Tacos! So many tacos. The hard shell kind. They are the only tacos I will ever eat.
The Hispanic goatee guy of questionable origins is back with his little "Tacos!" cart thing! It looks like the kind of place that despite being immaculately clean, you'd think bacteria has purchased vacation property on, BUT, it's not! This man has overcome my immense fear of street vendors selling food from carts. The hot dog guys are horrendously terrifying and he was once but now is not. They are invited to any spot that is not near me; he is invited to many spots near me.
His shells are amazing and simply must be homemade, because there's no place around here you can get them. I have looked and been dismayed. They are so pink, no pinker than you thinker... er.. think. He makes them with finely ground tomatoes and some kind of even finer ground red pepper right in the flour. Its pinkness is beyond pink that has somehow been incorporated into a taco shell. As if that weren't enough, there are little things that look like chives also baked right the hell into the taco shell but be not fooled. They are actually divine clippings from the lawn of Jesus himself or something, which give not hayfever, but only tastiness.
From there, he has one type of meat and that is all you will ever need or get: chicken. Said birds, which clearly have either been grazing upon the aforementioned divine lawn clippings or had them marinated into them, or both, are awe invoking. In the event that you say you do not like this chicken, no one will ever again trust you, as you simply must be lying. He doesn't always give funny looks to the people who ask if he has anything besides chicken, but when he does, they are ashamed and they know why....
The lettuce is semi soggily semi sauced with an unknown red baked confection that cannot be called salsa, but sort of is what salsa aspires to become. Salsa has those terrible office motivational posters of this stuff with words like "excellence," "dedication," "aspiration," and "twice baked," on them. One detects the faint taste of onions, leeks, and perhaps celery with numerous other flavors as unidentifiable as they are delicious.
The police have been told to remove him for lack of a vendor's license, but instead are his customers. He probably inspires racists to learn Spanish just to order more quickly, but is too great to say anything. His poncho is his billboard, and it works. He sells out before 2 PM every day and leaves a disappointed crowd behind him and longing for the wares he never has enough of....
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Topic: [MILK] There were 12 eggs here what did you do with them? (Happy thread?!) (Read 16273685 times)