Taco ‘bout taste

I’ve heard it said perfection is an illusion. And I subscribe to that belief, especially when it comes to relationships, parking spots and my ability to fold a fitted sheet. Well, apparently there’s one more thing it applies to. Finding the perfect taco in Los Angeles.

A fool’s errand? Maybe. But if there’s an impossible dream worth chasing, it’s one wrapped in a warm corn tortilla.

Here’s the thing: Los Angeles is a taco mecca. And its cool cousin Long Beach is no slouch either. The options are endless: street vendors, mom-and-pop shops, taco trucks with lines longer than the DMV.

Each taco has its own personality. Some spicy and unpredictable (like my high school girlfriend). Others rich and comforting (see previous joke). There are hard-shell and soft shell. Open and closed. Trying to choose a favorite is like trying to pick your favorite child, which, frankly is easier on some days than others.

I’ve tasted the smoky al pastor. I’ve savored shredded beef so tender it brought a tear to my eye, and a permanent stain to my shirt.

And the fish tacos? If loving them is wrong, I don’t want to be right.

But how can just one be THE taco? It feels wrong when they all bring something special to the table (see what I did there?).

In my search I realized something: every day in L.A. is Taco Tuesday. There’s no waiting for a specific day of the week—great tacos are available, at all hours, in all places. You can have a breakfast taco in the morning, a carnitas taco at lunch, and a late-night street taco after an evening of bad decisions.

And there lies the beauty of this City of Tacos. Just when you think you’ve found the one, another contender pops up, winking at you from the next food truck. Or calling your name from a modest taqueria tucked behind a laundromat.

I don’t want to spoil the end of the story for you, but I haven’t found the perfect taco. The search continues, and every bite is its own reward.

Viva la búsqueda. Long live the search.

Yum Kippur - 2015 edition

Why is this day different from any other day? Because today, I'm going to do something I don't usually do. No, not write a post worth reading. Instead I'm going to post a three-year old post about Yom Kippur. The holiest holiday on the Jewish calendar starts this evening, and yet my feelings about it haven't changed in the last three years. Hence the repeat posting. Like someone once said, "Why do they call it a fast if it goes so slow?" I got nothing. Anyway, enjoy this well-aged, classic holiday post. And when YK is over, eat bubbie, eat.

Quick, how many Jews does it take to blog about Yom Kippur? All of 'em.

Not that the internet needed another blogpost about it, what with this fine post at Round Seventeen, and this swell one at Ad-Aged. But I thought what the hell, I'm just sitting here: I may as well write one. After all, we're not supposed to eat today, but apparently typing is still on the table (see what I did there?).

As I've posted before, I'm not really much of a practicing Jew. I don't know if it's because of four long years of Hebrew school and being bar mitzvah'd, or in spite of it. But as a result, whether I want to be or not, I'm still hard-wired to recognize the holiest day on the Jewish calendar. And because Catholics, despite what they think, have never had the market on guilt cornered, I can't help feeling like I should be more of a participant in the customs and traditions of this day. But here's the thing: for me, actually observing it would be a bit hypocritical. Somewhat akin to all the Jews who, since they're not supposed to drive today, make a proud point of walking all the way to the synagogue.

From the parking lot.

Yom Kippur is the one day we're supposed to reflect on and atone for our sins of the past year. I'm not bragging, but I think we both know it's going to take more than one day.

Besides, there isn't a day that goes by that I'm not constantly thinking about my sins. Since we're supposed to be fasting on this holy day, each year Yom Kippur only serves to narrow down the sin I should be focusing on most.

Gluttony.

Don't ask: Sharing my food

Here's how it's supposed to work.

I go to a restaurant with friends or family. We each look at the menu, and everyone orders something they're in the mood for and that will, in a delicious and pleasing way, satisfy their hunger.

What's not supposed to happen is for one or more people at the table to decide they should've ordered what I did, and ask me, before they've even had the first bite of their meal, "Do you mind if I have a bite of that?"

Before you ask, the answer is no.

Nothing is more annoying, rude or meal-joy sapping than having someone ask for a bite of my meal. You see that plate full of food you ordered and they brought to you? Here's a thought: eat that.

If I decide at some point to offer you a bite of my food, then that's another story. But this "Oh that looks good. Can I have a bite?" crap has got to stop.

I want to enjoy my entire meal. That includes the bite you're sacrificing your pride and self-esteem to beg for. Grow up, make up your mind, order what you want and be satisfied with it. And even if you aren't, act like you are. You can always order what I'm having next time.

Besides, if I give you one bite of my meal, what's to stop you from wanting another?

That's a rhetorical question. I'm not giving you one bite.