We all know that "two wrongs don't make a right, but three lefts do." This adage certainly rings true with the weekend taco stand on Bellevue at Laveta, porque three left turns are the exact directions (GPS verified) from my front door to that basura can (shown below) in front of the aromatic and perfectly catalogued grill. I have named this holy place, and for that matter any place that has a temporary taco stand that's not a truck: "
La Autopista". Here, the meat choices are usually: carne asada, pork stomach, carnitas, and cabeza. This afternoon, however, Senor threw us a
screwball and started boiling up some chili verde (a personal favorite) in a stainless steel bin. While I would have loved to wait, proper tomatillo pork chunks take hours, and by this point I was starving como Marvin. I ordered three carnes, hit the fixin's, calculated the Garmin, and headed on home. At this juncture, I would like to address the marinated orange peppers pictured on the plate. They are hotter than the core of
The Station Fire itself, and have even edged out Thai
rat-shit peppers in sheer spicy intensity. Next weekend, I intend to inquire about the varietal of said peppers for I haven't seen my pupils that dilated since a Butthole Surfers show circa November '89.
We all know that "two wrongs don't make a right, but three lefts do." This adage certainly rings true with the weekend taco stand on Bellevue at Laveta, porque three left turns are the exact directions (GPS verified) from my front door to that basura can (shown below) in front of the aromatic and perfectly catalogued grill. I have named this holy place, and for that matter any place that has a temporary taco stand that's not a truck: "La Autopista". Here, the meat choices are usually: carne asada, pork stomach, carnitas, and cabeza. This afternoon, however, Senor threw us a screwball and started boiling up some chili verde (a personal favorite) in a stainless steel bin. While I would have loved to wait, proper tomatillo pork chunks take hours, and by this point I was starving como Marvin. I ordered three carnes, hit the fixin's, calculated the Garmin, and headed on home. At this juncture, I would like to address the marinated orange peppers pictured on the plate. They are hotter than the core of The Station Fire itself, and have even edged out Thai rat-shit peppers in sheer spicy intensity. Next weekend, I intend to inquire about the varietal of said peppers for I haven't seen my pupils that dilated since a Butthole Surfers show circa November '89.
Perfect use of Fernando. I tried so hard as a kid to throw that shit but alas... it usually just went sideways at a slow ninety-degree angle. If I just realized that most kimchi burns my tongue, me thinks that the OPs ain't down with me.
ReplyDelete