Taco Tuesday

Two weeks ago I was browsing through the Village Voice when I came across this article on Tacos. A couple e-mails later, I had managed to convince Ben, Lisa and Xavi to join me in cruising down Roosevelt to get some in Queens.

In spite of having lived in Long Island for so long, I have never before walked down the Hispanic neighborhood in Queens and it is scary similar to back home. We didn't really know what to expect but we had a Spanish interpreter (X) so we felt pretty good.

Lisa started off the evening with a joke (that she would not want me to repeat here) and I knew instantly she was totally in sync with my sense of humor. We drove up to Roosevelt and 111th according to the article in search of adventure. I was informed (by L) that the word "taco" is slang for labia (or was it vagina?) and suddenly a lot of things suddenly made sense. (Its the shape.)



The first stop is actually a pastry shop. I'm hidden on the other side of the camera. This was five minutes away from the nearest taco stop.


Ben is sampling the chorizo (I think) with some very spicy Jalapenos while I attack the pollo (below). I've been mistaken for a Mexican before, but usually by the caucasians (I would use a different word here but then you'll call me a racist). Anyway, I tried to order my taco in Spanish but I think my accent pretty bad considering that the vendor replied to me in English. (HE knows.)




Can I just say, for two bucks, these are really really good tacos. Stop two is several blocks down:


A little schmancier. but they didn't have half the stuff we asked for, so we got some sausage, a tad disappopinted and moved ahead where these ladies run a taco cart on the side of the road.


This joint had the best food of the evening (acc to me). As we ordered she asked, "to stay or to go" and even Xavi did a double take. We stayed (they have four chairs on the side of the road) and chit chatted with this guy from Mexico (thats pronounced May-hee-ko) who was super friendly and conversed in Spanglish with us and Xavi. We promised him we would eat the quesadillas (we didn't) and then promised him we would go to Mexico (which is not happening anytime soon). But he was very nice and was majorly promoting all things Mexican. He asked me if I was from Bangladesh and I had to inform him that I wasn't. He went on (by way of explanation) that he works with two guys from Bangladesh and they are very nice, and it reminded me of an episode with another friend and Bangladesh and I imagined him laughing at this.

We moved on, I needed to pee but I saw signs like this on doors and thanked God that my prostate is still OK.


Our next stop was this schmancy place that looks normal on the outside but has serious stuff going on indoors. There's like a club or a dance floor in the back and people were walking in and out all the time. Lisa asked to examine Ben's pastries and i wondered if this wass slang for something dirty but no, she really wanted to examine Ben's pastries.


This place has a guava drink called "Boing" that I have never heard of. I saw another guy drinking it and figured it can't be that bad. I was wrong.


I'll take my Jarritos anyday. Guyaba por favor.


My favorite part about this place was the fact that there is a bouncer at the door, who didn't even look twice at us when we walked in, but I noticed that he was frisking every guy that walked through the door. Apparently we were in a rough neighborhood and bullets could go flying at any moment. "Is this how its all going to end?" I wondered "Me with my flour tortilla stuffed with pollo asado and guacamole bleeding from a gunshot wound." Fortunately, no such thing happened and we got out of there alive stuffed and ready to head back.


We walked back down Roosevelt and its kind of nice and quiet with the occasional subway / train overhead rattling in my skull everytime it passes by. I told Lisa I would go nuts if I had to live here and listen to this everyday but she said I would get used to it.

This is her striking a menacing pose. She won some bling from a machine and was wearing it around her neck.


There were these cards lying on the road with pictures of naked women and telephone numbers. Xavi seemed appalled at the stuff that the girls are doing on these cards, which tells me he hasn't watched a lot of porn. Here's a picture of one of the "safe" poses.


We head home. Fart jokes were plenty (but thankfully no farts). Xavi's weak stomach survived the evening. We discussed smells, cops, dutch ovens and other vile stuff.

I wonder what the next morning is going to be like (if you know what I mean) and I'm curious to see what authentic Mexican tacos smell like coming out compared to the local Taco Bell.