You’ll cook side by side with a native chef in Huatulco, learning hands-on how to prepare empanadas, tortillas, sopes and fresh salsas at La Bocana beach. Expect laughter over chopping boards, stories behind every dish, hibiscus water to sip as you cook—and a meal you’ll remember long after you leave.
Yes, pickup is included and you'll be driven to La Bocana beach for the class.
You’ll make corn dough empanadas with huitlacoche and squash, two types of salsa (red and green), tortillas and traditional sopes.
Yes, hibiscus water is served while cooking; beer, wine and fresh margaritas are included with your meal.
Yes, all areas are wheelchair accessible and infants or small children can use a pram or stroller.
Yes, recipes will be sent via email after your experience.
The activity lasts several hours including pickup, hands-on cooking time and lunch before returning you home.
Your day includes pickup from your place in Huatulco out to La Bocana beach for hands-on cooking with a native chef. You’ll have hibiscus water while preparing dishes together; beer, wine and freshly made margaritas are served with your meal before being driven back home. Recipes arrive by email afterwards.
"Don’t be shy with the masa!" That’s what Chef Juan said as he watched me try to flatten my first tortilla at Wahaca Cooking in Huatulco. We’d just arrived at La Bocana beach—salty breeze, a few pelicans overhead—and I was already covered in corn flour. There’s something about cooking outside, the way the air smells like lime and wood smoke, that makes everything feel less formal. Juan told us stories about his grandmother’s kitchen while we diced squash and huitlacoche for empanadas. I didn’t expect to laugh so much over onions.
The class felt more like joining a family than a lesson. We chopped and roasted tomatillos for salsa verde, passing around hibiscus water that tasted almost floral—hard to describe, but it just fit the heat of the day. At one point, someone asked about the history of sopes and Juan explained how every region does them differently; he even showed us how to pinch the edges (mine looked lopsided but nobody cared). Kids from next door popped their heads in now and then to watch us work—one of them giggled when I tried my Spanish. The whole thing was messy and kind of perfect.
Lunch happened around a long table right there on the patio. We ate what we’d made—empanadas still steaming, sopes with crumbly queso fresco—while Juan mixed margaritas from scratch. It all tasted brighter somehow after making it ourselves. He promised to email us the recipes later (and did). On the drive back, I kept thinking about that first bite of salsa: smoky, sharp, green as anything. Still makes me smile.

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