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| Buford Highway and some trucks. |
El Rey Del Taco
I love Mexican food. And sometimes, I speak Spanish, although I find it funnier to speak it with an American Southern accent because, why not? But I couldn't call myself a true Buford Highway believer until I sampled the delights of El Rey Del Taco.
Roughly translated, the name means The Best Cheap Tacos You'll Ever Eat. If you asked a native Spanish speaker to translate it, they might come up with something boring like "The King of Taco" which is not really what this is about. Situated in a wild strip mall that is also home to a ping pong bar, El Rey Del Taco slathers up delicious and insanely cheap food at all hours of every day, including Mexican Fourth of July.
J had talked about this place for weeks. She usually does that. Mentions a restaurant but we don't go there for a long, long time. She will continually bring it up in conversation, especially during our vanilla, white-bread-people sex. "Oooohhh... you're just.... Ah!... you're... just... ohhhh El Rey Del Taco." I felt cheapened by this comparison to my love and a taco until I was lucky enough to visit El Rey Del Taco.
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| The handicapped spot is open because these tacos are said to cure people. |
I ordered a michelada using the Mexican PBR Bohemia as a base. That was my only mistake. Little did I know, I'm not too keen on Bloody Mary's made with beer. Or tons of limes. Or whatever else was in there besides tomato juice. It was extremely limey. Tart, in layman's terms. But whatever, it had alcohol in it so I'm not saying it was terrible. Just... you know, no soy mexicano.
The menu has a lot of stuff you'd expect to see at a Mexican restaurant: tortas, enchiladas, quesadillas, nachos, ensalada, bistec, and more refined flavors like cheeks and butts. Probably some wieners thrown in for good measure.
I blushed and decided to avoid all of the weirdness and dove straight into the taco section of the menu.
Goat. Beef tongue. And pork tacos. Side of beans and rice that were more expensive than the tacos, even with the handmade tortilla option... Either way, I thought I would order more because let's face it, tacos are for babies and toothless grannies that handmake tortillas in the back of a taco shop for gringos to write about online.
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| Beef tongue, goat and chorizo. Not sure which is which. |
Chico, was I wrong! Not only was I full and satisfied and porked and cheeked up, but I didn't even finish my michelada (cause it was gross) or the beans! They were good, but I hadn't reached that point in my relationship where I was okay farting in front of J.
I had a moment to survey the bright colors of the dining room and in my taco coma, investigate my surroundings a little closer. On the table there are two different house sauces. The red, and a deceptive, friendly-looking green. The red one tastes like you'd expect. Blood. Not really. It's hot enough and peppery to add a little kick to your taco experience but it doesn't destroy your tongue. Now that's out of the way, the green sauce is a killer in disguise like Michael Moore. It has a sharp tomatillo flavor but adds fire and hatred to any dish you're smothering. Tread lightly with both sauces at the same time and your butt-tacos will shine. Bright like a diamond.
I went back two weeks later with my sister. There was an old guy going from table to table selling fresh churros. The smell was heaven in baked cinnamon bread form. He skipped us because we were gringos. I wanted to tell him "No no! Hablo espanol like a champ!" but then my tacos came out and I got down to business.
Returned with the infamous Andrew the week after and had more porks and cheeks. Now he's obsessed with this place and gets all weird if I don't get The King of Tacos with him on Sundays. Ah, well. I live to break hearts.
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