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.