lugares tan deliciosos
Urban legend has it that the Pacific Northwest is largely devoid of good Mexican food, though I believe that this is gross hyperbole. A more accurate way of putting it would be that the relative density of taquerias (and for that matter, Mexicans) is lower here, compared with a more "alpha chicano" city such as Los Angeles or San Diego, and greater metropolitan regions such as the SF bay. But there is, in fact, an appreciable population of Mexicans living here, and perfectly serviceable taquerias can be found with nothing more than a little thoughtful scout work.
Besides the aforementioned density issues, which cannot be helped, a more prevalent problem is that Northwesterners seem, on average, averse to spicy food, something that I consider a bit selfish and oddly perverse. Well, OK. I'm the selfish one for wanting everyone else to adapt to my culinary standards, I concede that. But nonetheless, you will not find Casa Sanchez salsa in a Safeway up here, nor any commercial variety at a heat level beyond "medium", which in my view translates to "medium bland", since even the hottest Pace is little more than a cheap can of diced, peeled tomatoes spiked with a pinch of cayenne pepper and cumin. To find the good stuff you have to look in specialty stores and rummage off the beaten path, which may be initially frustrating but I believe that in this situation, the result is more than its own reward.
If you sustain a medium-length conversation with a native Portlander, perhaps more so with one of the untold legions of recent transplants, it will probably come out the Portland is a relatively "White" city, which is something that many people here are strangely self-conscious about, in a way that actually ends up coming off as more racist than would well-meaning ignorance. The reason being that Portland is actually quite diverse, with significant Vietnamese, Chinese, Russian and Mexican populations - it's just that they live in the parts of town that no serious hipster or yuppie would dare to tread. It's not even an issue of safety (mostly), but rather a case of aesthetics. Who would want to be caught eating a burrito in a greasy-looking taco shop on SE 82nd Ave, in such an "eyesore" neighborhood with its car dealerships, Chinese herbal pharmacies, and the occasional hooker? It's no secret that inner Portland is gentrifying rapidly, with the transition nearly complete in many formerly working class strongholds, and the result is that poorer, ethnic demographics are pushed increasingly eastward. Portland's historic Chinatown is actually a good example of this, as few Chinese actually live there any more, opting instead for the cheaper rents out along 82nd, which is frequently depicted as the eastern boundary between "hip" Portland and "White Trash" Portland. While I'm not in love with the district (although thankfully, daylight prostitution has dropped significantly since last Fall), I find it strange that people are weirded out by it enough to go out of their way to avoid it, even when there are significant culinary delights to behold on the "Avenue of the Roses", or for that matter, any part of town where real estate values don't top $300,000.
A more concrete example of this is a taqueria on Glisan that I recently sampled after months of curiosity. It has a terrible name and sign, "Los Taquitos, home of the dancing taco's!", misplaced apostrophe quoted verbatim, and from the outside, I often assumed it was one of the numerous x-mex eateries you see in nicer neighborhoods, run and frequented by gringos who couldn't tell you the difference between Carne Asada and Hamburger Helper. But when I walked in I instantly felt at home. That dingy, poorly lit appearance, the old school overhead menu with hand-placed movable type, the familiar colorful, pastoral trompe l'oeil...it was like being back in SoCal. I'd actually read people complain about this place on Yelp (oh Yelp, you make every restaurant review like the comments section on Youtube) because they couldn't handle its dinginess, even complaining about the fact that there were flies buzzing around inside. I don't know about you guys, but I've never known a devoted mexican food fiend to dismiss a place because of some dang ol' flies. Bitch please. In San Diego we go out of our way to look for the places that, on the surface, appear to be a vector for botulism poisoning because we know the secret Rule of Taquerias - the worse it looks on the surface, the more amazing your food will be. In fact, you could say the rule applies inversely for conventional sit down restaurants, and ignoring the occasional family-owned place or ultra fancy joint, you'd be right on. I see no reason for this to be any different here. I mean, it's not like Oregon doesn't have health inspectors, probably financed in no small part by the state lottery. In fact, the best burritos I have eaten up here have come from trucks parked on the street, which is a phenomenon I'll have to get into another day.
Anyway, my burrito was good, not amazing, but definitely a step above the majority of places in Santa Cruz. They have nopales, which makes me happy, and a wide range of veggie options, which makes me look forward to going there with Whitney.
Besides the aforementioned density issues, which cannot be helped, a more prevalent problem is that Northwesterners seem, on average, averse to spicy food, something that I consider a bit selfish and oddly perverse. Well, OK. I'm the selfish one for wanting everyone else to adapt to my culinary standards, I concede that. But nonetheless, you will not find Casa Sanchez salsa in a Safeway up here, nor any commercial variety at a heat level beyond "medium", which in my view translates to "medium bland", since even the hottest Pace is little more than a cheap can of diced, peeled tomatoes spiked with a pinch of cayenne pepper and cumin. To find the good stuff you have to look in specialty stores and rummage off the beaten path, which may be initially frustrating but I believe that in this situation, the result is more than its own reward.
If you sustain a medium-length conversation with a native Portlander, perhaps more so with one of the untold legions of recent transplants, it will probably come out the Portland is a relatively "White" city, which is something that many people here are strangely self-conscious about, in a way that actually ends up coming off as more racist than would well-meaning ignorance. The reason being that Portland is actually quite diverse, with significant Vietnamese, Chinese, Russian and Mexican populations - it's just that they live in the parts of town that no serious hipster or yuppie would dare to tread. It's not even an issue of safety (mostly), but rather a case of aesthetics. Who would want to be caught eating a burrito in a greasy-looking taco shop on SE 82nd Ave, in such an "eyesore" neighborhood with its car dealerships, Chinese herbal pharmacies, and the occasional hooker? It's no secret that inner Portland is gentrifying rapidly, with the transition nearly complete in many formerly working class strongholds, and the result is that poorer, ethnic demographics are pushed increasingly eastward. Portland's historic Chinatown is actually a good example of this, as few Chinese actually live there any more, opting instead for the cheaper rents out along 82nd, which is frequently depicted as the eastern boundary between "hip" Portland and "White Trash" Portland. While I'm not in love with the district (although thankfully, daylight prostitution has dropped significantly since last Fall), I find it strange that people are weirded out by it enough to go out of their way to avoid it, even when there are significant culinary delights to behold on the "Avenue of the Roses", or for that matter, any part of town where real estate values don't top $300,000.
A more concrete example of this is a taqueria on Glisan that I recently sampled after months of curiosity. It has a terrible name and sign, "Los Taquitos, home of the dancing taco's!", misplaced apostrophe quoted verbatim, and from the outside, I often assumed it was one of the numerous x-mex eateries you see in nicer neighborhoods, run and frequented by gringos who couldn't tell you the difference between Carne Asada and Hamburger Helper. But when I walked in I instantly felt at home. That dingy, poorly lit appearance, the old school overhead menu with hand-placed movable type, the familiar colorful, pastoral trompe l'oeil...it was like being back in SoCal. I'd actually read people complain about this place on Yelp (oh Yelp, you make every restaurant review like the comments section on Youtube) because they couldn't handle its dinginess, even complaining about the fact that there were flies buzzing around inside. I don't know about you guys, but I've never known a devoted mexican food fiend to dismiss a place because of some dang ol' flies. Bitch please. In San Diego we go out of our way to look for the places that, on the surface, appear to be a vector for botulism poisoning because we know the secret Rule of Taquerias - the worse it looks on the surface, the more amazing your food will be. In fact, you could say the rule applies inversely for conventional sit down restaurants, and ignoring the occasional family-owned place or ultra fancy joint, you'd be right on. I see no reason for this to be any different here. I mean, it's not like Oregon doesn't have health inspectors, probably financed in no small part by the state lottery. In fact, the best burritos I have eaten up here have come from trucks parked on the street, which is a phenomenon I'll have to get into another day.
Anyway, my burrito was good, not amazing, but definitely a step above the majority of places in Santa Cruz. They have nopales, which makes me happy, and a wide range of veggie options, which makes me look forward to going there with Whitney.