Anyone that really knows me knows I have an affinity for tacos. I like all kinds of tacos: crunchy, soft, ground beef, shredded beef, steak, pork, chicken, fish, shrimp, bean, and probably a few things I haven’t tried. I like corn tortillas, both the crunchy Taco Bell americanized style and the authentic mexican style. They each have their place in the taco world. I don’t like flour tortillas for tacos as much, but depending on the filler, they also have their place.
I took a trip recently, and stopped for lunch in a small town in Alabama, near the beach. The sign only had two words, “Mexican Tacos.” That was enough for me to investigate, and it was lunch time after all. The taco shop was in a strip mall containing five or six businesses. I walked in and looked around. The place was small, more like a sandwich shop than restaurant, which is what I was hoping.
Finding a stack of menus on the counter, I opened one and noticed it was all in Spanish. This was a good clue I’d get authentic tacos for lunch. On the menu were asada (beef), lengua (beef tongue), pollo (chicken), tripa (tripe), pescado (fish). Luckily, I knew enough of the language to know what all of these were and what I wanted to order.
A girl came from the back to the counter and I spoke to her, asking about the tacos. It was apparent after a few seconds that she did not speak much English. There were three or four people working in there, and none spoke much English. With her limited English and my limited Spanish, I managed to order two beef tacos and one fish taco.
I don’t know how it happened, but at some point after ordering, the girl asked me (by pointing at things) if I wanted salsa and other condiments. She didn’t know what I said yes to, so she invited me back to fix my tacos the way I wanted them. I was hesitant, but then a man carrying a big slab of beef ribs in a vacuum-sealed bag affirmed that I should go back there by pointing and shaking his head.
So I made my way to the kitchen and proceeded to make my tacos even more delicious with salsa roja, salsa verde, cilantro, lime wedges, pico, chopped onions, some sort of fiery jalapeno puree, and sliced radishes. I took my order to go and stopped to eat at a picnic table by the Gulf of Mexico.
I’m sure I don’t have to say that the tacos were great. I think the tortillas and salsa were homemade. The beef and fish were both hot and full of flavor. I left this place with some good food and a story to tell. I have to wonder, do many people go there that do not speak Spanish? Do they just let everybody go in the kitchen if they don’t know what they want on the taco? I’d like to think this was just a strange moment where imperfect scenarios come together and create a perfect moment.
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