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Fotos: Casa Barroso
A family from Ometepec lit their fire in Oaxaca. They only open on Thursdays. I went because someone told me it was worth it — they were right.
By
Mish Dary
Director de Qué Onda Oaxaca
I don't need much convincing. Someone I trust says "you have to go, it's incredible" and I'm already on my way. That's how I ended up at Casa Barroso on a Thursday afternoon, hungry and looking for something you can't find just anywhere.
What I found was something I won't forget easily.
Before talking about the pozole, we need to talk about Thursday. In Guerrero, the Jueves Pozolero (Thursday Pozole Day) isn't just a food custom — it's a cultural institution with roots stretching back to the 19th century.
One of the most widely accepted origin stories places it in Iguala, Guerrero. Some historians say it grew from community solidarity: families pooling leftover corn to feed those who had poor harvests, organizing communal feasts that began Wednesday nights and spilled into Thursday. Others link it to the celebrations that followed the Abrazo de Acatempan of 1821, when independence leaders Iturbide and Vicente Guerrero sealed their alliance and reportedly celebrated with pozole served in clay pots.
What's certain is that today, in Chilpancingo and throughout Guerrero's capital, Thursday belongs to pozole. Restaurants, neighborhood kitchens, homes — everyone brings out their pots. In 2024, Mexico made it official: the fourth Thursday of every month is Día del Pozole Guerrerense (Guerrero Pozole Day).
And that ritual traveled to Oaxaca. With a family. With their pot. With their recipe.
The story of Casa Barroso starts where the best food stories always start: in the aunts' kitchen.
The recipe has roots in Chilpancingo and Ometepec, two Guerrero cities with deep pozole tradition. The aunts from Ometepec used to make it. The memory of that flavor traveled with the family, crossed state lines, and landed in Oaxaca. Now, at Álvaro Obregón 133 in the Pueblo Nuevo neighborhood, the Barroso family brings it to the table every Thursday.
They didn't change a thing. Because some recipes aren't meant to be updated — they're meant to be honored.
They cook over a wood-burning fogón and in an earth oven — the kind of heat a gas stove simply can't replicate, that smoke that stays in your clothes and in your memory. Heirloom nixtamalized corn, slow-cooked for hours. Pork and chicken too. And the green sauce — tomatillo, toasted pumpkin seeds, epazote, serrano chile — ground with patience. The kind of time only a family kitchen can give.
When I arrived, there were already people there. Not a crowd, but enough to know this wasn't a hidden secret — it's a place with its regulars. Families, couples, someone who came alone with their phone and stayed for two hours.
I ordered the mixed green pozole. They recommended it that way from the start.
The broth arrives with that color you only get from well-toasted pepitas worked into the tomatillo — a deep, dense green, fragrant with epazote, with a depth that tells you this simmered for a long time. Inside: fully bloomed cacahuazintle corn, pork and chicken. On top: tostadas, radishes, onion, avocado, chicharrón and hard-boiled egg.
I added lime. I added chile. I went quiet for a few seconds after the first spoonful.
My personal recommendation: order it green, with plenty of chile and lime. That's all it needs.There are flavors that take you to another state. Literally.
I didn't stop at the pozole. And I'm glad I didn't.
The tacos dorados are exactly what you need between spoonfuls — crispy, well-fried, with that coastal kitchen confidence.
The tostadas de pata (pork trotter tostadas) are the kind of thing that never makes it onto tourist menus, but that neighborhood kitchens have been making forever for good reason. Gelatinous, deeply savory, full of personality on a crispy tostada.
But the discovery I didn't see coming was the tuna-stuffed chile relleno.
It sounds simple. It isn't. The tuna here isn't canned supermarket fish — it's a coastal preparation with no real equivalent in Oaxacan cuisine. The roasted poblano chile, stuffed and dressed just right... it's something only a Guerrero kitchen makes with that kind of ease. Don't skip it. Full stop.
To close it out: cold beers, agua del día, and mezcal from Sinuhé, the master. If you want to do it properly, you already know what to order.
The mixed white pozole is the classic version — clear broth, full meat flavor, no green sauce. Elegant in its simplicity. If you go as a group, order one of each and share. You won't regret it.
Oaxaca has a cuisine that conquers the world. But inside Oaxaca, other food cultures arrive too — and when they come with roots, with family, with wood fire, they deserve to be recognized.
Casa Barroso doesn't serve food. They serve flavor. They serve history. They serve the guerrerense Thursday pozole tradition, transplanted with all its weight and love to a neighborhood in this city.
They only open on Thursdays. From 3 PM to 8 PM. They already have regulars who show up every single week without fail. When you go, you'll understand why.
And if you like food that's different, unique, the kind you can't find just anywhere — expect more reviews like this one. There's a lot left to discover in Oaxaca.
Thursdays only — 3:00 PM to 8:00 PM
Reservations: 221 991 4083 | 951 547 3521
Photos: Casa Barroso | Review: mish Dary for Qué Onda Oaxaca
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📷 Photography used for informational/curatorial purposes only. Images are not the property of the author or Qué Onda Oaxaca.
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— Mish Dary :)
Director de Qué Onda Oaxaca
