By Jane Bauer

Culture is not static—it is always transforming. As much as we might wish to preserve certain traditions and claim them as part of our identity—especially in times of nationalism and cultural divide—food reminds us that nothing remains fixed. Many people take comfort in declaring a certain dish, ingredient, or way of living as “theirs,” drawing boundaries between themselves and others, whether based on class, religion, or geography. But cuisine has always been porous. Before colonization, the diet in North America centered around the “three sisters” of agriculture—corn, beans, and squash—foods still essential in many parts of Mexico today. And yet, what we now think of as Mexican cuisine has evolved through centuries of influence: German, Chinese, Lebanese—and perhaps most significantly, French.

One chef who embodies this interplay is Chef Israel Loyola. For him, cooking isn’t just about technique—it’s about people. “A cook can’t just be a cook,” he says. “A chef has to be the sum of everything—kitchen, service, dishwashing, even working the register. It includes the people who arrive early to prep before the restaurant opens. It’s a team effort, and that’s what we try to reflect in every dish.”

That spirit of collective craftsmanship lies at the heart of El Parián Atelier, Loyola’s restaurant in the center of Oaxaca City. Located just steps from the rhythm of daily life, the space feels both elegant and grounded, welcoming locals and visitors alike to experience thoughtful cuisine shaped by memory, migration, and collaboration.

The name Parián is more than a nod to historic Mexican markets. It honors a nearly abandoned Mixtec town once known as the “port of the Mixteca,” a place that flourished during the railway boom of the Porfiriato but all but disappeared after privatization in the 1990s. Today, the original Parián has fewer than ten inhabitants—mostly memories and nostalgia. That emotion infuses Loyola’s cooking. Atelier, the French word for workshop, completes the name and reflects the constant creative process behind every plate.

His team, like his menu, brings together diverse roots. Half are from Oaxaca, the rest from across Mexico. “Many came to Oaxaca to grow—culturally, yes, but professionally, too,” he says. Many have formal culinary training, often in the French tradition.

That French influence in the kitchen is no accident. During the Porfiriato, the long presidency of Porfirio Díaz (1876–1911), French culture was consciously adopted as a model of modernity and refinement. Díaz himself was famously Francophile, and under his rule, Parisian aesthetics permeated architecture, fashion, and especially cuisine. French chefs were invited to Mexico to cook for the elite, and French cooking techniques became the standard in upper-class kitchens and newly formed culinary academies.

Sauces such as béchamel and velouté began to appear alongside traditional Mexican moles, and pâtisserie methods influenced everything from breadmaking to wedding cakes. Table service became more formal, plating more intentional, and an appreciation for technique—mise en place, precise knife work, structured courses—began to define what it meant to be a “professional” cook.

Even in the world of drinks, the Porfiriato left its mark: two foundational books on distillation and cocktail-making were published during this era. “We inherited a whole structure of formality from that time,” says Loyola. “The way we plate, the way we move through the kitchen—it still carries echoes of that period.”

After the Porfiriato ended, much of that French culinary refinement faded from everyday food culture, and traditional Mexican mixology—particularly curados, or infused spirits—was nearly forgotten. But today, Loyola sees a revival. “All of that is coming back,” he says. “We’re not just following global cocktail trends. We’re reclaiming what was already ours.”

At El Parián Atelier, every element—from the name to the ingredients to the way the team works together—tells a story. “We’re not just making food,” Loyola says. “We’re making something living. Something that speaks to memory, migration, and the ever-changing shape of culture itself.”