Tacos

Dad was a firm believer that if you wanted to taste real peasant food, you needed to eat where the peasants eat. The food is made by people who had a history with the food; there are no substitutions to make it organic / gluten-free / foreigner-friendly / blahblahblah…; and no white table clothes (in fact, Dad would joke that the tables should either be a little sticky, dusty or both).

On a trip to Las Vegas, I ended up at exactly this kind of place. Tacos El Gordo had all the markers of a cultural dining experience. The crowd was distinctly Mexican, Spanish was the language of choice, and the smell of slow cooked meat wafted out of the open doors.

The menu was an exciting assortment of meats, which made the decision-making process a lengthy affair. In the end, we settled on Adobada (spicy pork), Carne Asada (grilled beef), Suadero (beef brisket), and Buche (pork stomach). From the first bite, I experienced a food revelation:

 

Every taco I eaten before this moment had been a LIE
and every taco to follow would be a sad shadow of this moment.

Taco Night was officially ruined.

The warm tortillas were soft and tasty. The meats were slow-cooked and perfectly seasoned. And having them top the tacos was great, because they knew what combinations worked with each meat. (If left in my hands, I would have ruined it by drowning it in guacamole.)

It’ll be a few years before I get back to Las Vegas again, so in the meantime I’ll have to up my Taco Night game.