On the Menu: Guided by Voices and Tacos and Tacos

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Download "Don't Stop Now" from Guided by Voices

This is difficult for me to write. Not in the emotional sense...ok, well actually it is difficult in the emotional sense. I get emotional over tacos. Crazy hand gestures, emphatic pointing, eyes wide teeth bared cheeks flushed pumped up wild over tacos. So to try and explain these tacos without all the (self-admittedly) ridiculous physical cues is difficult for me.

Tacos are the original fast food. If your meat is already cooked, tacos have a three second prep time. But I've never considered making a six-to-eight hour round trip to Mexico just for a Big Mac. I've dealt with that temptation for tacos.

Luckily, I don't have to. I have Tacos and Tacos.

I'm always afraid that Tacos and Tacos is going to let me down. Not that their tacos will ever be bad, just that the tacos that I have built up in my mind over the days and weeks since I've last eaten there are too perfect to actually be real. Just like the one who got away, the girl who was the most amazing thing that you stupidly lost--when you meet her again years later, you realize that maybe she's not as perfect as you've always led yourself to believe. The tacos can't actually be that good, can they?

That's where the Deliciousness Threshold comes in.

Think about the greatest meal you've ever had. Everything was perfect. Nothing was overcooked, everything was fresh, the ingredients played off of each other perfectly...it was an intricately choreographed ballet of flavors, colors and textures earned a standing ovation. On a scale of 1-to-10, this was definitely a ten.

Why was it a ten? Because of the Deliciousness Threshold. When it comes to most things, your brain cannot fathom beyond ten. That's double-digit deliciousness, people! The brain's recall does not extend beyond ten, because ten is the brain's signpost of perfection.

Tacos and Tacos never dissapoints, because Tacos and Tacos goes to eleven. No matter how built up I get these tacos in my mind, my brain will never be able to surpass the actual, physical tacos on the plate in front of me. The Deliciousness Threshold. It's Science.

The first tip off should be the name, Tacos and Tacos (yet for some reason, the name on the menus above the counter and laminated on the tables call it Tacolandia). Do they have other items on the menu? Yes. Have I ever bothered eating them? No. Why should I?

The tacos themselves are double wrapped with corn tortillas that are bigger than your normal street tacos or other taquerias' offerings. This means more meat. My friend Maya always divvies up her taco filling between the two tortillas, and that's enough for her. While I can respect that, I gorge myself just because I can. The bright orange habanero salsa and the Mexican limes that seem to never stop giving juice top everything off, and by the time I'm done, I seriously want to cry.

It took about thirty seconds to figure out exactly what song should accompany this particular taco. I needed something that had all the same characteristics as the taco and Tacos and Tacos itself--an unknown dirty glorious masterpiece. It was at that point that my brain started playing the opening chords of one of the greatest unknown rock songs of all time: Guided By Voices' "Don't Stop Now."

"Don't Stop Now" is ostensibly the story of GBV themselves (band leader Robert Pollard sometimes called the group "King Shit and the Golden Boys"), but while the nonsensical lyrics may be initially off-putting--not unlike the pathetic strip-mall location of Tacos and Tacos--the sheer balls-out rock and choral refrain stick in your head. The sheer joy of the song approaches the sheer joy I feel when I bite into the taco, and I'm always surprised at just how good it is.

I shouldn't be surprised. It's Science.

On the Menu: They Might Be Giants and Lamb Tikka Masala

Download "Man, It's So Loud in Here" from They Might Be Giants

As I struggled with sushi (more about that in a later post), I realized that the one thing I was trying to avoid in making my decision--everything that surrounds the food, and not just the food itself--was exactly what i needed to consider when it comes to Indian food.

The first time you sit down to Indian food, it's daunting. Indian food is full of loud, unsubtle flavors and textures and smells--it's seriously impossible to get the scent of curry out of anything--and can be scary for the uninitiated. Tons of garlic, really biting mint, and then the aforementioned curry, a spice that either alienates or makes converts on contact. In London, there's an entire Yellow Pages-style directory of Indian restaurants known as the curry pages, and it isn't just utilized by the colonial transplants.

Then there's the heavy use of lamb. I'm a sucker for lamb in any form, whether it's chops, gyros, stew, or the pictured tikka masala. The lamb--which is always insanely tender and flaky--is marinated in yogurt and spices and then cooked in a clay oven called a tandoor. Dough is slapped on the outsides of the tandoor to make na'an, the glorious Indian flatbread (garlic na'an is my favorite, and if you don't automatically get it with your order, be sure to request some). After the lamb is slow-cooked, it's served in a masala sauce, which is usually creamy, with tomatoes and more spices.

Lamb tikka masala is one of those dishes that people approach with trepidation, because of the color (orange-ish red), the heat (both temperature and spice-wise) and the fact that it's lamb. but the second you get past that initial trepidation, there is an explosion of flavor that's exciting and a feeling of "why didn't I know about this before?"

That's the kind of feeling expressed in They Might Be Giants' "Man, It's So Loud in Here." There's an obvious fear of the unknown ("Everyone is dressed so oddly I can't recognize them/I can't tell the staff from the customers") just before the drumroll and the choral explosion ("Baby check this out, I've got something to say"). The discomfort carries through the entire song ("Everyone's excited and confused"), but the continued party atmosphere in both the music and lyrics keeps propelling things forward. And propulsion is what you need with Indian food of any sort....something to move you from the relatively safe chicken dishes into something a little more exotic, like keema aloo or palak paneer. Once you start to party, you really don't want to stop

On the Menu: Felice Brothers and Popeye's Chicken Biscuits

Download "Frankie's Gun" from the Felice Brothers

Today was the day when Dennys decided to give away free Grand Slams to everyone who wanted one between 6am-2pm. So we pointed ourselves toward the Dennys in the most upscale part of town (hoping that the socio-economic level of the surrounding area would mean that most people wouldn't feel the need to take advantage of the free meal) and put our names on the list. We were prepared to wait an hour or so, but once that hour rolled past I put down my book and stepped inside to see what kind of progress had been made.

None. None whatsoever. They told me it would be about two hours more, and so we immediately high-tailed it out of there. Our next destination was Eggs Etc., an amazing little place close to my house where they make their own strawberry jam but don't sell it separately, which is why a former girlfriend used to talk about smuggling an empty jelly jar in her purse and surreptitiously filling it every time we went there for breakfast.

On my way to Eggs Etc., I got a phone call. "Let's go to Popeye's instead." My partner in crime is obsessed with their chicken biscuits, and I don't really blame her. The fluffy biscuits are ever-so-slightly buttery and taste more homemade than they have any right to. I'm assuming they are loaded down with tons of lard/shortening but--like all the best tortillas--there's really no other way acceptable way to do it. The chicken is a repurposed chicken strip, cut in half with the two pieces side by side to fit on the biscuit. The batter could be compared to KFC's extra crispy, but that would be selling it short. Crunchy and golden brown without a hint of greasy shimmer, the batter is flaky, not clumpy, and there's a little bit of spice to heat the tongue.

I couldn't help but think of the Felice Brothers as I was eating. Although they hail from Upstate New York, the accordion intro of "Frankie's Gun" coupled with Ian Felice's raspy yowl and the percussive front porch stomp make me think bayou and whisky in the jar. Give it a listen and tell me you don't feel the same way.

On the Menu: Animal Collective and bún

Download "Summertime Clothes" from Animal Collective's Merriweather Post Pavilion

On first listen, Animal Collective is pretty much a giant mess. There are fifty million directions to each track, you are fairly certain there is no cohesive whole, and you are left wondering what the hell that just was. It's kind of like a salad I had for Christmas dinner: black olives, fennel root, orange sections and balsamic vinegar--a valiant effort, but it doesn't quite gel.

And then it comes up in your shuffle, and you realize that the initial "this is a giant mess" thought might be wrong. Yeah, it's initially crazy, but there's a method to the madness. At this point, the visual changes. All of a sudden, it's more like bún, the Vietnamese dish of cold rice vermicelli with meat, salad, cucumbers, veggies and herbs and peanuts.

In particular, I think of the version with five spice chicken, shrimp and a chopped-up eggroll. You've got carrots and pickled daikon shredded and accompanied by bits of cilantro, which seem out of place at first (because cilantro is Mexican for "fresh") but then it begins to dawn on you that fresh is exactly what you want. It's light an playful on the tongue, but the chicken and shrimp are going to stick to you. You've got varied heats too--with the warm meat and cold noodles and vegetables--and if you are at all smart, you're going to ask for a side of the sweet pepper jelly (the stuff that's a yellow-y clear with swaths of red cutting back and forth, twisting around pepper seeds).

With both Animal Collective and bún, the finished product makes complete and perfect sense, even if a glance at the pre-assembled parts is a scary affair.