Urban Belly and a Detour

After Hot Doug's, we made our way back to the el stop via a path that would take us by Urban Belly. But then we came upon Carniceria Guanajuato and had to swing in. Why, by the way, is there a big Mexican community in Chicago? One would think that somewhere warmer would be a whole lot more comfortable?

Bastard Consultant and I immediately gravitated towards the aquarium displays of crispy fried chicharrone. But what really made us swoon was something that I don't have a picture for. It is pig's skin that has been slowly cooked until the tough ingredient has become gelatinous, sticky, and infused with the cooking broth.

It is: God Crack. Seriously. Every time a bit of the heavenly substance touched my lips, my eyes widened in wonder. God. How can something taste so amazing before one has even started chewing. Just from the moment it hits your tongue. God Crack.

God Crack that we ate huddled in the doorway of a closed real estate agent's office. Because it was cold. 40 degrees cold. Even though it was May. I swear, if it weren't some of these recent food finds, I'd be seriously depressed about this town.

After we had had our fill of surprise Mexican market delights, we made our way to Urban Belly, where we got the Asian Squash & Bacon dumplings, which though a touch too sweet, are pretty good overall.

The real reason why I wanted to come was to check out the Rice Noodle with hominy, kimchee and spicy pork broth. I had previously tried the Urbanbelly Ramen and been none too impressed. But Art Smith had gone on and one about the Rice Noodles in The Best Thing I Ever Ate.

Okay, this is a lot better than the Urbanbelly Ramen. The broth is fantastic, though the need for the hominy was debated amongst the Bastard Consultant and the Pesky Pescatarian. I like it well enough, though I guess it's not utterly critical.

Carniceria Guanajuato, 3140 N. California Ave., Chicago, IL

Urban Belly, 3053 N. California Ave., Chicago, IL

Big Star Taco

We had some unseasonably warm weather earlier this week. Since then Chicago has taunted and teased me with blasts of cool and deceptive bright sunny days. Today is a perfect example. The sky is blue, and the sun is shining, making a girl dream of flip flops and white skirts, but the weather report says the temperature outside is 33 degrees. If Chicago were a friend, I'd say, "I hate youuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuu." And close it with a smile.

Anyways, this Monday it truly was warm, so I met up with my friend for lunch at Big Star Taco. Big Star Taco is really easy to get to via the el. It's right off of the Damen stop on the Blue line.

It was one of those bright bright days, where one has to squint to make eye contact and avoid the sun's glare. We sat outside, had a cold beer, and proceeded to demolish four tacos each.

The fish taco was superb. The slightly bitter and crunchy radish paired well with the big honkin' slices of creamy avocado. Lime juice drizzled out of the taco and down my pinky. I strongly urge you to pay a visit.

Big Star Taco, 1531 N. Damen Ave., Chicago, IL

Frontera Grill

Frontera Grill Guacamole

I had high expectations for Frontera Grill, but like an over-achieving mother with her grand ambitions for small child, the poor restaurant needed to be some other kind of good in order to fulfill my dreams.

A plate of rice and beans that bizarrely had some giant tortilla chips sticking out of it.

The absolute best thing of the evening was the cream covering Plantanos con Crema. I was like an addict on crack and could not get enough of it. I kept on dipping the tines of my fork back into the rich stuff over and over and over again.

Frontera Grill, 445 North Clark St., Chicago, IL

Queens Food Crawl: Taco Cart

On the corner of Roosevelt and 75th sit two taco carts that caused me a great deal of distress the last time I was in Queens. I was finishing up my first Queens food crawl, and we had already eaten at Spicy Mina and were waiting for our names to be called at Sripraphai, so I couldn't justify grabbing a taco.

The planned agenda on this food crawl was to move from Chinese food to Indian food. We hadn't exactly scheduled for a Mexican break. But I couldn't just walk by either, so I sat there back against the wall, staring at the two carts.

Finally it became clear that I needed to have something, and I hemmed and hawed over which cart to choose. I tried to discern which cart had more Spanish, hoping that would signal some extra authenticity, but they were the same. Finally, I chose on the basis of the spicy pickles available in the second cart.

And I got a chicharrone taco, my first. I stared as the lady layered queso fresco over the crispy fried pork skins. Then I and the Dr. Consultant went at it, chowing down on the taco simultaneously, cheese pulling from our lips, each of us hunched over the flimsy paper plate in our own blissful Lady and the Tramp moment.

Pinche Taqueria

When I first tried Pinche Taqueria a few weeks after it had opened (courtesy not of my scoping out abilities, but my dear friend, who always seems to know about the new restaurant worth visiting), I was excited. Finally, a decent approximation of Mexican food.

Now that I've had the privilege to help make tacos from scratch though, Pinche really can't compete. The tortilla seems stale in comparison, and the flavors muted.

Pinche Taqueria, 333 Lafayette (at Bleeker), New York, NY

Taco Party Part 4

The fish was sliced, marinated, battered and deep fried. And the assembling could begin!

We decided the best combination was some cabbage salad, kimchee, a spicy habanero mayo, some mango salsa and a battered fried fish piece atop a piping hot fresh tortilla.

Yum yum YUM yum yum.

Some flan for dessert to round out the evening, and all was right in the world.

Taco Party Part 3

My value add to the event was mainly frippery. Instead of shredded green cabbage for the tacos, I pushed for shredded red cabbage, green cabbage, and thinly sliced radishes. Did I ever tell you how much I love my mandoline? Even though I practically cause serious injury to my fingertips every single time I use it?

Pico de Gallo courtesy of Pioneer Woman. Is it kosher to make a pico de gallo in New York using a recipe from a woman who lives in Oklahoma, all for a party whose menu has been set by a kid from Los Angeles?

Mango Salsa, using what I think is this recipe from the Food Network.

Below the two salsas is a container of my friend's homemade salsa. We also made three types of mayo: Habenero Cilantro, Habanero Mint and Mango Chili mayonnaise.

We also sliced up some kimchee, but that wasn't my idea. But it's genius.

I did make pitchers and pitchers of mango margarita. By the way, lugging back a 20 lb. watermelon from Chinatown in a backpack really knocks the wind out of a girl.

For dessert I made a margarita ice cream and a watermelon mint sorbet, but by the time we got to those nobody had the strength of character to take any photos. No, that doesn't make any sense, but just roll with me.

Moment: someone digging into my freezer hoping for more margarita ice cream began to hack away at my store of frozen duck fat in a mistaken but laudatory effort to get more dessert.

The condiment and topping spread.

Taco Party Part 2

My friend is Mexican, and he brought with him a little black notebook filled not with the phone numbers of various ladies, though I wouldn't be surprised if he has one of those too, but instead page after page of his mother's recipes that he had painstakingly copied down. I didn't get a chance to copy down the recipe, but No Recipes has one up that seems the same.

Halfway into the party, we were in the weeds. (Yo, is that proper usage?) And both I and guests chipped in with the tortilla making assembly line. (Warning: if you are ever invited to my place, be prepared to help me take out the recycling, pull down glasses, or run other random errands as I almost always need help.)

After you make the dough, take a small amount to roll into a ball with the palms of your hands.


Dump it on a tray to flatten later.

A thin coating of vegetable oil will help it avoid sticking to the pan when it cooks.

When you have a couple of masa balls rolled and ready, you can start pressing the tortillas.

My friend, who I want to start calling Taco Man, but maybe he would find that demeaning, though lord knows he shouldn't, brought along a tortilla press. Cover each side with plastic wrap, and then place the masa ball closer to the hinge because when you press down the tortilla will spread towards the other end of the press.

Then press down hard. It helps if you have a tall Asian guy with strong arm muscles. Hey you, you who fits the description, don't go getting your head all blown up all out of proportion now.

Look, pretty raw tortilla.

Then plop the tortilla onto a griddle, such as this little pan made just for toasting the tortillas. Later we flipped the grill to the griddle side and were cooking up a half dozen at a time until we finally had a halfway decent tortilla buffer. Because I'm telling you for awhile, we had to just shout out to our guests when the tortillas were ready, so they could run and grab one to make their tacos. Making tacos super fresh has its compromises.

And that's how you make tortillas!

P.S. Asbestos fingers help as well. But a spatula will do in a pinch.

El Tonayense Taco Truck

People who think San Francisco is a warm place are cracked in the head. I'm always swaddled in a pashmina when in this town because of the bloody fog. I hear the blessed people in the Castro and the Mission get a break and are permitted to pretend they live in California, but for the San Francisco I know, living here means big puffy down jackets or frigid fingers.

But once you leave town, the fog parts abruptly and suddenly you're under the wide blue California sky with the sun beating on your face as you zip down the highway with the radio blasting favorite high school tunes.

There are some compensations though. Good cheap ethnic food for one. Welcome to the El Tonayense Taco Truck.

Dumb Kid Brother and I came to be here because we went to the Mission Cliffs climbing gym to work out. Me by sweatin' it on the elliptical and him by working 80 foot walls. Lord I have not seen so many ripped back muscles since well, the last time I was in this former warehouse perpetually smelling vaguely of foot. Lithe and beastly strong Asian women with washboard abs scrambled up monstrously difficult walls while a tiny hippy child hung upside down on a boulder, his long curly brown locks swinging in the air perfumed by chalk dust. I felt beyond inferior.

So I comforted myself with some calories. Three dollars got me a tongue taco and tripe taco. And my dumb-kid-brother paid. Even better.

On the food itself, the tongue was great, the tripe didn't do it for me, but I realized that I have never gotten a tripe taco before because most taco places don't have it on their menu, and when they do, they always seem to be out whenever I show up. I tell you, the world of delicious Mexican food has been conspiring to limit my taste knowledge, and it was only by latching onto my DKB that was I able to sneakily gain entry to the world of tripe tacos. Except now I have, and it didn't rock.

But those pickled jalapenos did. I could have just gotten a plate of those and some tortillas and salsa and been happy.

Can we note here that this taco truck was in the Mission? It is still not clear to me why someone willingly lives in the Richmond or the Sunset where they can freeze their tushes off in a million-dollar home in a boring neighborhood: such is life in the model-minority ghettos of Slam-Bam-Disco, otherwise known as 'Frisco.

El Tonayense Taco Truck, 22nd Street and Harrison Street

Cabrito

Sorry about the late posting guys. I followed my brother to watch him teach this morning, which meant that we left at 7:10 a.m., which to me is the butt crack of dawn. Do not yet possess the ability to both blog and be conscious when the ghouls are just retiring from their nightly horrors.

Man, it's intimidating to go out for Mexican food for the kid responsible for this meal. I mean, before he advanced to homemade tortillas for his legendary fish tacos, he had his mother in Los Angeles basically FedEx some "worthy" specimens for a prior taco party.

Which meant of course, that when he was utterly unimpressed with these tacos from Cabrito, I pretended like that conclusion was beyond obvious to me as well. In reality, I was so happy to be eating a taco, I'm not so sure I would have realized they were sub-par if my friend hadn't pointed that out to me.

My tasting faculties were however, intact enough that I was able to bash the rest of the offerings without assistance. Considering how cheap they are to make, and that in a gazillion million Mexican kitchens right now there are probably pots of superlative rice and beans simmering on their stove as you read this, it really is a travesty that in the greatest city on the planet (my hometown obviously) it is difficult to get a plate of decent rights and beans. New York, step up!

I'm going to hit up the boroughs this summer and find some real Mexican restaurants. There is just no way the Mexican community actually puts up with this sacrilege. It's only idiots like myself who pay $5 for a plate of rice and beans who willingly shovel the stuff down their gullet.

Cabrito's rice and beans are not retch inducing, not by a long shot, they just don't make me swoon.

You see, to me a great meal involves at least one involuntary moan of pleasure. That's when you know you've hit jackpot.

The main reason why we went to Cabrito, is because we wanted to order this cemita. Except we screwed up and ordered the above huarache instead. Turns out those are only on the lunch menu, but did Tasting Table tell us as much? Tasting Table I blame you for our meal.

I ordered this. I should have known better. It's short ribs. It came with what appeared to be two flour tortillas. If they were, let me just say here that generally flour tortillas belong in a Taco Bell. And I love me some good Taco Bell, but that's not Mexican, that's just fast food goodness, a food category unto itself.

Frank Bruni somehow managed to deem this ribs "spectacular." I just don't understand how he could eat it and describe it as "ablaze with guajillo and chile de arbol" when the whole thing has a pretty mellow flavor. It almost made me think of a Chinese comfort dish. Honey, if you want spectacular, go hit up your colleague Mark Bittman and ask him to cook you up a batch of his Short Ribs with Coffee and Chili.

We didn't keep out disapproval to ourselves, and vocally muttered our ways through the meal, until the end, when I noticed that we were sitting right under an open window that connected to the kitchen. Oops. Well, at least they know we think they suck.

And in Bruni's defense, he did say that "Cabrito is afflicted by an inconsistency that’s puzzling, even maddening." Yeah, I'll say.

Cabrito, 50 Carmine St. (near Bedford), 212-929-5050.

Fish Tacos

Sometimes it pays off to be friendly. When I found out that L makes a mean fish taco I made it a point to ingratiate myself. Lucky me, turns out he's one of the nicest people I've ever met. So nice that despite my blatant sudden interest in him post taco-awareness, he still invited me to a dinner of homemade fish tacos.

The man cooked everything from scratch: batter, salsa and even the corn tortillas. The effort shone in each bite: flaky white fish enveloped in a cocoon of piping-hot fried but light batter, nestling in a bed of crispy cabbage marinating in a piquant salsa with hints of fresh lime juice, all wrapped in the warm pliable tortilla.

Taqueria Pit Stop

KM and I flew into San Francisco together Columbus Day weekend. She was off to a weekend of wine tastings and a Thomas Keller brunch. I was heading back for a high school friend's wedding. Rather brilliantly, KM convinced me to book a flight that would require us to leave work mid-afternoon, which sort of freaked me out, but would get us into SF in time for a late dinner.

KM hasn't been to SF since middle school, so she wasn't prepared for the reality that everything closes early. We settled upon El Farolito, since it stays open until 4am. Look, a bucket of horchata and friends.

Even their chips taste saltier and cornier than the chips in New York. The chip is thicker and crunchier too, and the salsas are actually spicy.

Carne asada taco. $1.50! My recession wallet smiles.

Lengua (tongue) and cabeza (head) tacos. I expected the cabeza to be really fatty and rich, but instead it was actually a bit dry. The lengua was amazing. It was soft and flavorful. I even convinced my skeptical brother to try a piece of lengua, and he had to concede that it was tasty. Let that be a lesson to you T, big sis is always right Except for the story about there being some sort of secret underground chamber beneath the Statute of Liberty.

One of KM's friends ordered these nachos. New Yorkers observe. This is what we call nachos. I'm not even saying that these are really good nachos. I have no idea, didn't try any. But do you observe the toppings to chips ratio? This is how we like to roll in California. Live life a little, give an extra dollop of sour cream and slice some more avocados. You need the energy to make it up the subway stairs.