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Minerva Martinez is an intense woman. My Spanish ends at tres leches, so Minerva’s son, Marco Murcia, is translating. He waits for his mom to give long answers with lots of expression and small pauses, but he doesn’t just jump in. Eventually, he glances over and, seeing that she’s ready, launches into an attempt to translate.
A proud indigenous Oaxacan, Minerva is confident and “strict” in the kitchen, Marco says. “I went to culinary school,” he notes, “but I wasn’t learning anything I didn’t already know.” He’s worked in various restaurants, but his mom has been his primary tutor. Watching in her small kitchen, I know she is an artist of deep experience.

It’s in her hands as she shapes sopes from a simple dough. She shapes them by hand, Marco says, because the texture isn’t right when you use a tool. She generally makes them quickly in small batches, and they come out amazingly consistent in diameter and thickness, with rustic-looking thumbprints along the edges and the interior. She wears gloves that she dips in homemade herb oil (she will not reveal the herbs she uses). She doesn’t let Marco do this part.
Marco and Minerva opened Peach Blossom downtown in 2022, and with their small footprint and rabid fans, business is good. Almost everything they serve is made here, fresh and local, never frozen: tortillas, quesadillas, and sopes all made from masa (corn flour; this is a gluten intolerant’s heaven); all the proteins; plus specials like the ridiculous pork rib adobo they served while we spoke. Many ingredients are sourced from Ranchis Fiesta, a Mexican store in Marion, like hoja santa (santa leaf), various dried peppers, and cotija cheese.
Minerva grew up in an indigenous community in Oaxaca and says that the flavors of her food are from there. After moving to Mexico City as a teenager, she worked in restaurants and absorbed the plating style of the Mexican capital. It’s this combination, and the made-to-order tortillas, that distinguish Peach Blossom.
“I’m not going to name names,” Marco says, “but lots of workers from other restaurants eat here.”
Peach Blossom’s menu is deceptively simple: plates of tacos, quesadillas, sopes, or tortas (they have a baker who makes the torta bread and some desserts). Each can come with various proteins: carne asada (thin, marinated steak cut in strips), al pastor (spit-roasted, spiced pork), shredded chicken or beef, carnitas (essentially Mexican pulled pork), or melanesa (a breaded cutlet). All meats are butchered and marinated in-house. They also have a selection of Mexican desserts and sodas, and various specials like that adobo.
When asked how many salsas they make, Minerva looks exasperated by the question: “Too many.” Like much of what she cooks, the salsas depend on getting fresh produce that meets her standards. With my sope, she served a salsa verde made with tomatillo and avocado, verdant, silky, and complex; and a salsa roja that was just blazing. All are made by hand with a molcajete, a Mexican mortar and pestle.
Think about subs … yes, the meats and toppings matter, but the majority of the experience is bread. This is why Dibella’s rules on the local scene: they bake those rolls fresh all day long. It’s the same with Mexican food. Yes, Peach Blossom makes fantastic proteins—and options like sautéed mushrooms or zucchini for vegetarians—but what makes their food shine are the delicious tortillas, sopes, and quesadillas. All are just masa and water, but in different proportions. It’s stunning how the same ingredients turn into such distinctive things.
Minerva graciously took me through her whole sope process. Marco led the way down to the kitchen and explained that very few are allowed in his mom’s inner sanctum. I was honored.
There were two enormous balls of dough (the smaller one seemed to be about 20 lb). In a third bowl was less of a slightly wetter dough. Minerva lightly dabbed her gloves in the herbed oil, and then in a matter of minutes, hand-shaped eight or 10 sopes, discs about 6 inches in diameter, perhaps three-quarters of an inch thick at the edge, a bit thinner in the slightly dimpled interior. At this point, they look something like wider English muffins.

The sopes usually get cooked twice. First, Minerva cooks them in a dry, non-stick pan over medium-low heat. “If you cook them in oil,” Marco translates, “they’ll split.” At this point, the sopes are lightly browned and cooked just through. Out of the pan, Minerva immediately pinches the edges, then pushes bits of the interior, creating a small, pizza-like shape. You can eat them this way; people do, and if you ask, Peach Blossom will serve yours like this. But generally, they’ll then get a frying step.
Minerva fries the sopes in a neutral oil with just a bit of her Top Secret Herbed Oil, and she’ll make them the way customers want them, either lightly fried or “fried hard.” I asked for mine hard. They come out with a beautifully browned exterior, crisp little blisters all over. The inside is torturously delicate, lighter than you’d expect, redolent of the mild corn flavor of the masa and hints of those secret herbs.
At this point, Minerva went back to the dough and made a wider, thinner version. Marco explained that she was making a sope in the Oaxacan style. These, she also cooks in the dry pan, but then rubs them with lard before searing. Every inch of her radiates her preference for this style. (If Peach Blossom isn’t too busy, and you ask really nicely, she’ll do this for you.)
The two versions are topped quite differently. For the Mexico City-style sopes, it’s a spread of refried beans followed by chopped red onion and your protein (carne asada in my case), then lettuce, crema, and cotija cheese on top. The flavors balance, and each texture adds interest.
Minerva tops the Oaxacan-style sopes with only salsa, in this case the fiery roja on one side and the avocado verde on the other. That little bit of extra unction provided by the lard is key (and she will not make this for you without the lard … it’s just wrong, she says). The Oaxacan sope is all exterior, crispier than the standard version. And the simpler toppings let you focus on the flavors.
“Food has to satisfy me to the point where I’m filled with joy and happiness,” Minerva explains through Marco. “The other day, a big family came in and this one kid wanted just tortillas. I gave him a half dozen and it was like he got a Christmas gift.” She tells a couple more stories about pleasing Mexican customers, especially kids, and the satisfaction and pride are unmistakable, even before the translation.
Peach Blossom is a gift to us all, with authentic food made from scratch with abiding love and care. Know when you go that this is not fast food, but it’s more than worth a little wait.
Peach Blossom, 9 E. Main St, Rochester (585) 286-8035.
Hours: Tuesday through Friday, 11:30 to 6 p.m.; Saturday, noon to 6:30 p.m.
Adam A. Wilcox is a cook, poet and musician in Rochester.
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I may have missed it but do they offer dine-in seating? If so, how much room is there?