I submitted a taco photograph to the online New York Times for a reader-driven feature, and they published it on their website. This was taken with a Canon G10 I borrowed from a friend. I like this photo because the whole image appears to be in focus. The slight haze you see is the steam coming off of these superbad Taconmadre tacos. Check it out!
Fancy people call them crêpes. I call them pancake tacos. Either way, the French just found a bunch of pretentious things like pears and berries and goat cheese, rolled it in a pancake, and called it something other than a taco so they could take credit for inventing a taco.
Just because you wear turtleneck sweaters, tortoise shell glasses and cologne I can’t pronounce, does not mean you invented the taco.
That being said, pancake tacos are really delicious. If you’re in Houston, stop by Melange Creperie on Westheimer and Taft (in Mango’s parking lot), and a nice fella named Buffalo Sean will throw one or two together for you. No, he will not be wearing a turtleneck.
While touring with the SpicyRV.com crew on our RV trip to Albuquerque, NM, we stopped at a venue called Lucha Libre Mexicana in El Paso, where I pursue my lifelong dream of wrestling a luchador.
Spicy RV // Guns and Tacos // Lucha de Cine from Media975 on Vimeo.
Special thanks to James Beck, Paul Sedillo and Lucha Libre Mexicana in El Paso, TX.
Along with James Beck Jr, Paul Sedillo and Jason Russo, I’m headed to Albuquerque, New Mexico to attend the 22nd annual National Fiery Foods & BBQ Show starting on March 5 in a massive tour bus, because wasting gasoline is like, Steve McQueen awesome.
I’ll be regularly updating their blog and the @SpicyRV Twitter account, so check out SpicyRV.com and add it to your RSS feed for the next week or two.
Paul will be capturing the trip on video and dropping it on the site so all the viewers can see what kind of shady business we’re getting into.
James Beck Jr. will be eating things most people can’t comprehend (myself included), and at a major international hot sauce festival like this, there’s no telling what folks are going to try to feed him. It’ll get interesting.
Since we’ll likely be heading through El Paso, hopefully we’ll come across a taco stand or two as well.
And if we’re that close to Mexico, it’s going to be mighty tough keeping my ass out of Juarez. Just sayin.
Listen closely, you’ll hear Chingo Bling give Taqueria Taconmadre a shout.
Last week I heard about an event at Club Status in Houston’s Midtown district where Chingo Bling would be hanging out. You probably know who he is, but in case you live with your mom and listen to Foreigner albums all day, Chingo is a prolific rap artist who has corroborated with Nelly, Chamillionaire and Paul Wall, and he happens to live in Houston, Texas. His most recent album is titled “Me Vale Madre“.
I wanted to be prepared for this moment, so two days before this endeavor, I bought a $15 pager from a little shop on Bellfort. Out in Channelview (on my way to Karanchos), I picked up two strips of Black Cats and a length of fuse. If you’re a mercenary like myself, you know how handy Black Cats can be in a tactical situation of importance such as this.
If you live in Houston, you know how Yellow Cab is. There may seem to be other independent cab services, but they’re all owned by Yellow Cab, and you can never depend on a ride. To counter this, I forged a relationship with a Yellow Cab driver I’ll call “Bob”, since that is his real name. He talks too much, but he’ll pick me up anytime I want, 24 x 7. In return, I have to play harmonica along with whatever album he decides to play. Which is cool unless he’s in a reggae kind of mood. It’s really hard to burn up a blues harp to reggae music, I’m just saying.
Chingo Bling and Roxxi Jane
Bob brought me to the joint around 8 or so, and I waited for Chingo Bling to show up. The bar was blue, and when I turned around and looked again, it was red. It took me a while to figure out that the bar changed colors. Freaky. There weren’t any barstools at the color-changing bar, just an array of VIP sections against the wall.
Hector the bartender explained that the silver buckets were for champagne, and no, I could not use it as an ice bucket for my Lone Star Beer.
Chingo Bling arrived with an entourage of several beautiful women, and four giant bodyguards that looked like they ate a bowl of bullets for breakfast and seasoned them with pepper spray. I was prepared for the bodyguards, because I was on a mission, which I’ll share with you.
If you don’t know about #TTC3, the Houston Chowhound’s third annual Taco Truck Crawl on April 10, you must be playing Mass Effect at your sister’s house and trying to figure out why nobody is interested in sharing the box of 50 Chicken McNuggets you fervently saved up for. Hell, you’re probably asking for that godawful barbecue sauce. You probably own more than two cats. Get a hold of yourself, cat man.
Long story short,my plan was to get Chingo Bling to hang out at TTC3, hell or high water.
Once Chingo seemed somewhat approachable, I dialed the number to the pager I had given Bob. He lit the fuse to the Black Cats and tossed them underneath one of the nice cars that the valet guys tend to park up close to the front of the joint.
My plan was for the bodyguards to go nuts and fly out of the place so I could get Chingo Bling alone long enough to make my case. The firecrackers started popping. Instead of freaking out, the seasoned and wary bodyguards, who surprisingly knew the difference between gunshots and Black Cats, casually stepped outside to check it out. All but one.
Steph Marie and Chingo Bling show me the correct way to throw dueces.
Anyway, this was my chance. I approached Chingo, and as the Incredible Mexican Hulk stood in my path, Chingo called him off in Spanish. I proceeded to introduce myself to Chingo. He took his sunglasses off, ordered me a Shiner, and gave the group of hot chicks a dismissive motion so we could have a private chat.
He came closer so I could hear him over the thumping dance music.
“What’s with the Black Cats, dumb ass?”, he politely inquired .
Another bodyguard appeared about five paces away on my right.
I considered explaining, but decided to get to the point.
“I’d like for you to attend the Third Annual Houston Chowhounds Taco Truck Crawl“, I announced with my most stolid game face.
He cracked a smile and introduced me to the ladies.
Roxxi Jane (@Suprlatina on Twitter) is a dance/pop singer who has recently been working her way to the pop charts. You can listen to her mixtape, or wait for her widely anticipated album, Everybody Loves Pink. Our conversation quickly went to taco trucks, and she told me about some of her favorites.
I was also happy to meet Steph Marie Tunchez (@OStephy), a mariachi singer and violinist who I’ve been following on Twitter for some time. She also knows her tacos, and she suggested a few places that weren’t on my map.
Laura Gonzalez (@ThatGirlLala), TV hostess of Lala’s World on Houston’s 55 was also in attendance.
My rockstar lobbying was successful. I’m very happy to report that so far it looks like everyone will be coming to Taco Truck Crawl 3.
After doing a few shots of tequila with the bodyguards, I stumbled outside to find Bob the cab driver, but he was gone. I haven’t seen him since.
Hope that guy’s alright.
I came across this unusual taco truck in a rural area north of the Houston metro. It was impossible to get to, in this odd corner where Huffmeister and Hempstead Highway converge. The unpaved driveway was situated in a manner where you couldn’t get to it without breaking a couple of traffic laws.
It was a beautiful sunny and cool Texas winter day. A huge hand painted sign read, “TACOS OPEN”. Along with the taco truck, this lot contained an abandoned snow cone stand and a beautiful blue vintage Mustang with a torn, battered tarp obscuring it just enough so that I could clearly see blue, chrome, and awesome.
A long-legged black chicken doted around, searching for gizzard grit amongst a pile of bottle caps. My dining companion, who we will call Penelope Cruz, entertained the thought of ordering a chicken taco just to see what would happen. I explained to her that it was probably a fighting breed rather than a poultry bird. 
She was impressed by my vast knowledge of avian genetics.
Penelope Cruz then tried to befriend the hen, and if you don’t know chickens, trying to play with a chicken is kind of like playing that pop-up Orbitz game where you try to hit home runs over and over again. Or watching Ghost Hunters.
I ordered fajita and pastor (pork) tacos and a bottle of Joya; a grapefruit-flavored drink similar to Fresca but only distributed in Mexico. You can kill four men with this thick glass bottle before it breaks.
Four.
I once learned a valuable lesson about these non-twist bottle caps. Back when I was exploring Tijuana looking for a place to live, I came across this seedy bar called Carmen’s where there were people sleeping on the tables. I bought a raffle ticket for a buck or two, and won a bottle of El Presidente brandy, accompanied by a large glass bottle of Coke. I put the edge of the bottle on the bar and tried to ‘slap off’ the bottle cap with no luck.
A guy that looked exactly like Danny Trejo snatched the Coke bottle from my hand. I thought he was going to swing it at me, but instead he snapped off the bottle cap with his teeth and handed it back to me in one fluid motion.
It was the coolest thing I had ever seen in real life.
A bottle of brandy and a few beers later, I thought I’d give it a try. Why not? Uncle Sam was paying for my dental work anyway. I bought a Pacifico, gripped the edge of the bottle cap by my teeth and…
CRACK!
I broke the entire neck of the bottle off , cutting my face pretty good in the process. I spent the rest of the night holding a wad of napkins against my face and dripping blood and beer on the floor, reveling in the fact that I now looked like a local in this shady Tijuana cantina.
I have since mastered the art of opening bottles with my teeth, but I prefer to use a bottle opener.
Anyway, back to the taco truck. A screened-off dining area was handcrafted around the south side of the trailer, and the interior was outright quirky. Framed religious prints, a combination of plastic and live plants, and an awkwardly situated Foosball table were the key design elements here.
Wooden seagulls were strung up across the ceiling, each with a fancifully-folded dollar bill in its beak. It was all pink, yellow, and girly looking, like a blender full of Barbies.
The gal in the trailer dinged a bell to let me know the tacos were ready. The sliced limes were larger than key limes, but smaller than your average lime found in your local market. Both the pastor and the fajita were dry and bland, to the point that saturating them with lime juice provided only slight improvement. The red salsa was a dark maroon, and had an unwelcome sweetness that had to be countered with the application of table salt. The salsa verde was bland and uninspired. Yes, I am using the term “uninspired” when discussing taco truck salsa. So what.
Ruby’s Taqueria has an extensive menu, and before dogging it too much I’d like to stress the fact that a lame taco truck taco is still five times better than any Taco Bell menu item. If you’re in the area, I implore you to stop in just to take a closer look at the dining area. It’s something special, and I wish I hadn’t fought sundown to grab the few photos I did. Ruby’s is open 24/7.
Now if you’ll excuse me, someone’s got to teach Penelope Cruz how to hotwire a Mustang.
The Houston Chowhounds, a 700+ group of chefs, food industry folks, food bloggers and food adventurers, are presenting their third annual Taco Truck Crawl. It’s kind of like an amusement park for grownups, except there are no rollercoasters and fewer knife fights. And I’m running the show.
For those who know, the last Taco Truck Crawl was a load of fun for everyone who attended … except for that one guy that got a head injury from a pack of Chicles launched from a slingshot. There were around 100 in attendance last time (not that anyone actually took the time to count heads), and I’m guessing there will be a few more this time. We will be visiting a lot of taco trucks and/or restaurants in the Houston area and beyond.
29-95.com will be sponsoring the event with a party bus, with a general rule prohibiting the consumption of alcoholic beverages that we will collectively ignore like we did last time. If you’d prefer to caravan or car pool instead, feel free. I’ll be on the party bus if I’m not carpooling with Chamillionaire.
The illustrious event will be held on Saturday, April 10. This will not be on a Sunday, which it was last time because a certain really famous unnamed pastry chef named Plinio had to work on Saturday and asked us to do it on Sunday, and then he did not show up for the Taco Truck Crawl anyway. (Thanks, Plinio, for ruining my life.)
The list of taco trucks we will visit is shrouded in mystery and will only be divulged by a secret handshake or by discreetly slipping a ten in my pocket. I can tell you that on this list is Karanchos in Channelview, which I am probably a bit too excited about.
Be sure to bring lawnchairs, ice chests, beer, drinks, cash and sombreros.
We also will have some kind of afterparty. I don’t know where yet. Probably somewhere with lasers or a donkey.
Again, this is a free event, but we’d like to get you to RSVP here so we can get a good idea how many are coming along. Not a member of Chowhounds? Shoot me an email and I’ll save you a spot on the bus.
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Pasadena, Texas is a city of industry. Everyone you meet is an operator of something. Growing up in LaPorte, TX, you were expected to work in a plant somewhere. Many of the guys I grew up with ended up with the same job as their dad, and got a house and kids in the same neighborhood. If you are driving down 225, remarkably, the stale pollution smell hits you at the exact same time as you see the “Pasadena City Limits” sign. If you are driving through Pasadena at night, you will see more police cars than civilian cars, and they will pull you over just for not driving a truck.
I don’t have a problem with police, but I do have a problem with Pasadena police. As a teenager, I was pulled over once with three Hispanic friends in the car with me. Why? Because my car was blue. And blue is also a gang color, I guess. We were photographed and added to a “suspected gang member” watchlist, although none of us were breaking any laws at the time. After that, I was pulled over regularly. You know, for being a suspected gang member. That was just the start of my troubles in Pasadena (some of which actually were my direct responsibility), and I pledged never to return.
Ever.
As you can see on the taco map at the top right of the page, there aren’t many spots in the Southeast area. It’s not because there are no tacos there, because oh boy, there are plenty. It’s because I hate Pasadena with the fury of a thousand sun gods.
However, due to the astounding number of taco eateries in this area I had to buckle on this commitment and understand that Pasadena could no longer be ignored. I called up my old friend Mando the Pitbull, who lives in the area. We call him that because he injures people.
We cruised down Edgebrook, right off of 45, in Pitbull’s gleaming F150. I hadn’t been on this street in years, and I liked what I saw. Scores of taco trucks extended down both sides of the street. I grinned from ear to ear as Mando adjusted the settings on the Rockford-Fosgate Power T500 amplifier with his cell phone, pushing 2200 watts to each of the three T215D2 Powerstage 2 15-inch subwoofers. A hairline crack in the asphault spidered across the street, as a flight of pigeons went into a collective seizure. You know how armies sometimes play drums while they march into battle? It’s the same concept, I think. Rather than surprise his enemies, he prefers to announce his wrath from afar.
I spotted Taqueria Taconmadre on the left, which looks like a small restaurant with three army-green school bus-sized taco trucks in the parking lot, two of which were closed. Neon signs advertised some of their non-typical cuisine, such as enchiladas poblanas and elotes. I couldn’t really figure out the restaurant- the door was unlocked, but it just went into a small room with another door. Whatever.
I ordered at the truck: one suadero, one al pastor (they call it “trompo”), one fajita, and one barbacoa. I opened up my foil, and they looked and smelled great. I frowned at the odd pre-packaged, seemingly factory-sealed salsa pouch. After dousing with lime and a touch of salt, I applied the brownish-red salsa and chowed down. The salsa had a bold, surprising and complex taste that I was instantly enamored with. I put it on everything. The al pastor stood out with a very unique, rich and delicious taste. On a street where taco trucks reign, Taconmadre makes its mark with unique seasonings and some of my favorite red salsa around. It’s also open 24/7. As we enjoyed our tacos, a police cruiser pulled a Taurus over in the parking lot, brought the guy to the back of the vehicle and started patting him down. Probably one of those non-truck driving gang member types.
"Pitbull" Armando is smiling. Mando never smiles.
I’m assuming you’ve seen The Good, the Bad and the Ugly. If you haven’t, you don’t know Tuco.
Tuco Benedicto Pacifico Juan Maria Ramirez is a greedy bandit, a real piece of work.
He’s been found guilty of murder, armed robbery of citizens, state banks, and post offices; the theft of sacred objects, arson in a state prison, perjury, bigamy, deserting his wife and children, inciting prostitution, kidnapping, extortion, receiving stolen goods, selling stolen goods, passing counterfeit money, and using marked cards and loaded dice.
He’s also a precision sharpshooter. In fact, he killed more guys in the movie than Clint Eastwood did. His gunsmithing skills are unparalleled as well. In one scene, he went into a gun shop and instead of just stealing a pistol, he disassembled three different pistols and built his own in about a minute.
Most people who watch the movie see Clint Eastwood’s character, “Blondie” as the hero. Me, I’m a Tuco fan.
I sometimes wonder how a man like Tuco, who refers to himself in third person, would get by in today’s world. He’s not a simple drug dealer or thug- he is a tactician. But how would he operate in a world of freeway cameras, electronically scanned drivers licenses and Nancy Grace?
For someone as resourceful as Tuco, you’ve got to wonder- if he had an IPhone, which applications would he use?