupo Presidente that negotiated with the Paris owners to open the branch in their Polanco hotel twenty-five years ago. Pork dishes are still featured, and the seafood platters are still an astonishing sight; but there are dishes that are suitable for those of us who do not eat pork or mariscos. The succulent coq au vin is indistinguishable from the same dish served in Paris, as is the duck in orange sauce. Fish fillets (red snapper, salmon, and sea bass) are perfectly prepared with delicious sides. The beef offerings are varied and each is excellent. And for those looking for a special treat, the lamb ribs served with peas are a truly French delight. The soups are wonderful, and the starters, including foie gras, are very imaginative. The desserts are extraordinary and by themselves are worth a trip to Mexico City. Our favorites are the traditional profiteroles and chocolate soufflé.

For almost fifteen years the Polanco restaurant has been under the direction of Chef Frédéric Lobjois. A native Parisian who reportedly fell in love with French gastronomy at age seven, Lobjois began his career in restaurants in Paris and luxury hotels across France. He was invited to join culinary teams in Mexico by several renowned chefs in CDMX and after several years of building his reputation in top restaurants in the city, he fortuitously was recruited by Au Pied de Cochon to be the Executive Chef. He is professionally well known in Mexico, especially for special events when he joins forces with other chefs to present extraordinary culinary creations. He wisely keeps his personal life off social media.

People living in or visiting the beach towns on the Oaxacan Coast need not travel all the way to CDMX for French food. For many years, Huatulco was the home to the French restaurant, La Bohème in many incarnations. We and other French food fanatics followed the owner-chef around the area. First located in a residential area between downtown and Chahue, then in a small out-of-the-way space in Santa Cruz and later, after a hiatus, on a main street in Santa Cruz, Francophiles could enjoy authentic French dishes. Alas, a few years ago La Boheme closed – seemingly permanently.

Currently (2026) those seeking French cuisine in Huatulco will find it at Bordeaux, one of the seven restaurants in the Secrets resort. Although she’s only been the Chef de Partie for ten months, Chef Livy Deysi has created a buzz on online dining review sites. Livy is tiny in stature but has a personality that fills a large kitchen and dining space. She was born in the town of Huimanguillo in the state of Tabasco and was raised in nearby La Venta. When asked if she cooked as a child, Livy laughed with an emphatic “no”. She found her love of culinary arts at age 16 in high school and then studied gastronomy for four and a half years at a public school in Tabasco. After studying and practicing a range of cuisines, she developed a passion for French dishes because of the complexity of the preparations.

Her first job after graduation was at Secrets in Akumal, Quintana Roo. She became a sous chef, and after 5 years in Akumal her talent was recognized. So at age 29 she was offered the position of Chef de Partie at Bordeaux in Secrets Huatulco. She is responsible for coordinating and supervising the Bordeaux kitchen staff in preparing the menu that is designed by the Secrets Executive Chef. Unlike some French chefs who are harsh and demanding with their subordinates, she acknowledges that her staff are experienced, and she welcomes their advice and suggestions. Personally, she enjoys cooking lentil ragu and preparing and presenting the Bordeaux offering of filet mignon with mashed potatoes and vegetables sautéed in butter. But for herself her favorite dish is escargot. Livy hasn’t had a chance to travel outside of Mexico, but when she has free time she heads to cooler climes with her beloved dog Maximus.

The Bordeaux kitchen is open to the view of patrons in the formal dining room. Although Secrets does not allow restaurant reservations, whether for overnight guests or visitors who purchase a pass, you can watch Chef Livy at work and enjoy the only purely French food in Huatulco by calling the concierge at Secrets and purchasing a night pass. The cost is about $120 USD per person and provides access to any of the restaurants, bars, shows and other entertainment.

We had hoped to include recommendations for true French restaurants in San Miguel de Allende, even though we have never visited one. There are several listed on restaurant review sites that appear to be more fusion or “French inspired” than actually French. We sent out a message to friends who spend extended time in SMA, resulting in no recommendations. If any of you readers are Francophiles with recommendations for actual French restaurants, please post them on the Eye website.

For those of you who are traveling to or through CDMX, we advise making an advance reservation at Au Pied de Cochon. Bon Appetit!

Drs. Marcia and Jan Chaiken have been married for 62 years and have published many justice system research reports together.

The Emperor’s Ghost in the Mural: The French Connection to Mexican Muralism

By Randy Jackson—

On June 19, 1867, on a hill outside Querétaro called the Hill of the Bells, Emperor Maximilian, appointed by Napoleon III to rule a country that had never wanted him, faced a firing squad. His execution reverberated through Mexican and European history. Yet how that moment was understood was shaped not by those who witnessed it, but by those who painted it. In Europe, that response was immediate. In Mexico, it would take decades, passing through a classroom, before it found its voice on the great public walls of the Revolution.

In Paris, Édouard Manet’s series of paintings on the execution, collectively known as The Execution of Emperor Maximilian, demonstrated the power of art to shape historical memory. Painted from written accounts, they portrayed the event as a condemnation of Napoleon III’s imperial folly and were subsequently banned. In Mexico, the effects were slower and paradoxical. The execution did not silence Maximilian’s court painter; it freed him to walk into a classroom and change the course of Mexican art.
When Maximilian’s court collapsed, his retinue fled to the coast. One man, however, walked in the opposite direction, not toward a ship, but toward a classroom in the Mexican National Academy of Fine Arts.

Santiago Rebull
That man was Santiago Rebull, the official court painter to Emperor Maximilian, appointed to use art as an instrument of imperial legitimacy, to make a foreign emperor look like he belonged.

Rebull was born in 1829 to a Catalan father and a Mexican mother. His talent was recognized early. He won first place at the Academy of San Carlos in 1851 with his painting La Muerte de Abel. That victory earned him a scholarship to study in Rome, where he spent seven years, and what he learned there would shape Mexican art, passing through his hands to the students who would later paint the Revolution.

In Rome, at a Catholic arts school, he learned the techniques and principles of the Nazarene Movement. The Nazarenes believed art should serve a moral or religious purpose, and their major project was to revive the medieval art of fresco painting. It was a tradition built for walls, designed to tell stories to anyone who stood before them.

Rebull returned to Mexico in 1859 and, within two years, had risen to Director of the Academy of San Carlos. In 1865, he painted the official portrait of Emperor Maximilian – Retrato de Maximiliano. The Emperor was so pleased that he appointed Rebull as court painter and awarded him the Order of Guadalupe, the Empire’s highest honour.

Within two years, the firing squad on the Hill of the Bells ended that empire. Rebull returned to the classroom carrying everything Europe — and the Empire — had taught him.

The Protégé: Rivera at San Carlos
Diego Rivera was born in Guanajuato in 1886, nineteen years after the firing squad on the Hill of the Bells. When he arrived at the National Academy of Fine Arts at San Carlos as a student at the age of ten, Santiago Rebull was still teaching there.

As director of the Academy and as an instructor who took personal interest in the young Rivera’s progress, Rebull brought his influence to bear beyond technique. He transmitted the Nazarene conviction that scale gave art its purpose. Frescoes were consequential, not just because of their size, but because their ambitions were monumental. Art was meant to instruct, to elevate, to speak to anyone who stood before it. Not for palace staterooms, but for the public walls.

As important as Rebull was to the painting style Rivera came to create, there were two other notable instructors at the Fine Arts Academy of San Carlos.

Félix Parra was a trailblazer in depicting Mexico’s pre-Hispanic past with the dignity usually reserved for emperors. Parra’s painting, Episodes of the Conquest, depicted the brutality of the Spanish conquest of the Aztecs. For a young Rivera, it was likely the first time he saw Mexican history treated as something proud and worthy of monumental art.

The other notable instructor was José María Velasco, arguably the greatest landscape painter in Mexican history. With paintings like The Valley of Mexico from the Hill of Santa Isabel, Velasco taught Rivera how to organize a massive, sprawling horizon into a coherent, balanced composition. It was a skill that would serve Rivera well when his canvas became walls and mountains and valleys were replaced by the epic history of Mexico.

By the time Rivera left the Academy at the age of twenty, he had spent half his life under the tutelage of these old masters. He had become a formidable talent recognized by these men, significant artists in their own right. Rebull famously remarked of his student: “He draws as well as I do, and he has a better sense of colour.”
But his education was not finished. Like Rebull before him, Rivera left for Europe on a Mexican government scholarship, spending years in Spain, France and Italy. What he found there, the Cubists of Paris, the great fresco cycles of the Italian Renaissance, only deepened what Rebull had taught him.

The art that would come to define Mexican national identity, defiant, indigenous, and revolutionary, returned home with Diego Rivera. Mexico gained something unexpected from the defeat of the French-appointed emperor. Hidden in plain sight on those great public walls, in the very conviction that art belonged to the people who stood before it, was the ghost of a court painter who had once made a foreign emperor look like he belonged.

Randy Jackson blends local reporting from the perspective of a seasonal Huatulco resident with explorations of life and change in Huatulco, Oaxaca and Mexico.