The world’s most inedible chip, stuck in real good guacamole at El Chilito
I haven’t had a spare patriarchy-blaming moment for two days. As veteran readers may recall, I am a fat-ass epicurean first and a patriarchy-blamer second. So I’ve been taking advantage of a rare nausea-free interlude in my chemorama to cram as many delicious tacos as possible into the Twisty craw.
I have gotten outside a taco verde at Taco Xpress (Keep Austin Weird Dept: for the inexplicably purloined papier mÃ¢chÃ© arms of which giant South Lamar papier mÃ¢chÃ© landmark Alejandro Escovedo is playing a benefit).* I have also dispatched, on an emergency Tacodeli run, both a Frontera Fundido and a Cowboy Taco (and holy crap, what a taco it is: steak, grilled corn, guacamole, other stuff–what more could a spinster aunt ask of a humble street food?).
I have gone back to Taco XPress for breakfast and gotten a potato-chorizo-cheese taco. This was after my thoughtful neighbor Laurie, keenly sensing a disruption in the Taco-Force, left a bag of Maria’s breakfast tacos on my doorstep.
I have also sucked in a species of pulled pork taco with pink pickled onions at El Chilito, which is the East Austin taco stand spinoff of the excellent El Chile Cafe y Cantina, whither I did hie yester eve with a glad cry of "Slap a carne asada a la TampiqueÃ±a into my feedbag, Miss Thing, and toss in a top shelf marg, and make it snappy, for life is uncertain!"
I would be remiss in my duties as a food snob if I failed to entreat with no piddlin’ urgency that anyone within a 100 mile radius of El Chile should get their entire black ass there at once. While I shoveled down the remarkably superior carne asada, my chum Stingray devoured a pair of the most physically beautiful shrimp enchiladas upon which I have ever had the pleasure to cast an eye, and pronounced them "amazing."
As for El Chilito: they’ve got the kitsch + disaffected-hipster-employee thing down, but those godawful greasy chips are an embarrassment to both their real good guacamole and, I dare say, the entire city of Austin.
Anyway, for dessert I owe an enormous debt to Chris Clarke, (speaking of whom, I forgot to blog against racism, dammit! Now I’m going to hell) who turned me on to these goddam Recchiuti chocolates and now I can’t stop. They are absurd boutique chocolates with loony ingredients like bergamot and cardamom and lemon verbena and jasmine and pink peppercorn, and they are a triumph. I have never tasted anything even approaching the exquisiteness of these things. The Ginger Heart, for example is described in the extensive documentation as "morsels of Australian candied ginger folded into extra-bitter chocolate ganache, finished with dark chocolate and gold leaf." This Recchiuti dude is a genius. The attendant spirit allotted to him at birth must have been something like the one allotted to Beethoven, or to the person who invented tacos. If chocolates were paintings, Recchiuti would be Van Gogh and the Sistine ceiling and Duchamp all at once, and Godiva would be Thomas Kinkade Painter of Lightâ„¢, and Toblerone would be the black crayon scribbles of a toddler who grows up to be a serial killer.
*What I mean by this poorly constructed sentence is not that Alejandro Escovedo is a giant South Lamar papier mÃ¢chÃ© landmark, but that somebody stole the arms off the huge Taco XPress taco woman without explanation, and the taco stand owner put bandages on the bloody stumps, and A.E. is playing a benefit concert to restore the arms to their original embracing akimbo-tude.