Only You Know Best

People like to give me crap about hardly ever writing on my blog. I agree with them. People also like to give me crap for not knowing geography. I laugh with them. I manage to be a good sport most of the time, but like Barbara Streisand and Donna Summers belted out in the empowering (and annoyingly catchy) duet in the late 1970s, enough is enough. I don't let people push me around. Consider this post my rebuttal.

So, I don't mean to brag, but this past weekend I ate "the best taco in America." Sounds like a big deal, right? I visited at a little place in San Antonio called Taco Taco Cafe. San Antonio is the seventh largest city in the U.S. and located in the state of Texas. Did you catch that accurate statement of geography? POINT ONE. Anyway, about the taco... Bon Appetit dubbed it as such in 2007... and although I didn't catch the episode, Guy Fieri apparently flipped out over it on the Food Network's Drive-ins, Diners, and Dives. While I spent my hard-earned per diem in this so-called, up-and-coming foodie city of San Antonio on blackened Texas redfish with grits and other mediocre Tex Mex, Taco Taco was the highlight of the trip. Sadly I didn't stay long enough to enjoy some good ol', artery-cloggin' Texas barbecue. Maybe next time I'm in Texas, I will - but I'll make sure it's Austin. (When I do visit, I will be prepared to argue how we Portlanders keep our city weirder than them.)

At Taco Taco, we joined the enthusiastic crowd and stood in line for at least a half-hour. As we waited and chatted with some locals, we were visited by the sweet older Greek woman behind the establishment (if you don't trust a Greek making Mexican, think again.) For a few minutes, she escaped what I imagine to be a very hot, cramped kitchen where she makes all the tortillas by hand - considering how many people roll through the place every day, that is a LOT of tortillas - to meet the patrons. It was a very nice touch - and I almost felt like I was meeting a celebrity. I told her we were from Portland and because Oregon isn't exactly known for its Mexican food, we were especially excited. Once we finally snagged a table, I ordered what I had been instructed to order by the reviews: a Taco El Norteño. It's a large grilled flour tortilla and folded in half, and filled with grilled chicken, onions, and green peppers, refried pinto beans, melted cheese and avocado. Perhaps it was a little heavy on the beans (but only because I'm not a big refried fan), a little skimpy on the avocado and cheese, but still very satisfying. If I could do it again, I would have also tried one of their award-winning breakfast tacos. So, you're probably wondering: would I really call a Taco Taco taco the best taco in America? Eh, maybe (although it is quite fun to say "taco" four times in one sentence). How about the best tortilla in America? It would definitely in the running!

After returning to the Northwest after my few days in Texas, I happened to drink the best cider. Ever. Because I am lucky enough to know someone with an apple press, I got to observe (and occasionally assist) in the making of fresh cider. Throwing whole apples, pomegranates, and grapes into the large wooden contraption had my mind flashing the woodchipper scene in Fargo (I much prefer fruit to human flesh), the fruits were broken down and pressed into the sweetest, most delicious tasting cider my mouth had ever experienced. What a remarkable and surprisingly simple process it was to make the nectar of the gods. Turns out nothing captures the essence of an apple quite like fresh apple cider off the press. Nothing.

Whew! The "best" taco and the best (NO quotations) cider in one weekend? Now there's something to blog about. POINT TWO.

And with that, Your Honor, the defense rests.