Corpus Donuts

There was a good amount of space in the place, but only a few tables – and the lighting was very low, like a brownout, but the lighting didn’t hide the dirt that well.  The hat said it looked like a bar. There were two big stacks of professional PA speakers (Peavey 2x15s on top of big Cerwin vegas).  When I asked, I was told that they rent the place out for dances – explaining a lot.  I knew we were doubling up today but I still had to try both of my standard tacos for the sake of science so I got a Carne Guisada and a Chorizo & Egg.  Everything was fair, nothing outstanding.  If you’re looking for a place to impress people from out of town how good food can come out of bad places this might be a contender.  If they’re not from Corpus they won’t know that these tacos aren’t top notch, because in comparison to what most cities have they are.  On the way out, the Hat bought us all a round of Donuts, and they were top notch, very fresh, and glazed with just the slightest hint of lemon.

Tacos from Corpus Donuts

Next we headed to the Donut Hole, a place we’ve tried at least three times to sample and were deflected on each attempt.  The Hole is legendary in local taco circles, and was one of the first recommendations we received.  I mentioned it to my wife, not knowing any better, and commented that it was a strange sounding place to have tacos.  My wife informed me that it was a little dive, it’d been there forever, that she had been going there since she was a teenager, and that the tacos were great.

Well, she wasn’t kidding.  The place is a little dive. Looking at the building it’s unclear if it’s open for business or if it’s a derelict superfund site.  It’s situated across from Wynn Seale Middle School, right down the road from the abandoned Butter Krust bakery.  We both pulled our trucks into the lot and finding nowhere to park, and barely enough space to drive around it, we pulled up next door and walked over.  A guy speaking jibberish (or aramaic, my aramaic is a little rusty) walked up asked me for the time, and asked the hat for a quarter before wandering off to alert the illuminati that we were falling right into their trap.  A dim, yellow light was leaking out the back of the building, and looking through the doorway I could barely make out the interior – which looked like a country blacksmith’s shop.  We knocked and were told to come back in 20 minutes (this was at 7:20 meaning they open at 7:40).

I was ready to give it up, and to try it on a day where the gloom wasn’t so oppressive.  I wasn’t sure if it felt more like a scene from ‘Conspiracy Theory’ or ‘From Beyond’ but I didn’t have a good feeling about it either way. The scene it reminded me of most was in Cronenberg’s ‘Naked Lunch’ when Bill Lee breaks the typewriter, brings it to the blacksmith shop and they melt it down and make it into a new one.  It wouldn’t surprise me if they were sprinkling the tacos with the powder from the Aquatic Brazilian Centipede. This was a dangerous place, as ‘King Crimson’ says, and I had the kid to worry about so I whisked him away and deposited him at his school, where he would be protected by the holiness of the Catholic Church.  Then, as I was pulling away I received a text from Kevin who had the same idea as me.  Give it one more try.  Acting against my better judgement I headed back, and picked up a brown bag from the second window.  The holy grail of tacos, I had it right in my hands.  I raced over to the Hat’s house to we could examine the goods in safety (who am I kidding, if the Illuminati wanted to know what tacos we were eating, they would already be in the house – which meant they probably were in the house, as they know all.)

Well, it was all worth it.  The tacos were every bit as good as they had been described.  The carne g, their signature item, was rich and the beef dense.  The chorizo & egg amazing, with a strong and salty flavor you can only get from a grimy kitchen.  The tacos were the size of, well, a giant taco, and the tortillas achieved a perfect balance of tenderness vs tensile strength.

As we talked ourselves down, and tried to rid ourselves of the feeling we were being watched, we made plans for next weeks trip – to another hole in the wall with ample history.  Tune in!

From the Hat

Before I get to taco news today, I’d like to give a shout out to South Texas Public Radio for hosting a night of fine food and wine.  Shell and I are regulars at their yearly Classic Brew event, a food and beer gig with live music but had never been to their Food and Wine Classic.  The dress was everything from black tie to CC formal (jeans and sandals) – definitely a good place to break out the Black Leather SRV hat.  There was plenty of gourmet fare for all.  My favorite was a lobster taco with pico de gallo and avocado ice cream on a handmade corn minitort.  Delicious and beautiful to look at.  Close runners-up were a ginger-soy beef (or was it lamb) in a fried filo dough cone, and a sweet frau gras mousse also in filo.  I’m sure there were plenty of good and great wines, but after half a dozen samples of different Carmeneres, my taste buds might have been compromised.  We had a good time and will be back.  It might not make my bucket list, but definitely one of my 40 things to do in Corpus.

It’s a great thing when dozens of fine restaurants are gathered together, dishing out their wares to the grazing multitudes, but sometimes one has to work a bit harder to quell that hankerin’.  In fact, sometimes it seems that there might be someone working against you in your quest.  Today started innocently enough.  Last night’s Wine Classic had decided not to drive and ended up crashing on my heartburn.  It was still there when I woke up so asked it if it wanted a taco.  It did and before long my heartburn and I were on the way to Corpus Donuts, formerly Recios.  I had it from fellow taco fan and go-to expert in local taquerias, Johnny H. that if it was still the same people, this place had a good brisket taco.  I could tell my heartburn was looking forward to it too.  I think because it was a donut shop, that Ian decided it would be a good opportunity to make a theme of it and hit the infamous Donut Hole as an added bonus feature.  So I only ordered the brisket figuring I’d save myself for a good showing at The Hole.  In all honesty, I was not really impressed when the plate was plopped down in front of me.  After the display of beautiful food last night, the lonely grey slice of fatty brisket in a flour tortilla was not impressive.  But upon removal of some of the fat and proper application of barbecue sauce and salsa, it ended up being good.  The brisket had a good mesquite smoke flavor with a soft texture that comes from many after-pit hours in the oven.  The tortilla was good, toothy, and held up to the barbecue’s frontal assault.  The coffee was okay, but not the usual café fresh I expect.  The hot, fresh glazed donuts were very good.

Tacos from the Donut Hole

Here’s where it gets tricky.  Last time, The Hole was rained out and we went elsewhere.  Just what The Hole wanted, too I’m sure.  Today, when The Hole discovered we were back, we were put off with a shout from inside the closed building, “Thirty more minutes.”  Tacotopia runs a tight ship and we couldn’t wait so I resigned myself to my one brisket taco and vowed to return to The Hole in victory.  But all the way home I had a gnawing feeling that we were being duped; that there was a conspiracy to keep the Hole’s secrets from the likes of us.  Or maybe that The Hole would only accept our calling on its terms…I decided to go back…as it turned out, so had Ian.  He was ahead of me so he volunteered to brave The Hole alone and bring tacos to the house.  I left it to his judgment as to which taco I wanted.  Turns out that he made the right choice – the lengua.  The taco was astounding!  At first I didn’t know what to think of it.  It didn’t really look like any lengua taco I’d had.  Tender roast beef with that unmistakable taste of cabesa.  Stringy almost like the best pot roast you ever had.  Half way through it I remember Matt, a Surf Club acquaintance had told me that the Hole had the best Lengua he’d ever eaten.  I can say now that it’s the best I’ve ever eaten too.  Wow!  The torts were good too and a splash of the atomic-hot green sauce made it a great taco experience.  Too bad no coffee.

Salud

Hat and I had agreed to meet at Brandy’s this morning at a later-than-usual 7:00AM. Brandy’s is about a block (the long way) from my shop so I parked at my normal spot and walked over.  The wind downtown has little to block it from the ocean and so it was whipping, and then I discovered my coat’s zipper wouldn’t zip – perhaps atrophied from neglect.  As I walked up to the rendezvous point I see no lights, and then no hours posted.  I was a little early so I waited in the freezing wind, huddled in the doorway of the derelict Center Theater with it’s graffiti and dead bird carcasses peering out through the locked glass doors hoping Kevin was eager enough for tacos to be early, if not on time, if not too late.  Sure enough, I see his truck pull up and I hop into the relief of still air and that distinctive Dodge aroma.

We headed up the bluff to El Rodeo de Jalisco which I was pretty sure was open.  A few years ago I was at a family thanksgiving meal and went looking for something open and found this place serving up tacos and coffee to bicycle police, always a good sign. The place is a little dingy, a little funky; none of the walls are quite plumb, none of the corners are quite square.  The ceiling tiles at the front of the last row are about a foot and a half wider than at the back.  None of these things necessarily reflect the quality (or at least the taste) of the fare.  In fact I’d argue a little funk adds flavor to the food.  Some of the best tacos I’ve had have been produced in grimy holes in the wall, and this place falls well short of the grimy threshold and is merely off-white.

As always I ordered a Carne Guisada, a Chorizo & Egg, and a cup of coffee.  The coffee came in a small cup but I never saw the bottom of it, and our waitress may not have been as conversant in English as in Spanish but she nonetheless conveyed warmth and humor  as she worked expeditiously.  The salsa verde was a jalepeño puree that hit like a brick wrapped in sandpaper – I put as much of it as I could bear on my tacos. The tortillas were excellent: smallish but hefty and fresh as the prince of Bel Aire.  The Carne G was very savory. I’ve been holding that adjective out of circulation for a special Carne Guisada taco, and this is it.  The beef chunks were huge, and so tender they practically melted in your mouth.  The Chorizo & Egg was top notch as well, and let me explain my philosophy of C&E.

It’s like the Marx brothers.  The tortilla is Harpo, and never says anything but he’s just as funny as the other two and the music he makes is what sets everything apart – elevating the trio to a state of art rather than base humor like the 3 stooges (don’t get me wrong, I love the stooges – especially Iggy).  Then you’ve got Chico, who’s like chorizo: always chasing skirt, with a thick accent and a sharp wit he is the one that provides the spice and the kick – and plays a mean piano himself.  Finally there’s Groucho, the egg.  He’s got the attenuated lilt, and with his wise if misguided direction and beguiling patter he could convince you to eat a shoe-leather and egg taco, and think it was delicious.

We sat around for another thirty minutes after we finished our food, drinking cup after cup of coffee and hashing out the future, but all good things come to an end. As Groucho said, “I’ll do anything you say, I’ll even stay. But I must be going.”

From the Hat
Happy New Year to everyone.  I’d like first to thank Ian for keeping his taco blog up and running during the Holiday break.  While I fattened myself on the season’s bounty, he continued providing mobile mealtime missives for all of the Tacotopia readers.  Good job Taco Show Host.
Driving downtown early this morning felt strangely like a million years ago when I worked there setting type for a Quik Print shop on the bluff.  This week, though it was jury duty that had me by the bay.  I want to complain about the whole thing.  How it was uncomfortable, and boring, and we were treated like cattle.

But I can’t

I’d never made it to voir dire much less to a panel before.  And my only experience thus far had been with county or state district court.  And those experiences were, well, uncomfortable, and boring, and we were treated like cattle.   The Feds treated us courteously, with respect.  The courtroom was a meat-locker and I was happy I had my coat, but other than that we were fully coffee-and-doughnutted through the whole process.
It was not a long trial as they go.  I so wanted to hear someone burst out with, “Objection, your Honor!”  But the tone was muted and somber.  After 20 minutes of discussion in the jury room, I was “voted” presiding juror.  I don’t know why, but I hope it wasn’t just because I had the biggest moustache.  It took us most of two days to come to a unanimous decision.  (I hope that this also wasn’t just because I had the biggest moustache).  During that time we were all amazed, frustrated, irritated, and flabbergasted.  Adult stood helplessly by as Parent chided and chased Child around the room leaving me to wonder in the end if I was still OK.  But I was and once we decided, we were out of there in minutes.  I’m happy to have been a part of the process, but I’m even happier this morning to be judging only breakfast tacos.

.22 AC vent in front window

And El Rodeo de Jalisco was guilty of being good.  I ordered a nopalitos con huevos a la Mexicana on flour and a barbacoa con cebolla y cilantro on corn.  The barbacoa was typical, good but not out of the ordinary.  It was served with the freshest white onion and cilantro.  The corn tortilla was good but a bit more firm than optimal.  The star was the nopalitos taco.  The pear was soft and slightly acidic as if pickled.  But the slices were delicious in the taquito – not overshadowed at all by the generous mix of eggs, fresh onion, tomatoes, and peppers.  The whole business was wrapped in an excellent flour tort.  Of the two salsas, the almost excessively hot green was A+ material, the ranchero sauce, not so much.  I probably drank more coffee than I needed while we talked and bore witness to the cold outside via our .22 window vent.  Still, me gusto mucho!

Salud

So upon returning to Tacotopia, I got a taco first thing Monday morning (Garibaldi) and then again on Wednesday (Banda’s).  I couldn’t help myself – I wanted coffee and you can get a large coffee and a taco at world class taquerias blocks away from my job for the price of a coffee alone at Aqua Java or Starbucks.  Okay, the coffee is not as good as Aqua Java’s but it serves its purpose and the tacos rock.  So this morning the Hat, the Matt, and myself all met up on Airline at Acapulco Taqueria #1.  It’s in the 30s outside and wet.  The weather, in a word, sucks.  My heater core needs replacing in my truck so in the cold the windshield fogs up.  I’m driving down the road with one hand on the wheel and one hand wiping down the inside of the windshield.  Plus I have a toothache.  All of this in addition to the seasonal increase in my workload and the stress of the upcoming holiday.  It’s enough to make a man plow their vehicle into a fireworks stand while lighting a cigarette.

Good tacos, at least in this case, are the best medicine – well maybe some zoloft and a root canal, but who can afford it without health insurance? We sat down at the table and started drinking the excellent coffee, and I could feel the trouble being extinguished. Could it be things will all work out? Could the recession really be over? Could we exist in a world without poverty, war, and reality TV? I doubt it but at least I can take solace in one of the most perfect foods in existence, and I don’t mean the fabled eggnog custard pie.

Acapulco Taqueria is right near the two malls in Corpus Christi.  We’d heard about it for some time.  The place is hospital-clean the service is great.  There were a mix of cops and used car salesmen in attendance today, not a bad sign.  My carne guisada was good – nothing unusual about it but well made and very tender, no small relief to my aching jaw.  All this on good, thick, fresh flour tortillas.  I finished the carne g and moved on to the chorizo & egg, and it was exceptional: a perfect balance of grease, egg and sausage.

After 5 or 6 more cups of coffee and the exchange of weeks worth of tall tales the three of us lit out into the dim and dismal daylight, each one feeling a little bit better about what lay in store.

From the Hat

Hello, I’m The Hat and it’s been two weeks since my last breakfast taco.  I’ve long passed the grippin’ and jonesin’, and am beginning to get that attitude of superiority of one recently on the wagon.  Sure, you can do it the easy way, exiling yourself in a foreign land, like Ohio where they can’t even spell tako.  You couldn’t get a taquito if you wanted one.  Not me boy-o.  I did it the hard way, cold turkey, in the epicenter of taco activity.  Just me and my will power… and deep-fried turkey… and mince pie… and cornbread dressing.

I have to admit, on more than one occasion I found myself thinking about tacos, though.  Rehearsing in my mind that little peek inside the taco when it arrives at the table; watching my hands work on kinesthetic memory alone as they spoon a line of salsa down the middle and tuck it all back together; the prep finally complete.  Glad to be in company with fellow tacoteurs, but not really willing to share.

Relapse was but a text message away.  Two words:  “Taqueria Acapulco”.  I needed to call my sponsor, but it was from my sponsor.  I was lost.  I knew better than to put myself in that environment… the smell of tacos cooking, and of coffee, that easily obtainable breakfast gateway that always seems to lead down the path… to tacos.

Acapulco was a warm, dry place on a wet, cold morning.  It was brightly lit and smelled of cooking.  The Taco Show Host and M. were already there and had facilitated my breakfast with a cup of coffee.  After a look at the menu, I had decided.  But M. had noticed they were having a tripas special and ordered accordingly.  Not to be out-tacoed, I did the same.  Along with the tripas, I ordered a chicharrón con huevos a la Mexicana.  While we waited, we drank very good never-ending coffee and talked of the poor state of food in the Buckeye State.

When the tacos arrived, my tripas taco was splayed on the plate, guts spilled out like some breakfast tauntaun sacrificed for the nourishment of my body.  The tripas were perfect, clean and crispy.  Cut into lengths of an inch or so made them bite-sized and easy to manage.  They could only have been better with a fresh-made corn tortilla.  The flour torts were very good, though.  A bit of salsa, some cebollas y cilantro, and the taco had me wishing I’d another.  The second offering was good, but not a home run.  The chicharrones were the crunchy, bag-type and had plenty of bite to them.  There were plenty of them in the well-stuffed taco.  Both the spicy salsa, and the Ranchero sauce were good and added positively to the tacos.

As I look at the empty plate, I’m hoping to find just a little morsel that might have fallen out of the taco.  Surely I haven’t eaten them both already.  But I have and I’m left with nothing but the shame at having succumbed to the taco’s call once again.  I could see people looking down their noses at me already, and I’m uneasy at sight of the police car at the door when we exit.  What will my friends and family say about my return to the taco lifestyle?  Should I tell them?  But of course, this is a taco blog.

– Salud