Guns and Tacos

Tamales Atascocita

January 3rd, 2010 in Tacos! by oberata | 3 responses

Here’s a guest post from taco hunter Jeff Timpanaro. You can see more of Jeff on his personal blog. Enjoy! G&T

TAMALES ATASCOCITA 5105 Fm 1960 Rd E, Humble, TX 77346

Most Houstonians agree:  for all its commuting connectivity, F.M. 1960 is one Ugly Betty stretch of road.

Despite being a haven for local businesses – many of which are great independent restaurants – we suspect that city planners from Dayton all the way to Cypress just haven’t given a damn about aesthetics.

“Screw zoning and trees.  Let’s just keep putting up stuff,” they say.

4,203,338 strip centers later, they have just now taken notice of the 14% occupancy rate, and are taking a well-deserved kolache break.  When they return, they’re going to put up more of those intersection cameras that generate you a customized $75.00 ticket for going 1 mph through a right turn at a red light.  Picture included.

LAB DAY

I drive on FM 1960 – our chlorofluorocarbon flea market – almost daily.  Lab day, which was today, was no different.

Typically, lab day includes the following:

1. I’m grumpy because I have to fast in the morning
2. I have at least one run in with Aerosmith on the radio (one throaty bleat by Steven Tyler ruins my day), and
3. I get to reward myself with tacos afterward.

As a I cruised a particularly tacky strip of FM 1960 in Humble, it happened:  that stupid drum beat at the beginning of Rag Doll.  CLICK.  Yes.  Got it before Tyler got to me.  Maybe it was going to be a good day.

I steered over toward Will Clayton Dr. and drove eastbound.  As I scoured various gas stations for taco trucks, I recalled a piece of wisdom I read in a post by Houston foodie J.C. Reid.  Always in search of magical food experiences, he goes to any given area and asks the locals, “Where would you NEVER EVER eat around here?” and then he goes there, and usually finds some diamonds in the rough.

But I decided to put a twist on the Reid method.  I went looking for “generica.”

Oh yes, you’ve seen the place.  Usually in a strip center, it simply says CHINESE FOOD in Arial Bold.  Or TAQUERIA with silly faux authentic decor in the windows to lure you.

No surprise – I found some generica right here in Humble, one very close in fact to Tacos Flores.  You find it, of course, in its natural habitat:  an ugly strip center, adjacent to a Super K convenience store.

Driving by it, you would think it is called TAMALES, because, well, that’s what the sign says.

A neighbor told us once that their tamales were terrible, so that was another “Reid Clue” to head in for a breakfast taco.  After all, this place has been here ever since I can remember, so it can’t be all that bad, right?  Someone’s buying food there.

I walked in to find an empty restaurant, except for one lady behind the counter, standing in an open kitchen.  She was Latina, and wore an apron and a beanie to cover her short dark hair.

Suddenly I hear this chipper “Good Mor-Ning!” that blasted me straight to Peoria or Vermont or something.  Immediately my expectations were dented; her English was normal!  I was disappointed at first, but then a 2-way radio cackled and she started going off in Spanish about something.  This somehow rushed and distracted me.

I hazarded:  “One torta, please, with sausage, egg, and cheese.”

“OK.”

I feel like I choked on the order.  In the oddest way, it felt like speed dating, where two people sit down, have 60 seconds, or 5 minutes, or whatever, to find out if there’s a good connection.  In this case, I was thinking, “I’m on a mission for great tacos, and I just ordered a freaking sandwich.  In a place called TAMALES.”

So I added some to-go tacos w/ egg and chorizo for my imaginary friend, Steroid Boy.  He’s that guy on 50 mg. of Prednisone who can eat two entrees as an appetizer.  Him.  Me.  And it’s no problem!  This is called taking advantage of your doping.

The torta bread was amazing.  It was soft and hot and fresh.  The filling was what you might expect, perhaps a bit bland, but the concept of “sausage” is always mysterious to me in a place like this.  At times, you get smoked weenie.  Other times it’s really chorizo.  Other times it’s like Jimmy Dean . . . probably all due to the mish-mash of who might want what at any given moment in this crazy town.

Whatever the case, I’d grabbed two squeezers of salsa – one red and one green – to try.  They were maddeningly bland.  I was just getting nothing, like when Homer Simpson tries a light beer instead of Duff:  “Helllloooo?  FLAAAVOR??” I then played Chuck Firetruck with the both squeezers, which of course left me with a hot soggy bland sandwich.

So THIS is why Jay wears a hot sauce belt holster at all times!  Wish I’d had my Triple Tongue Torch along.

Anyhow, I shrugged off the sandwich, grabbed my friend’s to-go order, and headed out to take more hand-shaky, caffeine-handed pictures with my Blackberry.  I then drove home to try out the tacos, and more specifically the tortillas de maiz (corn).

I was thinking that I would be able to tell if they were homemade just by eating them.  But I think I suffered an acute case of Tortilla Confusion, or just a flat realization that I’m a rookie.  They were good, but I just couldn’t tell.  I’ll ask next time.

But the taco filling was distinct and flavorful, probably because of an unexpected ingredient:  beans.  In fact when I’d ordered them, she took one look at my whiteness and asked if it was OK if she put the beans in with the tacos.

“Of course,” I added, adjusting my own beanie.  “Who doesn’t?”

Just like The Jeffersons theme song, the beans in fact did NOT burn on the grill.  They were an excellent complement.  What’s more, the red and green salsas in the plastic to-go cups had distinctly fresher, spicier notes, which led me to believe the squeezers had contained salsas from perhaps 2008.

All in all, a hot meal by Tamales Atascocita (the official name of the place) is just gravy, especially on a cold day.  Yet it did not overwhelm me with awesomeness.  Still a great choice over any of the national chains.

Don’t forget to bring your own hot sauce.

And finally, if this happens to you twice on the same day like it did to me, (1) I am SO SORRY, and (2) you have permission to go back for thirds.