The loss of the usual place.
During my countless walks through my neighborhood, La Condesa, I have always observed the arrival of new businesses with a sense of excitement. From impeccably designed cafes and restaurants to unique services like healing clinics, currency exchange booths (tailored for digital nomads), and even boutique yogurt shops—not to mention trendy hotels.
Over almost three decades of living in this rapidly revitalized neighborhood, I have watched businesses come and go: churrerías , vintage clothing stores, high-end chocolate shops have moved in, while second-hand bookstores, dry cleaners, and torterías have faded away. Even traditional lunch spots have been replaced by chic bars. Surprisingly, vegetarian eateries have made way for chicken wing joints.
But a month ago, I felt a pang of sadness when I realized that one of Condesa's most emblematic establishments, Taquería El Greco on Michoacán Street near Avenida Nuevo León, had closed its doors. This place, beloved for its famous Doneraky tacos in corn tortillas, flour tortillas, or Arabic bread (with or without cheese, with or without avocado), seemed to have shuttered for good. Founded in 1976 by Doña Esperanza, an entrepreneurial woman of Polish origin who strolled through the neighborhood until her passing in 2012, El Greco felt like an enduring part of the area.
My first instinct was to message my son, who studies outside of Mexico, to break the news—a journalist never stops reporting. Our family—my wife, daughter, son, and I—had spent countless afternoons enjoying El Greco's tacos with tamarind, horchata, or lime agua frescos , finishing with a homemade slice of iced lemon pie whenever there was some left. Despite its narrow and hot space (the vertical grill near the entrance kept it toasty), I always enjoyed eating there, either at an indoor table or at one of the few ones on the sidewalk. During the COVID-19 pandemic, the taquería expanded onto the street, allowing even more people to savor its offerings.
The taquero , who began preparing the meat each morning using Doña Esperanza's original recipe, and the waitstaff felt like family. Even if I didn't stop for a taco, I'd exchange greetings as I passed by.
So, it was a shock when a few days later after I saw the place closed without its iconic sign—“Taquería El Greco – Tacos Orientales Doneraky (service, quality, hygiene)”—I witness a new shop of personal care products –ointments , perfumes, and creams– emerged. Not exactly items of my interest, although I still hope it appeals to the younger crowd that has reinvigorated Condesa.
Sadly, like so many businesses, it appeared El Greco had been unable to withstand the neighborhood's rising rents, a consequence of Condesa's growing appeal. I feared that El Greco's fate was sealed, as had been the case with Mr. Vilchis's upholstery shop or Mr. Gildardo's watch repair, which disappeared after his unexpected and unfortunate death.
Not all the places from when I arrived in Condesa in the early nineties have disappeared. The cantina El Centenario on Vicente Suárez, the restaurant Sep's on Avenida Tamaulipas, and the Michoacán Market—with the best Manchego cheese in Mexico—still operate, serving both loyal and occasional customers.
How much longer will they remain? Hard to know. The preferences and needs of the residents of this nearly century-old neighborhood evolve. Owners also age while the interests of their potential heirs might grow apart. Mexico's economy is not static. While we've enjoyed relative stability for three decades, the future is uncertain, especially as recent governments, in my view, have squandered opportunities to promote growth and diminish wealth disparities.
I fear that an ideology focused on reversing much of what has allowed La Condesa and Mexico to change is putting both their progress and the country's potential at risk. The evolution here has been far from perfect, certainly, and changes were needed to prior policies, but not complete reversal. President Claudia Sheinbaum seems determined to continue dismantling the democratic institutions and an emerging market economy, casting doubt on whether the old and new can continue evolving together.
I hope this bleak scenario doesn't come to pass, and that the economy, however fitful its progress might be, continues to move forward. Today, though, I'm less optimistic than before. I wish that new and old businesses, whether in Condesa or Iztapalapa, in Saltillo or Tuxtla Gutiérrez, in urban or agricultural centers, can continue to thrive—for the sake of their owners, their landlords, and above all, their employees.
Fortunately, after my initial disappointment with El Greco, I learned from the new staff at the personal care store that the taquería hadn't closed for good; it had simply moved. To my surprise, El Greco had quietly operated a second location on the nearby Campeche Street for some time, something I hadn't known despite its mention on its menu.
What a relief to have been mistaken, just as I hope I am wrong about Mexico's future—although I doubt it. Soon, I'll be back, ready to savor the unique Doneraky tacos once again in El Greco 2.0.