The Taco Marathon 3/1/2024
Today started with a walk down to Birrieria Robles, only to find them closed again. A quick google search found a place with a 5.0 rating, a block away. It was named Tacos Mi Esperanza. It was a little stand on the side of the street, where one might parallel park. I analyzed the scene, and grabbed a seat right in front of the griddle. (Comal, it Spanish, I think.) There were two other folks there, but I figured out at least one of them worked there. An old woman wearing a face mask bigger than Joe Biden’s SARS mask, communicated with me. (Masking is common amongst people with working with food here.)
I ordered trace birria, we exchanged words in bad English, and worse Spanish. I got them crispy with cilantro and Sebolla (onions). I got no beverage, because coffee was my next stop. I was probably asked if I wanted consume, and misunderstood. I watched the woman move a big stainless steel stew pot off the griddle, and place it on a range. She pressed the tortillas from masa, and put them on the griddle. They got some small puff blisters, but not the full pita puff. Once cooked through, she dipped them in the consume pot, and then fried them in the fat that floated in top. She pulled meat from the stew pot, chopped it, and loaded the tortillas. Soon I was being served a plate of epic yummy-ness. I put verde salsa on one, and rojo on the other. It was everything I wanted. It did not need consume. However, in hindsight sight, I can’t rate the consume. I never tried it. It was an amazing birria experience, on equal with the one from yesterday. They are my top two at this point.
I grabbed a coffee from my favorite coffee shop, B of Bros. Then, I returned to sit in the courtyard of my hotel, to do my writing. Around 11am, I linked up with Dave. We hit a little spot called Tacos Madre. Since this is my second to last day here, I went ahead and had one more taco there. It was good, but not as good as my first experience today. I decided to wear my “The snuggle is real” T shirt today. At some point this morning during our wonder. I spotted a beautiful lady coming my way, on the side walk. She was one of those ladies who is so beautiful, I lose my words. She was around 5’9” with perfect posture, and long brown curly hair. The big wavy kind. I was trying to not make it obvious that I was checking her out, as not to give her the creeps. However, I can tell you she had the kinda curves that make me feel things. As we passed, she read my T-shirt, and commented, “cute”. It took longer then it should have for me to find the complicated words, “thank you”. I spoke them loud over my should, as she had already passed by a good 7 yards. That sure felt good. However, I think it would take more than a silly T-shirt to inspire her to fiddle with my wiener…
We regrouped for a beer in my courtyard. So, I could finish my writing, and then proofread it out loud to Dave. A compliment I get about my writing style, is folks say they can hear my voice narrating it. However, when I try to read my own writing, it is broken, and without flow. Dave is a great sport about humoring me. I’m able to find more mistakes, reading it out loud. He can also help me confirm that I am not full of shit.
Our next move was to get Dave to his new lodging. His wife, and children fly in today. He’s got two other friends joining them there too. We located his new spot, and dropped his luggage. Next, we went to Tacos Revolucion. This was the place we had dinner at on our first night in Mexico. Today, I got the Adobada. Just one, and a XX Lager. Excellent tacos, but I’ve had better.
Dave, and I parted ways after lunch. I went for a long walk. I wound up on the east side of the Zona Romantica. I was a good 10 blocks from the water. It was an interesting walk, but I was searching for more tacos. I wound up at a spot called Taquería El Moreno, six blocks from the water. I was in the part of town that looked like “Mexico”. Here, they were running a flat top, griddle, and a charcoal fired grill. I believe they were running Mesquite lump charcoal on that thing. My nose tells me that is quite common here. They don’t have the fancy vertical spit. However, remember, that is a fairly modern invention. I believe it was designed to make skewered meats, into more efficient fast food. It was a three person show. There was a masked woman, pressing, and griddling tortillas. She also handled final assembly. (When I heard her cough, I was glad she was masked) There was another woman that attended the charcoal grill, and prepare meats. There was a man who took orders, and counted money. He would alternate into a food handling role when needed. There was a water station from a jug. He would use it to wash his hands after handling money, before he handled food. The Al Pastor here was amazing, and on par with anything I’ve had. It was smoke forward, and delicious. Both it, and the asada had some decent char. These were some amazing tacos, and I wished I had room for more Al Pastor.
This being my last night in town, I was on a mission to experience as many tocos as possible. I decided I had to visit the place that is the most popular amongst the tourists, Pancho’s Takos. I don’t think I can rate this place fairly. I prefer to sit with the working class locals, and the other tourist who do. I have a bias against a place that is designed to serve only the tourist class. A big part of this comes from where I live. I am part of the second class on the eastside of King Co. We are the service class. We serve the deep pocketed tech-folks, doctors, lawyers, and other types who can afford to buy houses here. Some of these first class citizens are my very close friends. Some are drinking buddies. Others are condescending, and it rubs me like sand in my undies… To be clear. I consider myself privileged to be a 2nd class citizen on the eastside. I am well aware of my privilege, and because I chose to not have children. I can afford to travel.
I got to Pancho’s about 20 minutes before they opened. There was a row of about 8 chairs for folks to sit in, while waiting for a table. Often, a line forms from the chairs. It sometimes reaches the end of the block. There were 3 “old people” sitting in the chairs. I decided to stand, and save the chairs incase more “old people” showed up.
As I waited, I watched them load the spit with the pork. It was very orange from the ground, dried chilis, and/or paprika, it is marinated in. Pancho’s spit is fired with that mesquite lump charcoal I smell often. There are 3 fire racks staked on top of one another. I watched a fellow remove machine made tortillas from a plastic bag, and start to griddle them. It seems like there is a small tortilla factory every five blocks. So, they are definitely fresh. By the time the 20 some minutes passed. There was so few people in line, that we all got seats
This was Friday night, so I guess only old folks are eating at 4pm. Pancho’s is known for their Al Pastor. So, I just ordered 2 of those. A huge plus for Pancho’s, they have beer! I got the Modelo Negra. When my tacos arrived they were of an impressive size. There was (2) 4” tortillas that slightly over lapped. Then, there was a big-ass pile of pork, and pineapple. They were dressed with an appropriate amount of diced white onions, and cilantro.
The flavor of the meat was amazing, and as good as anything I have had. It had ample char, and the salt was on point. It was definitely that magical 2% by weight, I mentioned in my previous writing. I got a subtle hint of that mesquite smoke too. The level of acid was also perfect. They have an excellent marinade here. I did not feel like I needed to add a squish of lime to my tacos. I did add some of the spicy salsa, because “I likes it spicy.” When I finished my 2 tacos, there was enough shit left on the plate that I could of used 2 more tortillas. My water offered me a fork. I ate about half of it, before I decided I was full. Here is my critique. Though meat is a huge part of the taco experience, so is the tortilla. Pancho’s overloaded the tortilla to the point it was unmemorable.
Here are my final thoughts. Pancho’s was a Pliney The Elder experience. If you are craft beer professional with sensory analysis training, and experience. This analogy will make sense. Pliney was an excellent beer. However, it received such a ridiculous amount of hype, it became down right silly. If you are a tourist in town, go get yourself one of these epic-good tourist tacos. It is a very large portion like you are used to in the states. I recommend just one taco. So, you have room for other taco experiences. If you are hangry, don’t wait in line. Walk another 30 feet up the block, and look for the small LED “TACOS” sign on the left. Walk back in towards the sidewalk, and sit with the pour brown people. Order yourself 3 or 4 tacos. They are epic here too. You won’t miss that subtle smoke note. They don’t get any smoke from their gas fired spit. Be careful, you just might have yourself a cultural experience…
After my Pancho’s experience. I was derailed from my food adventure. So, I headed over to Monzon Brewing for some PNW quality, craft beer. My favorite gal was working, but the bar top was full. I headed upstairs, and sat over looking the street, and drank alone. I enjoyed people watching, and composed some of this writing on my phone. Eventually, my favorite server came by, and offered me another round. When, I was almost finished with it. I decided it was time to see if there was a spot for me down at the bar top. There was. It was empty except 2 seats. So, I sat just one seat in from the corner. This is an old trick of mine. It is like sitting at the head of the table. After my two pints, I was ready to chat up some strangers. Around this time Dave checked in. He let me know he was tied up with his other people. Later-on, he told me I was no my own for the night.
Now, seated at the Bartop, I ordered a third pint. Soon, a 50 year old couple from San Diego showed up. She was a bilingual American girl, who’s folks came from Chihuahua Mexico. He was one of those fit old-guys. He served as a United States Marine, and now does some kinda prison security, or law enforcement, or home land security. (My memory is fuzzy) He, and I talked about running, and beer. I mostly chatted with the wife. They have a son currently serving in the marines. He works to maintain their F35 aircraft. They own a second, off-grid property, in the mountains. There is no power, but they are putting in a septic system. We talked about stress, meditation, blood pressure, and life experiences. I really enjoyed the time I shared with these folks. Eventually, we were joined by some English folks who caught a direct fright from Manchester. They were fun too, but I was thinking I should not be drinking these 5.6% craft beers. I should go while I could still make it home.
Across the street from my hotel. There was a restaurant open. I had not seen it open before. It had several roll up doors, and was open air to the street. I spotted a vertical, lump charcoal spit, stacked high with Al Pastor! My intoxicated mind thought, “My! Jesus works in Mystacious ways!” I chatted with the fellow who seated people, and got a seat at the bar. I was the only one at the bar top. I asked the bartender for a Modelo Negra, and was given a food menu.
I remember really enjoying my solo taco, and the lovely fresh popcorn notes from that tortilla. This was a really good taco. If I was not drunk, I could have given it a better rating. After I settled my tab, my tall server friend teased me, and asked, “do you wanna watch some girly’s dance?’ As he imitated the dance. I told him no, I had been drinking, and needed to go home. He laughed and wished me a good night.
A tall, and handsome fellow was my waiter, and I also had a bar tender. At some point my server shared his name, and shook my hand. I feel like I was treated to more attention than I deserved. They were very friendly. I felt some energy. Like there was a joke being made, and I did not get it. Was it the intoxicated gringo trying to speak bad Spanish to folks who spoke perfect English? Was I in a gay bar? I recall, I ordered just (1) taco Al Pastor, and observed a lady cooking fresh pressed tortillas on a griddle. I watched the man who sliced the pastor sharpen his knife, and can tell you he was between 12º and 14º.
It occurs to sober Tony. If there was any dancing girls near by. I would know about it. I did that research before I came down. They only thing around this area is a drag show. So, maybe I do get the joke?
On the street I was not ready to call it a night. I was ready to explore, and see if I could find me another taco experience. Intoxicated Tony reckoned there might be other places open, he had not seen yet. When I was seated at the other bar, I had gotten a txt from Dave checking in on me, “hammered yet?” I explored the area around my hotel, and soon was headed south a bit. It was a Friday night, and there were lots of folks everywhere. I bantered back with Dave, “Jesus Christ! Solo on a Friday night, in the Zona Bro-Mantia. I just might have me a homosexual experience! That taco pop-up was nice, but I don’t think I am ready for a mushroom pop up!”
By the time I found another charcoal fired Pastor spit. I had wandered into the gayest part of town. I was seated at the bar top, and there was only one other dude there. I could not order just one taco here, but I could order just one Volcano. How it is different from a toastada, I can’t tell you. It was basically a taco built on a deep fried, corn tortilla. It was very enjoyable. I recall getting that same feeling here. There was a joke, and I did not get it. I was pacing myself well with the low octane Mexican Lager now. However, I was maintaining a good 0.01% 0.012% BAC intoxication.
I was able to get intoxicated Tony safely back to his tiny hotel room that night. Nothing happened to me that will cause me to need therapy.
