At the Indigenous Food Lab in the Midtown Global Market in Minneapolis, a group of chefs is busy finishing a batch of fresh tortillas. 

“You can smell the nixtamal,” said chef Gustavo Romero of the warm, smoky corn scent. 

Together with wife Kate, Gustavo Romero owns a tortilleria in northeast Minneapolis where he and his staff make heirloom tortillas using a process called nixtamalization. 

To say chef Romero and the chefs at the food lab employ an Indigenous methodology is an understatement. 

“Sin maíz, no hay país. Without corn, there is no country,” said Romero, repeating a phrase often invoked when talking about the importance of corn to Mexican culture. 

For Romero the goal of the work is to revitalize nixtamalization as a cultural practice. In that respect, community itself emerges as the key ingredient for transforming the way people think about corn.  

As he passes by the large open kitchen, Romero greets fellow chefs, many of whom are friends. 

“That’s the part that I love about living in this place. Like, we pretty much do the same thing. We don’t see each other like competition,” said Romero. 

At the Indigenous Food Lab, Romero explains that he doesn’t see what he’s doing as niche, just the opposite. 

“We want people to eat good tortillas,” said Romero. “We are changing the standard on what we believe a standard of what a tortilla should be like.” 

When the Romeros opened their tortilleria a couple of years back they named it Nixta.  

The name comes, in part, from the Nahuatl word “nixtli,” meaning “ashes.”  Nixtamal is added to remove the hulls of corn kernels—thus making the corn digestible and more nutritious. The process is a time-honored method almost lost during “the industrialization of corn” over the past several decades, according to Romero. 

The shop got its start during the pandemic when Gustavo began making tortillas and meals at home for delivery to friends. This past year, the Romeros opened Oro by Nixta, an extension of the tortilleria. Oro was nominated for the James Beard Award for Best Restaurant in 2024.  

Romero says it’s a sense of community he relies on to remain in business. It’s a sense of community that the chef brings when he’s visiting grocers, food trucks, restaurants and local farms.  

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Romero makes weekly visits to La Única Market, a store just north of Lake Street near 3rd Street. 

Inside the store’s produce cooler, Romero points out ripe chilacayote squash, and fresh prickly pear—the food that grows on cactus pads. 

“My favorite is this one… it’s called Xoconostle, it kind of has this sourness. It’s hard to find something very similar to it,” said Romero. The small fruits are small, and come in yellow, green and even pink. 

The store also sells a large selection of dried chiles, medicinal herbs and other cooking spices.  

“You have friendly people, you have music… you have things I would recognize since I was three years old,” said Romero. “Nowadays, I bring my kid here. He knows exactly where the candy is.”  

As he leaves the grocer, Romero mentions another regular stop for him along Lake Street. Parked near the intersection on 16th Street, Romero says La Poblanita food truck is a guilty pleasure. 

“They make this sandwich that is too big for one person,” said Romero. 

Romero also reflects on a snack food he grew up eating in Mexico as kid – crickets. 

And now, crickets are on the menu at Oro. In one respect, serving insects has helped build community. Chef Romero says for those unfamiliar with eating crickets trying them can be a little daunting. He says when a daring eater tastes them, they usually cease being exotic and can become a sort of cultural bridge—a crunchy one. 

Romero collaborates with The Three Cricketeers, a local urban farm which packages crickets for snacks.  

“We have that connection that we like insects, and we look at them a little different than just bugs,” said Romero. 

Romero says he began working with the husband-and-wife team who own the farm to develop flavor profiles. 

“I think you can understand people better if you understand what they eat and why they eat it,” said Romero. “At one point all this was necessity.” 

And the sense of community begins with understanding the Indigenous foods available locally. 

“The idea of using Indigenous product is to show people what they have. The utilization of the things we already have in this place, they are so important, and the carbon [foot]print is less, and it’s naturally better for you.”