Pasadena, Texas is a city of industry. Everyone you meet is an operator of something. Growing up in LaPorte, TX, you were expected to work in a plant somewhere. Many of the guys I grew up with ended up with the same job as their dad, and got a house and kids in the same neighborhood. If you are driving down 225, remarkably, the stale pollution smell hits you at the exact same time as you see the “Pasadena City Limits” sign. If you are driving through Pasadena at night, you will see more police cars than civilian cars, and they will pull you over just for not driving a truck.
I don’t have a problem with police, but I do have a problem with Pasadena police. As a teenager, I was pulled over once with three Hispanic friends in the car with me. Why? Because my car was blue. And blue is also a gang color, I guess. We were photographed and added to a “suspected gang member” watchlist, although none of us were breaking any laws at the time. After that, I was pulled over regularly. You know, for being a suspected gang member. That was just the start of my troubles in Pasadena (some of which actually were my direct responsibility), and I pledged never to return.
Ever.
As you can see on the taco map at the top right of the page, there aren’t many spots in the Southeast area. It’s not because there are no tacos there, because oh boy, there are plenty. It’s because I hate Pasadena with the fury of a thousand sun gods.
However, due to the astounding number of taco eateries in this area I had to buckle on this commitment and understand that Pasadena could no longer be ignored. I called up my old friend Mando the Pitbull, who lives in the area. We call him that because he injures people.
We cruised down Edgebrook, right off of 45, in Pitbull’s gleaming F150. I hadn’t been on this street in years, and I liked what I saw. Scores of taco trucks extended down both sides of the street. I grinned from ear to ear as Mando adjusted the settings on the Rockford-Fosgate Power T500 amplifier with his cell phone, pushing 2200 watts to each of the three T215D2 Powerstage 2 15-inch subwoofers. A hairline crack in the asphault spidered across the street, as a flight of pigeons went into a collective seizure. You know how armies sometimes play drums while they march into battle? It’s the same concept, I think. Rather than surprise his enemies, he prefers to announce his wrath from afar.
I spotted Taqueria Taconmadre on the left, which looks like a small restaurant with three army-green school bus-sized taco trucks in the parking lot, two of which were closed. Neon signs advertised some of their non-typical cuisine, such as enchiladas poblanas and elotes. I couldn’t really figure out the restaurant- the door was unlocked, but it just went into a small room with another door. Whatever.
I ordered at the truck: one suadero, one al pastor (they call it “trompo”), one fajita, and one barbacoa. I opened up my foil, and they looked and smelled great. I frowned at the odd pre-packaged, seemingly factory-sealed salsa pouch. After dousing with lime and a touch of salt, I applied the brownish-red salsa and chowed down. The salsa had a bold, surprising and complex taste that I was instantly enamored with. I put it on everything. The al pastor stood out with a very unique, rich and delicious taste. On a street where taco trucks reign, Taconmadre makes its mark with unique seasonings and some of my favorite red salsa around. It’s also open 24/7. As we enjoyed our tacos, a police cruiser pulled a Taurus over in the parking lot, brought the guy to the back of the vehicle and started patting him down. Probably one of those non-truck driving gang member types.
I visited Baytown, TX with J.C. Reid a month or two ago, and he found a hidden gem, Taqueria Sahuayo.
On a cold and overcast Sunday in January, I drove to Baytown to pick up my brother and continue the taco expedition in this oft-forgotten city.
“What an ugly day”, I noted.
“Not really”, he responded brightly. “It’s always overcast in Baytown”.
This didn’t make any sense to me at the time, but as I tore down the road that went through the Exxon refinery, it occurred to me that he was right. Every time I go to Baytown I get lost, and every time I go to Baytown it is overcast. Go figure. Read the rest…
Here’s a guest post from taco hunter Jeff Timpanaro. You can see more of Jeff on his personal blog. Enjoy! G&T
TAMALES ATASCOCITA 5105 Fm 1960 Rd E, Humble, TX 77346
Most Houstonians agree: for all its commuting connectivity, F.M. 1960 is one Ugly Betty stretch of road.
Despite being a haven for local businesses – many of which are great independent restaurants – we suspect that city planners from Dayton all the way to Cypress just haven’t given a damn about aesthetics.
“Screw zoning and trees. Let’s just keep putting up stuff,” they say.
4,203,338 strip centers later, they have just now taken notice of the 14% occupancy rate, and are taking a well-deserved kolache break. When they return, they’re going to put up more of those intersection cameras that generate you a customized $75.00 ticket for going 1 mph through a right turn at a red light. Picture included. Read the rest…
Me, searching for a week to find a taco truck right by my house.
Monday
I met up with some colorful characters at the infamous Big Star Bar on a Monday night in the Houston Heights. Naturally, our mutual conversation turned to tacos, so I suggested the nearby Tacos Three Amigos truck on 20th street one block away.
As we all know, every crew you run across involves at least one slinky vegetarian girl that tries to change up the food game for everyone. I can play this game all day long on my side of town, because I’ve got tacos for anyone, even these “I’m-Audrey-Hepburn- except-I-don’t-wear-fur” types.
For instance, Tacos Three Amigos has excellent cactus tacos (nopales). Vegetarian problem solved.
“Hurry, they close early on slow nights”, I noted.
They headed to the truck around the block, but the leader of the pack, Martinez, called me back to tell me that Tacos Three Amigos was closed. Bummer. But then he told me something that blew my mind. Read the rest…
This article was contributed by fellow tacoman Ziggy Smogdust. You can read more about his ethnic food adventures on his ethnic food blog which covers the Southwest side of Houston. Enjoy! -GunsandTacos
I had just sent GunsandTacos a message asking if he knew of any good trucks by my school. I work at the south end of the energy corridor, so cheap ethnic eats are hard to come by. I set out to explore the area on Highway Six at Eldridge, heading south on Highway Six. No luck. Logans, Chili’s, & Timmy Chan’s was it. There was a new Ostioneria Arandas that I may have to check out.
I headed east on Westheimer back towards my part of town. I had promised to install a new router and wireless card for my mother. My dad had been meaning to get around to it, but he passed away a few weeks ago, so the job was up to me. Read the rest…
Here’s a guest post from taco champ Jeff Timpanaro, who has possibly found the ugliest taco stand of all time. Humble, TX. – GunsandTacos
Just as I was just about to open my pie hole – again – to bitch about the lack of taco trucks in my community, up pops Tortas El Tortugo, less than one mile from my house. It has likely been there for years, but in my trafficky haste I’ve just never noticed it. So I guess it didn’t “pop up” as much as it entered my awareness. Happy day.
This morning it was time to make my first visit. After all, I’d just completed some lab work which required a morning fast. As those who know and love me will attest, the only thing I hate worse than missing breakfast is being trapped in the shower when Aerosmith comes on the radio. Read the rest…
Alma Latina Seafood and Taqueria, 2203 North Shepherd
When I moved to the Houston Heights two years ago, I headed straight to the Mexican cantinas. There’s a logic behind this.
See, if I walk into your everyday bar, I’m an everyday guy. I’ve done it for years, and it’s just boring. Same conversation, same jukebox. My striking good looks don’t work for me, because there’s a Gerard Butler on every corner in this town.
If I walk into one of these Mexican joints, I’m either a celebrity or some kind of psycho. There’s no in between. All eyes are on me. The men want to kick my ass, and the women give me sly looks. Some people call me an adrenaline junkie. Read the rest…
On a remarkably sunny and breezy Houston day, 10 something, I drove up to the empty Northwest Mall parking lot. A lone brown paper bag quietly tumbled across the lot, as I pulled into a parking spot with a faded wheelchair emblem painted onto the gritty asphalt.
Three men sat on the curb in front of Macy’s, which had been closed for months. As they stared, the largest of the three, wearing a straw sombrero, reached into a small cooler and pulled out a 32 ounce Tecate, or as we called it in Mexico, a “caguama”.
I stepped out of my large vehicle, advancing toward the men with a steady, unflinching gait.
I was wary, knowing there was no legitimate reason to hang around the infamous Mall of Ghosts, that is unless one were interested in purchasing cell phone accessories or airbrushed Scarface shirts.
As he smiled an evil grin, I then realized that this would be the beginning of an epic day. These men were here for tacos, and the long-awaited Houston Chowhounds Taco Crawl had begun.
The vehicles started pouring in, and we loaded the bus. Dozens of chefs, food writers/bloggers, restaurant industry folks, and tacoholics met up in this giant deserted parking lot with one mission in mind. Well, two if you include the consumption of alcoholic beverages.
We started out with two creatively named teams: Team A and Team B.
Team A was the taco party bus, which was a large school bus that held about 45. Team B included everyone else. Some of the taco hounds decided to come up with Team C, which included anyone riding in a convertible, though I think their loyalty to the group had more to do with following Peggy around.
You see, Peggy is a load of fun to hang out with, plus she had a convertible and a homemade batch of sangria that was eloquently composed the night before with watermelon juice, blood orange, papaya, thai basil and rosé; served with dry soda, vodka, and frozen grapes. Frozen grapes, because ice cubes are just boring.
I brought along a pinata that had been painstakingly shaped into the form of a famous Mexican luchador. As the bus departed in the exact opposite direction of Jarro Cafe, I handed out Mexican comic books to everyone, most with lowbrow illustrations of scantily-clad Chicana women on the front covers. Why not.
Meanwhile, the exotic and mysterious Lina Fuh, riding in the front seat of the bus, explained to the bus driver that she was probably holding her map upside down.
I’d brought along a small and powerful slingshot I had purchased at Canino’s on Airline the day before. You know, for some extra bus fun. I loaded a pack of Chicles, stretched back the band as far as I could, and fired toward the back of the bus. I missed, however, and it launched the Chicle pack right into the forehead of the guy sitting directly behind me. The chicle pack exploded on impact, and rained down onto the floor of the bus.
DAMN that had to hurt.
Of course I wasn’t going to let Mr. Cerebral Contusion get in the way of everyone’s fun, so I pocketed the slingshot, yelled “Heads Up!”, and threw the Chicles toward the back of the bus instead. And what do you know, on the first throw and the second, I somehow hit two different girls right in the cornea.
Don't let the bright colors fool you- these aren't child's play.
Both teams stopped in at the famous Jarro Cafeon North Gessner. Not only did they have the aptly-named “Neon”, the sauce with a 200-year half life, they also released two new salsas for the occasion. They were well prepared for the crowd, and got the orders out in a flash. In fact, they started giving out delicious free bistek tacos to anyone who wasn’t already stuffed with tacos. The tacos carnitas, marinated in orange juice, were popular as well as some of the less ordinary menu fare, such as the cochinita de pibil and campechano, a beef/chorizo combination which is hailed as their specialty.
Photo by Syd Kearney, 2995
Beaver’s superchef Jonathan Jones captivated the foodies with his fluent Spanish and upcoming recipes, while cake extraordinaire Rachelwowed the dessert crew with the exquisite art of buttercream preparation and food photography. This gave me a wonderful opportunity to siphon gasoline from both of their vehicles since the bus was running a little low.
Tacos El Mapache is a cool little restaurant, and it has a taco stand in the same strip center. We stepped over a guy that was passed out on the sidewalk with a half-full beer in his hand, so I quickly called dibs on it. Hey, there’s no beer like free beer.
We lined up at the taco truck, and everyone tried something different. The barbacoa and lengua were a big hit, and we enjoyed the Southern Mexico style pastor as well.
The crew set up camp in the parking lot. We were short on plastic cups, so I picked up a bunch of small brown paper bags to help the beer drinkers assimilate into their new surroundings.
About the time we had finished eating, Team B was back from Cocina de Colima. Cocina de Colima was one of our stops that make their corn tortillas by scratch and on demand, and they’ve got some of my favorite tacos al pastor in town. Overall the consensus was good, though some weren’t crazy for the ceviche or mojarra frita there.
Photo by Syd Kearney 29-95
We packed up and headed to our next stop, Tacorrey and Taqueria Mi Jalisco, again departing in the wrong direction.
Tacorrey and Taqueria Mi Jalisco are two separate taco trucks across the street from one another on Fulton and Berry Street. The various meats at Tacorrey were popular, as well as their tacos al vapor (steamed tacos) that they had cooked up just for the Chowhound crew. Some of the more adventurous eaters headed across the street to try the excellent tacos de tripas at Mi Jalisco, which were served with sweet caramelized onions and grilled jalapenos.
Most of Team A found a nice shady spot behind the taco truck to set up their lawnchairs. I had a great time talking tacos with Tex-Mex aficionado Jay Francis. I poked around at everyone’s tacos, finding out which were the favorites. We had plenty of room in the parking lot to hang around and chat in the beautiful weather. I was surprised to meet Adam Richman, host of the Travel Channel’s “Man vs. Food” grubbing out on tacos as well.
Behind the scenes, teams B and C were staging a coup. With the notorious J.C. Reid and Jenny Wang leading the way, teams B and C formed Team Rogue, a band of Taco Truck Crawl deviants who pledged a sovereign allegiance to go somewhere that was not on the printed itinerary. Also they were kind of drunk.
Team Rogue, led by J.C. Reid.
Team A took the party bus to Taqueria Laredo on Patton Street. Laredo on Patton has been highly reviewed by food writers across the city, regardless of the Mexican Barbie interior. The different meats were roasted and slow-cooked, and were served with handmade flour tortillas. Although I’m a big fan of the corn tortilla, flour can be a bit easier to work with when you’ve got a half-pound of green pork adobo dripping everywhere. In the nearby Fiesta parking lot, most of Team A headed to a churro truck which served amazing fresh cinnamon and condensed-milk desserts.
Amazing unplanned churro stop.
Meanwhile, Team Rogue was at Gerardos Drive In, enjoying Gerardo’s famed barbacoa straight from the skull, steamed right in front of them. I must admit, I was insanely jealous when I saw the picture below.
This is how it's done, folks.
After we got back to our cars, half the crew met up at Big Star Bar on 19th for the afterparty, and the other half made a pit stop at Mam’s House of Ice for snow cones beforehand to cool off their scorched palates before showing up at Big Star.
I’m fairly sure that everyone who had anything to do with Houston food was in attendance. After some beer and tequila, I disemboweled the pinata so everyone could try the unusual Mexican candy.
Although there were specials on Mexican beer and Lone Stars, I enjoyed Conroe’s Pine Belt Ale from Southern Star Brewery, which seems to be popping up everywhere lately. A nice fella named Mike Watson even brought a magnificent pork shoulder for those remarkable folks that still had appetites.
Someone even brought a keg of beer to the party. I have no idea whose it was, but I grabbed a plastic cup from the bartender and went to work on it, because hey, you know what they say about free beer.
The following article was contributed by Jeff Timpanaro, who seriously stopped at a taco truck on his way home from cardiac rehab. This man is a hero. -G&T
Taco Truck Virgin Goes Motorin’
A few months back, Mr. Guns & Tacos himself asked me to contribute to this blog about . . oh well, you know. It sure the hell wasn’t guns.
"I NEVER DID IT, OK?!"
I wonder if it occurred to him that I had NEVER ONCE visited a taco truck. Oh yes, I was your regular Molly Ringwald (“Claire”) from Breakfast Club: a pompous virgin of massive proportions who had never hosted her own taco invasion.
Oh sure, I could tiptoe my way around Airline Dr., visiting many an independent Mexican joint. But I never thought I was brave enough for taco trucks. Or maybe it just never crossed my mind.
I am so glad all of that changed today.
CHASTITY VANQUISHED "AL PASTOR"
My dad was driving me home from cardiac rehab. He had to stop for gas, and ended up at an Exxon station in Humble – very near George W. Bush Int’l Airport. (FM 1960 at Lee Rd.)
In the parking lot sat my knight in shining armor: Tacos El Mexicano (or El Taco Mexicano).
Being 4 o’clock in the afternoon, there was no one around, but the big neon said OPEN so off I went while dad filled up the car.
In Spanish I ordered two tacos, both “al pastor”. I asked for “cebolla, limon, y cilantro” (onion, lime, and cilantro). As I waited, I couldn’t resist asking the guy whether or not they made the corn tortillas from scratch.
He explained that they made the “harina” (flour) fresh but the corn tortillas were made by Guerrero, and he even showed me the package. As he assured me how wonderful they were, I know that somewhere, somehow, someone’s sensor de bullsheet must have been blowin’ up.
I also noticed with mild amusement a Harris County certificate of Food Service Managerial Training that was posted on the window. Probably there to appease curious gringos like me. It hedged my doubt by at least 6%.
Anyway, they quickly produced two tacos al pastor, and I was on my way.
As I settled into the back seat, my dad – previously uninterested in snacking – quickly changed his tune.
“Oh man, these look good, Pop,” I said.
And they did. What they lacked in size they made up with thickness: two double wrapped tacos filled with firm seasoned pork, onions, and cilantro. I was happy to see they had included sauteed onions on the side.
I was so ready to snarf these down that I forgot to take a picture until I’d eaten most of the 2nd taco. Here’s the best my Blackberry could render:
After all the evidence was gone, I discovered the little cup of green sauce I’d requested at the bottom of the bag. I fished it out, dunked in a finger and tried it . . . I think my pupils must have turned the color of volcano lava. A hot mofo of a green sauce that I was glad I’d left off my tacos, in retrospect.
So there you have it. I’m your sleazy, promiscuous, Taco Truck bitch! And I’m proud of it. So if you’re predisposed to Taco Bell, Chipotle, or heaven forbid Casa Ole, go find yourself a stud taco truck and see what you’ve been missing.
So I guess it didn’t “pop up” as much as it entered my awareness. Happy day.
When I moved to the Houston Heights two years ago, I headed straight to the Mexican cantinas. There’s a logic behind this.
