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.
