So the lowercase-m mexican place in the food court next door was called Crazy Taco and it had such a white take on Mexican food that you would swear it was Finnish. You know, Finland? The country with the Scandinavian politics and the Russian ghost stories? Yeah, imagine those people making you a burrito.
So a couple months back, the menu board outside Crazy Taco that listed their several lunch combo specials (usually just mathematic variations on taco and burrito pairings with a soft drink) was covered with a sign promising “New Authentic Mexican Food Coming Soon!” I looked at the place and saw the same two Asian folks that always worked there, wondered what was going on, and shrugged it off. What did they mean by “authentic”? Would they stop using a microwave to prepare my chimichanga?
No, I’m not making that up. They microwaved my chimichanga.
But last week, Gangsta Sandy from Family Court Services came in saying she tried the new place that may or may not still be called Crazy Taco and said it was better than old Crazy Taco but still just OK. So this is where I went for lunch today.
On the other side of the sneeze guard, the layout was familiar but noticeably different. And the staff were all new, too. I looked at the meat and saw my latest Latinx-cuisine obsession and asked homie behind the counter, “Is that tinga?” He said yeah and I grabbed a burrito to go, loaded with cheese, seasoned rice, pico, guac, and corn and given a side of salsa verde, and off I went, returning to the loading dock, prepared to watch some hoary old 1940s horror movie.
How was it?
The tinga was good, tasted like it was supposed to. The rice was dece, I mean, what are you going to say about rice? Didn’t taste the guac - didn’t see the guac even though I watched him put it on there. Cheese made no impact. The pico and corn? Not going to lie, could have used a bit more lime and a bit less cilantro but otherwise was fine. The salsa verde was a jam, just spicy enough to keep me eating it. Overall? Better than probably eighty percent of what’s in walking distance from the office on the Skyway because - hey, we’re about to get racist here - the place has gone from lowercase-m to Capital-M Mexican, by which I’m implying that the new staff are of the persuasion that knows how to properly season their meat. You know, like the kind of people that might be from the place where this kind of food is made so they would, you know, know. I mean, they put tamales on the menu. (Gangsta Sandy wasn’t a fan.)
I also noticed a particular absence of a microwave. That’s promising. However, this is on the Skyway, so I might have to visit them again before making my usual declaration, but as of today’s lunch I’m tentatively encouraging you to give them your money.
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