SadisticExcess

with Mexican food goes back to about a 3 months after arriving in Texas. Being single, and unencumbered, I was prone to dining out with a frequency that still makes my credit cards cringe in memory. However, for the most part, once you have sampled one Red Lobster/Olive Garden or Chi-chi’s you have just about had them all. They all have the same patented formula for safe, good food. Good, never great should be their trade mark. Have you ever been to a national chain and left saying, ‘Wow! The food was amazing.’

So I was getting bored and my stomach turned at going fast food because, like their dine-in comrades, they still carry the same generic flavor except with more fat. I expressed my disgust at work only to have them suggest cooking myself, which would make the food even less appealing, or to try this new taco place.

Mexican food.

Images of huge piles of rice and beans and some unidentifiable item covered in meat sauce passed before my eyes. I am only southern by the will of my company, not by birth, and Mexican food in my mind was what I could find at Taco Bell or Chi-Chi’s.

We, an equally ignorant co-worker and me, ended up going to this taco stand which was surrounded in equal parts, by racing cars and rusted out junkers. The ‘restaurant’ was a hole in a wall - literally - with a metal awning that covered 3 mix-matched table and chair sets. They served one thing, in three flavors - Tacos - Fajita, Pollo, Pastor. I’d been in Texas long enough at that point that I could identify what the first two were, (Fajita = Beef /Pollo = Chicken), but I was at a loss for what Pastor was. I also knew well enough, not to order something, especially from an ethnic restaurant, that you couldn’t readily identify.

I’ll tell you the story of the fish balls later.

The clerk that greeted us spoke no English, or at least he pretended not to, and the crowd that surrounded the stand didn’t seem to be the sort to help out, thus it became time for my college Spanish to kick in. I said this exactly: ‘Quieres diez tacos de fajita, con todo, para llevar.’ The clerk dutifully wrote down my order, but I couldn’t help notice his snicker, and the snicker of those around me. Later I would find out that I asked him if HE wanted 10 fajita tacos to go.

We left with the tacos securely bundled in two Styrofoam containers. When we got back to the office, and sat down and opened the containers, I was greeted with the overwhelming smell of lime. In the container, were my 5 tacos, about a cup of thickly sliced grilled onions, cut lime wedges, several roasted jalape�o peppers and two containers of some very wicked looking hot sauce - red and green. I sent a warning look at the person that recommended the place to me and picked up my first taco.

The tacos ’shells’ were two small corn tortillas, doubled to hold the contents without breaking into a greasy mess. Instead of the usual cheese and lettuce, I found finely chopped fajita meat, fresh diced onions and cilantro. I was wary, but I bit into the first one with fervor.

I can’t describe the intensity of the flavors and give them any justice. It was as if my entire mouth decided to wake up and enjoy those tacos. Instantly memories of my grandmother’s cooking came back to me. It had been nearly a decade since I had ever tasted food like that, so close to hers.

I thought the hot sauce ended up being more about flavor than spice, until I saw my co-workers face turning red and sweating. I took some pleasure that, I’ll admit. I enjoyed lunch. Amazing.

Since then I’ve been back several times, and beyond that, have adventured out to many other such locations.

If it has onions, cilantro and limes, it can’t be too far off of the mark.

Pastor, incidentally, is spicy pulled pork.