Ask the Locals

It’s cold, but I am sick of the 14 outbound. I pull the cord and hop off the Muni right where “Joe grinds his own chuck daily”. I ain’t gonna get a burger, of course, but here I am in the Deep Mission. Excelsior Mission. Past Silver Avenue Mission. Where the hell do you eat out here?

It’s not like it’s a strange new world out here; the territory is familiar. I’m on my way over to my friend’s house to watch the San Diego Chargers playoff game. Still dealing with a San Diego Mexican food hangover, I could think of no better way to clear the pipes than to huddle around a warm telecast from back home, while gnawing on a tube of Northern California deliciousness. But the fact remains, I come out here so infrequently I never remember where to eat.

As any good American-Mexican (I realize now that one day I must move to Mexico) will tell you, football and burritos go together like Latin-Americans and baseball. Hmm. Well anyways, the fact remains that when I get there, the first game is just finishing and his roommate is already happily working his way through a burrito. Proof enough for me; football and burritos belong together, regardless of what the all-too-powerful nacho lobby would have you believe. I stick to my guns and get the lowdown from my buddy.

As a born and bred San Franciscan, John Pabst understands the situation. While in college, we (briefly) shared (destroyed) a two-bedroom apartment in San Diego. Conveniently located between two all night taquerias, our apartment came complete with a lurching landlord whom we named Darth and his motherly mother, whom we creatively named Mom. We also had a Frankenburger, a nightmare device designed for one thing and one thing only, that being torturing a frozen beef patty until we could convince ourselves that it was edible. In other words: food was not to be cooked in that apartment. As such, the lifelong addiction to Mexican food was nourished and given ample space to grow. I got to introduce John to San Diego Mexican food and I credit John for later taking me to my first San Francisco taqueria.

For the here-and-now he recommends La Taqueria Menudo. After living in the same house for the past dozen years, I am inclined to take his advice. I warily use the middle-of-the-road-no-light crosswalk and head down Mission Street till I find it. It looks and sounds exactly like it’s supposed to; jukebox playing Banda, a long counter to walk along while the line shuffles, a gigantic inflatable soccer ball.

“Pastor. Super. Everything.”

After a not-brief visit to the well-stocked salsa bar (I forced myself away after filling 5 of those little cups), I grabbed my brown bag of goodness and headed back to John’s. Kickoff. Offensive (Defensive?) line of 5 little soldiers. Tin foil falling to the floor. My first and lasting reaction was and continues to be: I need to go back. Too much salsa left at the bar. I filled 5 different containers, and I STILL didn’t get it all. Plus the lady behind the counter was seeding dried peppers in-between orders. A true sign of pepper affection.
On the tv, large men crushed each other while I considered my burrito…

First bites can never prove themselves when working through any multi-layered construct, but the first one here was worrisome. Cold. Like the day. Cold. Hmm. Quick redemption? Yes! Next bite good.. better…hmm, tasty!
But then, meat of an unsavory texture. After an undercover deposit into a napkin I moved on… good tortilla. Grilled. Cheese? Hidden. Sour cream? Present. Maybe too present. Beans? Eh, not quite enough. Meat? Yeah, the rest of it was good…

Strange. Yeah. Best described as strange. Like out of proportion. A kid made it after all. Oh I didn’t mention that? Yeah, a kid. I know, and John can attest too – that there was a time I didn’t understand the finer points of deliciousness. I can’t blame the kid, the taste was there, but shoddy execution. Just like that apartment I got me and John evicted from…

A second try was certainly in the future. Too much untested salsa for one. Too much potential left uninspired in a land where inspiration has been before. Meanwhile, the Chargers were looking to the future too and put away a win. So, with the lingering flavor of San Diego’s Anyberto’s heightened by the Chargers win, I realized I could only wait till next week. A rematch certainly worth waiting for.