tacotopia

This nondescript joint sits a few blocks from Los Regios but is a world away as a restaurant.  Established more than 30 years ago this venerable institution is barely identifiable as a restaurant from less than a car length away, but it’s always busy.  I’d eaten here once, on my return from my Honeymoon, and I have a positive association with the place with very little real experience to base it on.  An objective evaluation was in order.

My kid was with me, up dutifully and out the door at 6:15 to have breakfast that he’d likely be puking up an hour later at football practice.  I’d put out a feeler for ‘the Hat’ but didn’t expect him, what with recovering from H1N1, and an ill (and charming) wife.  Lo and behold, one of the 20 or 30 dodge 1500s in the park glinted a familiar hunter green, and out stepped the lost tacoteur, resplendent in his wrinkled t-shirt and with a cap covering bed-head.

The thing that stands out about the Hi-Ho is the flour tortilla.  It was fresh and hot, with a light dust of flour and cooked longer so that there was a slightly crisp surface holding in the supple and chewy middle.  One of the best I’ve had.  Maybe not San Luis good but why choose?

And so Morgan Avenue in it’s paint-peeling abandon redeems itself.  The Hi-Ho was comfortable and the food and service were way worth the 5 bucks a head we spent.  Maybe it isn’t the best place to get a breakfast taco in Corpus Christi, but it’s sure worth trying.

I’d intended to review the Grandma’s Gorditas on Morgan this morning but found it closed. Damn. So I pointed my truck down port and drove around in circles for a few minutes because I was sure there had to be a good taco to be had on this street.  Morgan is not the prettiest street in Corpus Christi, and it is lined with dilapidated garages and shops – many boarded up, and fenced lots with barking pit bulls guarding rusted cars no one would bother stealing.  I used to travel this road at least twice a day to go to trade school and had never felt especially uncomfortable there – pale though I am – but this morning when I stepped into Los Regios it was quite apparent I was not expected.

The place was dingy. The TV blared tejano. The cook peeked through his window from the kitchen and had the look of a recently escaped inmate interested in not being seen, and he’d have had little trouble as the joint was about empty, with the one other patron old and nearly blind.  The lady behind the counter barely understood my english, and when I started ordering in spanish she understood less.  I don’t know if this reflects on my language skill or her cognitive ability.  I asked for a cafe grande, and she replied ‘fajitas?’ I accidently refused the offer of coffee fixings and sat and drank it black from the oilcan.  It was pretty good.

The tacos were cheap, the coffee giant – like a big gulp for caffeiniacs.  I hurried out before being set upon by an angry parole officer, or caught in a drive by.  I got to my shop and opened up the sack half expecting to find a severed human hand but it was only tacos.  They looked puny next to the coffee.  I think the tortillas were homemade, but so that they tasted like store bought.  But get this:  they were both pretty good.  The chorizo & egg had a good rich flavor, though it was a little soft.  The carne guisada was even better, and as I finished them off I considered going back for another.

After last week’s debacle we were looking forward to something closer to what got us started.  Plain jane, familiar, comfortable.  As the team of two assembled in front of the entrance of the morning’s eatery we wordlessly communicated our shared  yearning for the upcoming evaluation: “I hope this doesn’t suck.”

It didn’t.  They claim to produce the “best salsa in town” and it was the best thing about the fare.  It is blended so thoroughly that there are no seeds or visual hints of what ingredients it might contain.  It’s color is that of Autumn leaves, orange as the paint on the gorgeous sign hung above the door.  The tacos were big, like a horn-of-plenty set out for we weary pilgrims after our long voyage through the treacherous seas of gastrointestinal persecution. In this story, though, we aren’t the ones giving smallpox blankets to the indians.  So hot was the salsa that it slapped us out of Fall reverie and reminded us that in a few scant minutes we’d be trudging beneath the furnace of the hot Texas sun.

The carne guisada was nice looking, with the color of the sauce also orange so that when combined with the salsa one can’t tell them apart.  On biting into it the flavor was very familiar, and after a while it came to me.  I can’t say this with certainty, but it tastes very much like the HEB frozen Carne Guisada.  The beef was very chewy – just like the HEB brand, and the sauce has the same look and taste.  The only reason I’d know that flavor is because I have bought it many times, and it’s not bad for frozen carne g, but I’d expect more from a Corpus Christi Taqueria. The chorizo & egg wasn’t bad, wasn’t great.  Nothing unusual about it.  Basic.  The tortillas were big – as were the tacos – and weren’t bad, but again – not great.  If they’re homemade they don’t taste it.

I have to admit, I’m still recovering from last weeks corporate romp. As I drove across town in the darkness, I wondered about the fare. I’d never been to Nano’s, but had heard about it for years. It has a significant following and was recommended many times for consideration for a Tacotopia visit. It was dark when I got there and white light blared out the door. The smell of bacon permeated the air. My hopes soared.

The place was cold, like a Blue Norther. I ordered two tacos, a machacado and egg, and a chicharrones and eggs. We barely sat down and the tacos were on the table. They were bountiful. Giant stuffed beauties. The chicharron and egg ranked first. The chicharrones were the small, dense, extremely crunchy ones that originate in Mexico. They were crushed into pieces that brought to mind crushed candy in peppermint ice cream. Except this candy had a rich fried pig flavor mingled with caramelized onions. If not for the mid-grade tortilla, it would have been great. The machacado was also good. The carne seco was very flavorful, maybe a bit jerky-like, but but hey, that’s what it is.

Both tacos were improved by the addition of the burnt-orange salsa. Served in a squeeze bottle, It could have passed for French dressing. The coffee was good, as is usually the case for that Bunn coffee maker. You know the type. The coffee has a rich cafe taste, but is missing the high notes you might get from a press.

In the end, Nano’s didn’t suck. It wasn’t at the top of the scale, but it was a pleasantly cool breeze in our otherwise brutally-hot existence. Salud.

We are left to bear the burden of the cruelest season to the South, but we are thankful for the food we are given.