The Taco Truck

I got something to eat from a taco truck a bit ago, giving me grounds to write about it now. It was a new experience when I moved here, but I had no fear about partaking, and still don't. Be it a real taco truck, other kind of 'mobile restaurant', or even an unlicensed hot dog cart, I will order up and eat the proprietor's wares with gusto should the mood strike me. Today, it was a tasty burrito from the truck regularly found parked on the street outside my bank.

It's remarkable the previously unknown options one has in such an setting, particularly for those whose sole previous Latin American eating experiences are Taco Bell and the sit-down restaurant equivalent thereof. Gazing at the sign, one might well wonder what lengua, cabeza and carnitas are. Frankly, with many of them it's best to enjoy in ignorance, but you will occasionally realize immediately and not be able to forget as is possible with some iffy cuts of meat. Today I got lengua, which is tongue. You look at the meat, and you know.

I had a nice little chat with the guy, instructing him to load up the burrito with all the fixin's. Upon receiving my Mexican Coke and paying, I was headed back to the apartment, just as happy as a clam. That's what the taco truck does for you.