The following morning, I'm late to meet Martha Jimenez Martinez, a fruit seller from Juchitan's main market who's agreed to show me how to make her specialty, oven-roasted chicken. "La fiesta," she says, with a knowing smile. She lives in an outlying colonia of rough wood structures along the Pan-American Highway. Her 12-year-old, Pedro, appears with a live chicken, and Martha efficiently beheads it, plucks it, and cuts it up. While parboiling the chicken, she blends guajillo chiles with garlic, achiote, and mustard to rub on it before roasting on embers; broth from the pot goes into the jalapeño salsa served on the side. I sit still for what seems like the first time in days, under a canopy of mango branches bending with fruit, and focus on eating smoky chicken off the bone. "It's good," Martha says. It's not a question.