I am in the land of Taco Bell. And I mean that as a compliment.
When we were young, my mother would take my brother and me to every new Mexican restaurant in Portland.
She loved Mexican food. Still does. And Darrel and I learned from her that Mexican food was great cuisine.
Now, those of you who are convinced that I am about to label what is served at Taco Bell as Mexican food, you can calm down. You may have guessed -- all of that was mere foreplay to one of my tales.
About ten years ago, I was standing in line at a Taco Bell in Salem. I was the sixth person in line. The five young men in front of me were Mexican.
I am a fan of visual disparity. But this was irony writ large. And I could not let the moment go unremarked.
So, I asked the young man in front of me: "I'm just curious. What is it you like about Taco Bell?"
His response could have been written by O. Henry: "I love American food."
He was correct. Taco Bell may make a nodding reference to south-of-the-border cuisine, but it is certainly not Mexican food. A fact that was underscored by our second tale.
My brother helped me drive to Mexico in early 2009. He then stayed for a month while I got settled into my new life.
We frequented a restaurant that served a traditional offering of tacos. (Because there was a sign in front of the place advertising "ricos tacos," Darrel insisted on calling it "Rico's Tacos." Where he gets that sense of humor, I have no idea.)
I will confess I was a bit surprised at how the tacos were served on that first visit. The plate arrived with grilled meat topping three small (little more than dollar-sized) tortillas. The rest of the toppings were in a lazy susan. It struck me as a very good way to serve tacos. Build your own.
About a month after Darrel flew back to Oregon, I stopped by the same restaurant for supper. I had just sat down when a Canadian woman I had met earlier in town showed up with her husband and two young children.
This was their first visit to Melaque. In fact, their first visit to Mexico. And it was evident things were not going well. All four of them looked as if they were in round 4 of family feud.
I greeted them as they sat down, and got a perfunctory nod for my efforts. The waitress, who did not speak English, came over and explained the meats available on the tacos. The lack of a printed menu irritated the woman, but they managed to order by agreeing that they all wanted pollo.
While they were waiting, I could tell something was wrong. She finally said, to her family: "Where are the tortilla chips? They should have brought us tortilla chips by now. And salsa."
And then much louder to the waitress standing by the kitchen: "Where are our tortilla chips?"
The waitress looked a bit perplexed. But she smiled, pick up a lazy susan of condiments, and brought it to the table.
The woman responded: "Well, at least she brought us salsa."
That surprised me because the tray contained little compartments of onion, cilantro, beans, tomato, limes, and some very spicy habanero-based salsa. But not much that most tourists would classify as "salsa."
The woman was just about to ask for chips again, when the taco plates arrived. I thought she would be pleased. I was wrong.
Her children just stared at their plates. She scowled, looked up at the waitress, and demanded: "What is this?"
The waitress understood, and responded: "Tacos."
"No. These are not tacos. That's it."
She gathered her brood with a "We're out of here."
As they walked out of the front of the restaurant she fired off a parting shot: "Haven't you people ever heard of Taco Bell?"
Well, I have. "Rico's Tacos" are better. Well, at least, they are better real tacos.
In the 1970s my favorite Taco Bell menu item was a Bell Burger. A hamburger bun with taco meat filling. Apparently, the Bell Burger died before the arrival of disco.
And that is just as well. The current "think outside the bun" slogan would not bode well for it.
Even though, as we have learned, Taco Bell serves American food.
When we were young, my mother would take my brother and me to every new Mexican restaurant in Portland.
She loved Mexican food. Still does. And Darrel and I learned from her that Mexican food was great cuisine.
Now, those of you who are convinced that I am about to label what is served at Taco Bell as Mexican food, you can calm down. You may have guessed -- all of that was mere foreplay to one of my tales.
About ten years ago, I was standing in line at a Taco Bell in Salem. I was the sixth person in line. The five young men in front of me were Mexican.
I am a fan of visual disparity. But this was irony writ large. And I could not let the moment go unremarked.
So, I asked the young man in front of me: "I'm just curious. What is it you like about Taco Bell?"
His response could have been written by O. Henry: "I love American food."
He was correct. Taco Bell may make a nodding reference to south-of-the-border cuisine, but it is certainly not Mexican food. A fact that was underscored by our second tale.
My brother helped me drive to Mexico in early 2009. He then stayed for a month while I got settled into my new life.
We frequented a restaurant that served a traditional offering of tacos. (Because there was a sign in front of the place advertising "ricos tacos," Darrel insisted on calling it "Rico's Tacos." Where he gets that sense of humor, I have no idea.)
I will confess I was a bit surprised at how the tacos were served on that first visit. The plate arrived with grilled meat topping three small (little more than dollar-sized) tortillas. The rest of the toppings were in a lazy susan. It struck me as a very good way to serve tacos. Build your own.
About a month after Darrel flew back to Oregon, I stopped by the same restaurant for supper. I had just sat down when a Canadian woman I had met earlier in town showed up with her husband and two young children.
This was their first visit to Melaque. In fact, their first visit to Mexico. And it was evident things were not going well. All four of them looked as if they were in round 4 of family feud.
I greeted them as they sat down, and got a perfunctory nod for my efforts. The waitress, who did not speak English, came over and explained the meats available on the tacos. The lack of a printed menu irritated the woman, but they managed to order by agreeing that they all wanted pollo.
While they were waiting, I could tell something was wrong. She finally said, to her family: "Where are the tortilla chips? They should have brought us tortilla chips by now. And salsa."
And then much louder to the waitress standing by the kitchen: "Where are our tortilla chips?"
The waitress looked a bit perplexed. But she smiled, pick up a lazy susan of condiments, and brought it to the table.
The woman responded: "Well, at least she brought us salsa."
That surprised me because the tray contained little compartments of onion, cilantro, beans, tomato, limes, and some very spicy habanero-based salsa. But not much that most tourists would classify as "salsa."
The woman was just about to ask for chips again, when the taco plates arrived. I thought she would be pleased. I was wrong.
Her children just stared at their plates. She scowled, looked up at the waitress, and demanded: "What is this?"
The waitress understood, and responded: "Tacos."
"No. These are not tacos. That's it."
She gathered her brood with a "We're out of here."
As they walked out of the front of the restaurant she fired off a parting shot: "Haven't you people ever heard of Taco Bell?"
Well, I have. "Rico's Tacos" are better. Well, at least, they are better real tacos.
In the 1970s my favorite Taco Bell menu item was a Bell Burger. A hamburger bun with taco meat filling. Apparently, the Bell Burger died before the arrival of disco.
And that is just as well. The current "think outside the bun" slogan would not bode well for it.
Even though, as we have learned, Taco Bell serves American food.
