You’ll step into Chef Manu’s Puerto Vallarta home kitchen for a private cooking class—chopping fresh fish for ceviche, rolling imperfect enchiladas, laughing over stories and shared plates. With a local chef guiding each step and lunch included (plus beer or wine), you’ll leave not just full but feeling like you’ve made a new friend along the way.
Yes, it’s a private experience held in Chef Manu’s own home kitchen.
You’ll prepare three Mexican dishes such as ceviche, enchiladas, gorditas or shrimp al ajillo; menus can vary based on your preferences.
Yes—just let Manu know any allergies or dietary needs when booking your Puerto Vallarta cooking class.
Yes, you sit down together to enjoy the meal you’ve cooked during the class.
Absolutely! Manu is happy to create a vegetarian menu upon request.
The cooking class is held in Chef Manu’s typical home in central Puerto Vallarta.
Your meal includes local beer or white wine alongside what you cook.
The hands-on cooking portion lasts about an hour; with eating and chatting it usually takes several hours total.
Yes—public transport options are available close to Chef Manu’s home.
If you prefer not to be near pets, Manu will keep his small dog in another room during your visit.
Your day includes a hands-on Mexican cooking class led by Chef Manu in his Puerto Vallarta home kitchen, all ingredients for three dishes tailored to your tastes or dietary needs, plus a shared lunch with local beer or white wine after cooking together before heading back out into town.
You know that feeling when you walk into someone’s house and instantly smell something good simmering? That’s how it started at Chef Manu’s place—his little kitchen tucked away in central Puerto Vallarta, sunlight bouncing off the tiled floor. Manu greeted us with this easy smile and introduced his lapdog (who, honestly, seemed to judge my knife skills more than anyone). The city noise outside was just a low hum, but inside it was all clatter of bowls and the sharp scent of cilantro. We got right into prepping ceviche with mahi mahi from the morning market—cold lime juice on my fingers, Manu showing us how to slice just thin enough. He threw in stories about his grandma’s recipes and why panela cheese is underrated. I tried to say “aguachile” properly; he laughed and corrected me without making it weird.
We moved on to enchiladas—my tortillas weren’t exactly round, but Manu said they had “personality.” It felt like cooking with an old friend who actually knows what they’re doing. He talked about growing up here, where to find the best tacos al pastor (not where you’d expect), and how every street has its own version of salsa verde. The whole time, there was this faint breeze through the window carrying hints of grilled peppers from somewhere nearby. Lunch was just us around his table—passing plates, sipping cold beer (or white wine if you wanted), and swapping stories about travel mishaps. I still think about that first bite of shrimp al ajillo—garlicky, spicy, somehow both familiar and totally new.
I didn’t expect to feel so at home in a stranger’s kitchen. Maybe it was the way Manu listened when we talked about our favorite foods back home or how he offered vegetarian swaps without blinking. He even remembered my friend’s allergy (nuts) and double-checked every ingredient. By the end I’d lost track of time—a couple hours? Three? Hard to say when you’re full and happy and already planning which dish you’ll try again first back home. The dog finally came out for leftovers, tail wagging like we’d passed some secret test.

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