Mexican Medication!

After last nights food and drink fest (check out tomorrow's post for the best Barolo Braised Beef recipe you will ever make!), I not only am appreciating my day off, but am also very grateful to be a five minute drive from my preferred big-night recovery method, which is indulging my fetish for taco trucks/trailers/carts/whatever.

My friend Chris had clued me in to the south of the border noshes to be had at El Brasero in the burgeoning food cart mecca in the parking lot at SE 12th and SE Hawthorne here in PDX. He shares my passion for all things wrapped in corn tortillas and any accompanying bites, and has been talking up the barbacoa tacos and chicken tamales for weeks. So today, desperately in need of "Mexican medication" I drove on down. It was gloriously sunny and warm at their outdoor table, and the food was everything I could have wanted. I scarfed down the two pastor and two barbacoa tacos, perfect bites at a little under two bucks each. Okay, the pastor was a little dry, but the barbacoa scored huge. And the tamale was rocking, softly moist, yet firm to the fork, steamed to perfection in the golden corn husks. They also make their own fabulous salsa verde to add a little burn and get the head back on straight.

Pastor and barbacoa tacos, lined up for my eating pleasure!










The perfect tamale!











Man, I dig food cart love. What a great way to eat. Cheap, fast, and marginally out of control. Bring 'em on!

Getting My Fix!

It could be worse. I could be driving around with shaking hands, bloodshot eyes, and sweat drenched wife-beater in my old Chevy with one fender painted the appropriate primer grey, looking for my next meth hookup. I could be glued to my computer, staring bug-eyed, hyperventilating, and shouting obscenities at the screen as yet another gambling site sucks my house payment into the pocket of some guy who lives in the Bahamas.

It could any of those things. But it isn't. My little addiction is something much more insidious and sneaky, nibbling away at my wallet with every $1.50-$3.00 fix that brings a sense of calm and serenity to my world. It happens more often than I care to admit. I could be driving around, totally minding my own business, when the "trigger" catches my eye. Those three words that get me salivating and swerving across lanes crowded with traffic, cursing the old woman in front of me who's keeping me away from my salvation. Those three words, "hecho a mano", signaling yet another unavoidable stop at yet another taqueria truck. Like I said, it could be worse.
My current favorite Portland infatuation are the deliciously savory tacos at Taqueria Lindo Michoacan, a truck parked in the lot at SE 34th and SE Division. At a mere $1.50 a pop, the way too delicious discs layered with carnitas or pastor, among other fleshy offerings, that come out of the window are among the best bargain bites to had in this town, and there's probably an equally satisfying bite to be had in your town, too. The tortillas they make on site are perfectly chewy and soft (if those two words together make sense, and if you're taco stand fiend like me, you know what I'm saying). Always generously topped with your choice of meat, including a very credible asada or chorizo, a toss of cilantro and onion, add a squirt of fresh lime...I seem to be able to eat an endless amount. If for no other reason than the proliferation of these vendors of Mexican culinary authenticity, I am wholly for keeping those borders open wide, because at this point in my food-obsessed life, I've gotta get my fix!!