Taco Tuesday — ¡Felicidades, Y’all!

My weekly way of coping with the last four years

Taco trucks on every corner. I agree with MSNBC host Joy Reid. “I don’t even know what that means,” she replied to a pro-Rumpy guest a little more than four years ago. At least in the derogatory sense.

To me, tacos mean love. There’s nothing bad about God’s gift to culinary creations: Tex-Mex.

When I first heard the above slogan, I assumed it was a good thing. A great thing, even. I’m from the Lone Star State, the home of so many greats, including enchiladas, frijoles, chips. And, of course, tacos. So a taco truck on every corner? Bring it on!

“Street tacos,” as they’re known, have been around our neck of the woods since before that rag-tag bunch led by those yokels from elsewhere made their last stand at the Alamo. Tejanos of Mexican descent have been firing up their street-corner parrillas de carbón (charcoal grills) since at least the 19th-Century. Tex-Mex became a “thing” north of the Red River, in fact, at the Chicago World’s Fair in 1883, when someone from San Antonio set up a taco stand in the Windy City. The “Combo Platter” (some call it a plate) was invented in the Alamo City around the turn of the last century, and usually includes an entree such as enchiladas, served alongside rice and beans. Guac and pico de gallo extra.

One of my favorite Texas expressions? “One enchilada short of a combination platter”. As in, lacking something. Not all there. Comprende?

Miguel Martinez, a Mexican who immigrated to Dallas, established Tex-Mex — in my mind, at least — as the National Food of Texas (everything is “national” in the only state that was also a country) with his El Fenix Restaurant in 1915. That downtown Dallas location is still muy caliente, operating across the street from where the original restaurant first set up shop, and the Martinez family runs 20 locales bearing the El Fenix name in Texas and Oklahoma.

Down Houston way, Mama Ninfa popularized tacos — of the crunchy and soft variety — for the masses in the 1970s. And then came fajitas. What could be better than a plateful of Tex-Mex Heaven? ¡Perfecto!

I grew up with Tex-Mex. I mainline Tex-Mex. I can eat Tex-Mex for three meals a day, plus a morning, afternoon and midnight snack. Done it before. I believe Tex-Mex is king. Or queen, depending on your pronoun preference.

So, imagine my surprise when this pendejo stumping for Drumpf tried to import a nasty connotation to the Cuisine of Champions. Some guy named Marco Gutierrez, claiming to be the co-founder of a group called “Latinos for Trump” — a misnomer so egregious it should land on the “Yuck List” — dropped the “T” bomb. And not in a good way.

“My culture is a very dominant culture, and it’s imposing and it’s causing problems,” Gutierrez said. “If you don’t do something about it, you’re going to have taco trucks on every corner.” He also talked about building the “wall” and the perils of immigration. Thank God his racist, coded remarks met with quite a bit of resistance.

Of course, Sr. Gutierrez’ thoughts didn’t have the desired effect. His words were turned on their literal cabezas, prompting a group called Guac the Vote, a taco truck voter registration drive in Houston and memes that launched a million messages aimed against the Orange Oaf and his minions.

En Español, this joker became known, in my book at least, as “El Cabrón”. Literal translation? A male goat. But if you look it up, there are several unsavory definitions as well.

Trying to take down the humble taco didn’t daunt any supporters of this savory treat. In fact, it had the opposite effect. We united against a distasteful enemy.

I certainly did my part. By creating Taco Tuesday on my IG account, which is still going strong, I continue to honor El Fenix — where I spent many a cash-poor lunchtime during high school with my buds at their Northwest Highway location, munching on free chips and salsa (while one or two of us in the teenage crowd ordered a “real” lunch, which we shared with the table) — and Mama Ninfa, whose tacos al carbon (even though her modest Houston taco stand has turned into a chain with locations across Texas) were the reason I went to work some days in Dallas (so we could go out to dinner when I was on the night shift — duh).

I honor Ray Gomez, who worked with me back in the ’70s, and his family’s Christmas tamale operation, which kept us in these seasonal treats well into the spring. I honor Luna’s Tortilla Factory in Dallas, near my Mama’s work downtown, which kept us satisfied with warm, soft goodness — of the corn and flour variety — for all of my years in Big D. Have you ever enjoyed a fresh, warm, homemade tortilla? Nothing in this ever-lovin’ world like it.

I honor Joe T. Garcia’s in Fort Worth, where the entrance used to be on the side, through the kitchen, and we only ate “family style”. Imagine the surprise of out-of-town guests when a) they had to walk through the kitchen, where the magic was made, to get to their table in the dining room, and b) once seated, had every manner of Tex-Mex — from guac and chips to tacos to enchiladas to sopaipillas — placed on the table in front of them. No menus, just familia. The local health department made Joe open a “regular” entrance a while back — thought it was a tad unsanitary to walk patrons through the kitchen, I guess. Although I contend that you’ve never lived til you’ve seen a vat of steaming frijoles refritos in a big-ass kettle, ready to be served. And someone told me that Joe has a regular menu now. Sad how sometimes the best things change the most.

And I honor El Arroyo on 5th Street in Austin, whose outside marquee-type signage changes daily and in some ways may be more popular than what’s on the menu inside. One of my favorites? “What if ‘Soy’ is just milk introducing itself in Spanish?”

But one thing will never change — my love for All Things Tex-Mex. And I reckon the rest of the country feels the same. The former occupant of the White House favors cheeseburgers and KFC. That tells you only one thing: There’s no accounting for taste.

All I know is that tacos and their brethren bring me supreme pleasure. So, as I say every Tuesday on IG, ¡Felicidades, Y’all!