tacotopia

I don’t know if it was my subconscious telling me how terrible things must be in Haiti, but it did make me thank the powers that be that I’m here and not there, and I will be texting haiti to 90999 today to give $10.00 to the Red Cross’ effort.  It’s not much but it has raised a combined $5 million so far. It’s a damned sight better than proclaiming Haiti to be a damned site.

What does any of this have to do with tacos?  Not a lot, uh, limonada, but it did precede the taco run, and it was chilling. Where did we go, you ask… getting more and more impatient as I ramble non sequiturs? The object of our combined attention this morning was Moody’s tacos on Weber and Saratoga, at the suggestion of my lovely wife who is a champion of the other side of their business, Moody’s Meats.  I hadn’t been there, didn’t know what to expect, and once I finished piloting my wife’s Altima through the river that was Weber, in the rain, in the dark, I pulled into the lot where the Hat was waiting in his truck. My wife and kid were only a few minutes behind.

Moody’s is in a strip center, and while it does have tables it doesn’t have table service – you order at the counter, but they bring your food out to you.  The guy behind the counter seemed sharp but occupied.  The TV was playing an endless loop of infomercials for cheap gadgets, but the coffee was good.  Then we got the tacos.  We were warned ahead of time that there was a junior taco and regular taco – and that the Junior taco was the size of most regular tacos.  Not being one to pass up an opportunity for gluttony I ordered one of each. My chorizo & egg, the regular, was the size of a rolling pin.  The tortilla was homemade but not super fresh, better than off the shelf but not quite on par – but the logistics of producing tortillas this size, much less ones sturdy enough to contain this amount of filling without a structural breach have to be taken into consideration, and this tortilla held up.  I had to go to work with a fork at first just whittle it down to a size where I could hoist it up – and even then I had to alternate left and right while eating, it was that big.

The salsa was good – not outstanding but good.  It was fresh, smooth, red & hot.  It wasn’t watery like a lot of places (or the street outside).  Then I went to work on the carne guisada.  I had high expectations, what with Moody’s being affiliated with a purveyor of meats, and I wasn’t disappointed.  It was a light brown guisada with hugh cubes of beef.  It was perfectly tender, and had something you don’t get in most carne guisada that’s hard to put a finger on.  The best way I can think to describe it is to say that most carne g gets cooked so long that the flavor is diminished to the benefit of the meat’s tenderness.  This stuff had both, in spades. If I could take any issue with it, it’d be the existence of tiny lumps of flour in the gravy – but they couldn’t be tasted, only seen.

We all sat and talked for a while longer, perhaps to put off the inevitable onset of the responsibilities of work, and then feeling a bit more cheerful, and a lot more full, we made our way into the bleak morning – already making plans for cocktails this afternoon.

From the Hat

I walked out of the house this morning into the dark wetness that is Caladan.  Standing water, cautious drivers, and over-cautious drivers made the drive down Crosstown and Saratoga quite an adventure.  I don’t know how anyone else feels, but the Sparkling Soggy by the Sea has been a pretty dismal, water-logged place.  Not just the city, but up country too.  I need to get to our place in Papalote to see how it fared in the freeze last week, but it’s been a bog for six weeks now.  If I thought bending a knee and chanting, “Ia, Ia! Shub Niggurath” would end the monsoon and dry things out; I’d give it a try.

Even though Saratoga was a slick, black ribbon bounded on both sides by lakes it was still an effort in competitive driving.  I think you must get extra points when it rains.  I’ve given up most of my aggressive road skills.  I chalked it up to age, but my Grandmother drives a Dodge Charger and the white-hair that blew past me this morning in the rain has me having to re-evaluate my meek driving.

We were meeting at Moody’s Tacos.  I’ve eaten Moody’s tacos for many years.   At every location but this one, I think.  The menu’s listing of two sizes of taco was not familiar.  If it wasn’t always that way, then the change was a good idea.  Moody’s tacos are BIG.  The first time I ate at a Moody’s I had no Idea so I ordered two.  When they brought them out I realized that there was no way I would finish them.  So today, given the choice, I ordered two small – a brisket, and the Trash Can.  I began to worry when both Ian and M. ordered at least one jumbo each.  I was a teenager again dreading that particular locker room envy and intimidation.  But I girded my loins and hoped for the best.  I was rewarded.  The junior-sized Trash Can taco was at least as substantial as the Jumbos around the table.  I think I noticed some envy directed my way for a change.

The trash can is a mélange of potato, egg, cheese, refried beans, sausage, chorizo and a whole slice of bacon wrapped in a flour tort.  It was big and every element was good.  It was layered so you could take a bite of whatever individual element you wanted, or use the tortilla as a palate to mix your own specially colored bite.  Delicious.  The brisket taco was good.  Not great.  I’m all about some fat in my brisket, but I had to remove some.  I caught a bit of flack about if from the youngest at the table – eat on while you can young man.  It was hard to tell much else about the brisket.  It was overpowered by a fairly routine barbeque sauce.  Sliced dills and fresh onions completed the package.  I had one tort that was cold and not entirely pleasant, but the other was warm and tasty – a bit toothier than I’d like, but passable.  It’s possible that I just drew the short stick regarding the cold tarpolean and the fatty brisket.  I really liked the salsa.  It was just hot enough and very flavorful.  An enjoyable experience.

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