How NOT to order tacos at King Taco
Some nights ago, I was at King Taco in Boyle Heights, the mecca of King Taco restaurants in Los Angeles. It was about 11:30pm at night, the line was out the door and there was a white guy in front of me by himself. This isn’t “new” but a little startling, given he was not there with Latino friends, it was late and there’s been so much talk about gentrification happening in the hood. I was like, oh snap, it’s happening!
Anyways, he was friendly and asked, “What’s good here?” and I thought, “How are you here? Did you move in to the neighborhood? Are you staying at an Airbnb cuz it’s so close to DTLA? Were you tricked like the white dude that stayed in NY’s Washington Heights and complained about Dominicans?” But, he was cute, and I responded with, “I like the sopes de al pastor, but the carne asada tacos are also popular, and the green sauce is not as spicy.” “Sopes? What’s that?” he asked, his blue eyes twinkling under the neon sign. Being the Mexican food ambassador that I am, I tried to explain, but he blinked and said, “I’m from Canada. I think our Mexican food is different. Do they have like, beef tacos here?” “Huh? you mean, like asada tacos?” This dude had me confused for a minute, like is asada not beef? “They don’t have you know, like, ground beef here?” His charm was quickly fading. “Umm. No. They don’t, this is a little more authentic.” I smiled, but I was like WOW BOB 😳 on the inside, no he is not thinking he can get ground beef hard shell tacos at King Taco! 😬 This is not Tito’s!
As he ordered, he settled for a chicken burrito and asked for fish tacos. The cashier, a Chicana with raised eyebrows and chola-inspired winged-tip eyeliner, looked at him like he was from outer space. “We don’t have fish tacos here. Just meat.” “What about vegan tacos? You got those?” he asked. “Ummm, we got onion, cilantro and cabbage. That’s all we got as far as vegetables.” She was not having any of this. The guy, nervous at this point says, “Well, my girlfriend doesn’t eat meat, so yeah, I guess. Yeah, I’ll get two of those.” The cashier didn’t miss a beat, “You want green or red sauce?” “Ummm… green. On the side.” “Anything else?” “Yeah, do you have sour cream? or any type of cream for the tacos?” “No, sorry, we don’t have any cream for tacos.” She stole a glance at me, I think I was 😖 like, wow, he’s failing so hard right now.
I felt bad for the guy, but he was not helping himself either. A homie standing by the counter tried to assist, “Yo man, maybe you should get her like a burrito with just like, rice and beans or something.” Canada wasn’t budging and said, “No, she wanted tacos.” I piped in, “Are you sure? I don’t think she’s gonna be happy with onion and cabbage tacos.” There’s now a murmur going through the line that there’s a white dude at the front ordering “veggie” onion/cilantro/cabbage tacos. He pays for his food. I order mine and proceed to sit down on one of the orange metal seats and observe what will be the most epic confusion of ladies making tacos.
“Que es esto? Y esta orden? No carne en los tacos?”
“El solo quiere cebolla, cilantro y repollo”
😱“¿¡¿¡Como?!?!”😱
The ladies whisper, they look at the receipt, they talk to each other, finally one makes the call.
“eeehhh… namber seven-y-tu. eehh, numero setenta y dos? seven-y-tu”
“yes, that’s me” — Canada
“ehhh… ju no wan’ no meat?”
Crowd whispers, I’m pretty sure there’s a snapchat of this.
“No, no meat.”
“Como? no meat? ehh, jus onions?”
The ladies whisper to each other, “ay no dios mio, como se va comer un taco de cebolla este pobre hombre?”
“My girlfriend doesn’t eat meat, eeehhh… no comer carne.” He makes gestures like he’s eating a taco but saying no.
The onion, cilantro, cabbage taco is sadly on display on the counter where they prepare the food. I’m sure some sort of Amber-alert-type alarm has sounded through all of Boyle Heights at this point.
“I give you beans, yes? beans on taco?”
Canada is beyond mortified at this point. His taco-creation on display for all to see. He’s turning bright red and wants this whole ordeal to be over.
“yes, yes, sure, that’s fine, beans, good idea.”
“Ok! I make for ju!” says the lady, relieved probably, her motherly instincts have kicked in and she just wants to feed this man something other than onions on a tortilla.
“Thank you, graci-ass, graci-ass,” Canada mumbles as he grabs his little bag of tacos and makes his way out, looking at the floor, avoiding all possible eye contact.
Everyone in line sorta looks at each other in disbelief and sadness. Off course we can all feel the unspoken pain that is knowing someone could have had some bomb tacos and chose to not have them. It’s the missing feeling of taking someone to King Taco for the first time and waiting anxiously for them to take the first bite. See! I told you! Bomb! But we didn’t have that moment with Canada.
While the incident seemed something out of a sketch show, honestly, it just got more and more uncomfortable to witness. He was clearly out of his element, but didn’t trust the process. Food is such a natural part of what defines us as people, what brings cultures together and when we can’t participate in it, or allow others to help us through it, we can miss out on great things. In this case, great tacos.
Oh, Canada! I hope you come back, go all in and try the al pastor con todo next time!
🇲🇽❤️🇨🇦
