My First Taste of Pork Stomach Tacos
I first ate tacos de buche in southern California. Tripa is cow tripe; Buche is pork stomach. The restaurant was seldom more than a third filled on weeknights and weekends. Despite being vacant, the restaurant never felt desolate.
Sometimes, struggling mom-and-pop stores indicate desperation; you commit to dining, thereby entering. You know you’ll dine there as you peruse the menu. Turning around and leaving would be a snub beyond restaurant conventions and into common decency.
The empty business seemed like a friend’s home. When you walked in, you’d order. The counter was staffed by one of the owner’s two quite different children. The teen never appeared comfortable handling the cash register.
He had trouble taking orders but was nice and helpful. His sister, a petite 12-year-old, entered our orders like it was second nature. When the shop was empty, she studied beside the register. She always knew what was nice to eat and could tell if a client wanted carnitas, quesadillas, or something more experimental.
The kitchen behind the counter. It was narrow and customer-viewable. The restaurant’s pleasant, friendly father cooked. No one was usually cooking. Pre-prepared products like chiles, Rellenos, and tamales were ready to be reheated and burned. Before serving, taco contents were cooked and browned.
The restaurant’s lone waitress was the mother, a quiet woman. After we were seated, she’d bring chips and salsa. The tacos arrived in thin, flexible, nicely warmed corn tortillas.