Guns and Tacos

Alma Latina

November 23rd, 2009 in Tacos! by Jay | 4 responses

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.

I call myself “The Intrepid Fox”, but what I call myself is really my business, so just drop it.

In each of these cantinas, I’ve noticed a significant marketing push for a place called Alma Latina on Shepherd Street in The Heights. The name is everywhere, on flyers, the picture frame above the urinal, that kind of stuff.  Even with a black eye and a specific need for dental work, I recalled this name, and decided to make a point to check it out.

I bought tacos there once or twice, and I was disappointed with both the tacos and the service there. I had almost given up on the place, until one night when I just found myself there.

Solo, you know. Not that I don’t have friends on every corner of the globe, it’s just that I like to hang out by myself. You know, just like Chuck Norris, Stephen Seagal, David Carradine, Charles Bronson, Lee Marvin, McGyver,  Dr. House, and your estranged father do.

Bullet holes give a little character to the establishment.

I sat down at a table by the window, and noticed a bullet hole right below the height of my head. This pleased me greatly, because it reminded me that I wasn’t eating at a dull  restaurant, and also that I was taller than most Mexicans.  I ordered the milanesa dinner.

Milanesa is a thin slice of beef, heavily breaded and fried in oil. It’s the same concept as a chicken fried steak, but it usually has a thin, pan fried crust. This was a lightly breaded, quarter inch-thick slab of beef, which extended off both sides of the plate. Refried beans, Mexican rice (and I use this term sparingly), fresh, made to order guacamole, and a hearty serving of pico de gallo were included. For less than eight bucks. And it was the stuff of champions. Spartan food.

A year or so later, I put together gunsandtacos.com to chronicle my taco stand adventures. I remembered Alma Latina well, not for the bad times, but for the magnificent food experience I had that night.

Actually, I kind of forgot about it until I read this article from Robb Walsh last week that dogged on it a little bit.

I could relate, since I’d had some bad experiences there as well. I commented on his article with pride, noting that the illustrious Robb Walsh had just made the mistake of ordering the wrong thing, as I smirked and cackled like Dennis Hopper. I couldn’t wait to blabber on about my secret milanesa.

I pulled into Alma Latina that very evening. I couldn’t wait to get that cool picture of the bullet hole, so I walked toward the table I remembered. The restaurant was empty except for two guys, and the waitress seated the two fellas right there in my favorite bullet-riddled spot.

I was bummed about it, but she gave me another table by the window. Guess what. This table had its own window bullet hole as well!

I started snapping pictures with my phone, as the waitresses huddled into a group and probably discussed my fashion sense and striking jawline. I slurped down a cold Tecate as I waited on this memorable dish that I was so proud to have found on my own.

Breaded milanesa dinner.

I cut into the breaded meat, and found nothing but breading. It looked good on the surface, but damn, where was the beef? I kept cutting away until I found this paper-thin slice of beef. No exaggeration- this was as thin as about three sheets of paper. Someone must have had a really sharp, expensive instrument to even attempt to cut a slice like this. Without breading, this beef was Carl Buddig thin. Lame.

However, the guacamole was fresh and delicious, and I really enjoyed the Mexican rice and refried beans.

I felt that I’d given this place more than a fair shake. Still hoping to prove R. Walsh wrong, I thought I’d give the menu another shot, so I skimmed it again. “Christian Tacos” were advertised on the menu. I wasn’t sure that I wanted to sit through the explanation of what a Christian Taco was, so I went ahead and ordered one.

Bill Murray once said “there are two kinds of people in this world, those who like Neil Diamond and those who don’t.”

That’s the way I feel about higado (liver). You either love it or hate it. And I despise liver. If you see me taking a bite of liver, you might think I was having some kind of facial seizure. So naturally, I don’t eat higado tacos.

If you’re going to make a liver taco (or something that tastes just like a liver taco), please don’t call it a Christian Taco. That’s just weird.