At seven o’clock at night, the spinning tops spin in the city of tacos. Like bells announcing mass, the fire of the vertical rotisserie marks the nightly miracle of the “taco al pastor” -with pineapple, with everything-. Grandson of the shawarma and son of the Arabian taco: migratory, rotating, healing and historical taco. With its layers of achiote and orange, it has gone from Lebanese to Chilango -from lamb to pork, from pita bread to tortilla, from yogurt to green salsa with avocado-.

A monument of flavor, a sun in the solar system of Chilango cuisine. They are ordered in pairs to catch the ephemeral and pleasurable crunch of the hot meat, standing in front of the hypnotic spinning top that smells of charcoal, pork and caramelized onion. As a gift, you take home that smoky and sweet aroma that only exists in this city that also spins and spins on its own axis.