Maria Diaz

Taco Tuesday

Last night, after going to the opening of a high end tattoo shop (story tk on Bitchbuzz) that was sponsored by Hpnotiq, the older cousin to Alize, a drink I'd previously only had at a strip club, I spied Yelp to tell me where I could get food. I had to walk across 22nd street to go meet my cousin at Mr. West, a "lounge" (to me, it is a club, but what do I know about these things? Nothing.) and I filtered my results to be within 2 blocks and with only one dollar sign.

From there, emerged a pizza place with the name Giant Burrito. I was skeptical, but a reviewer from San Francisco gave it high marks for its tacos, so I took the plunge. I asked for the "taco de la casa," which had all three meats: al pastor, pollo asada, and carne asada. It also came with guacamole, onions, and of course, cilantro. The lady asked if I wanted "chile" and duh, of course I did.

About 5 minutes later, I was handed a pile of meat on top of two warm corn tortillas with a lime on the side. No pickled vegetables, but I could deal. I liked it so much I ordered another. I smelled like onions for the rest of the night, but I didn't care. All week, I had been yearning, in a way usually reserved for guys who don't like me back, for a piece of California. And then I tasted it.

I'll be back home someday.