Photos by Katharine Shilcutt

To assume that Refresqueria Rio Verde is simply a refresqueria would be incorrect.

Although the sides of its white-and-red truck are painted with the colors and flavors of the various raspas it sells, you may miss the comparatively less emphatic "tacos" and "tortas" that look like afterthoughts. You'll need to get up close and personal to find that menu: smaller, partially hidden behind the plastic trays full of condiments for truck's elotes and freshly sliced fruit -- both snacks waiting to be sprinkled with rust-colored chile en polvo for a spicy kick.

On that small menu, you'll find that aside from just snacks, Refresqueria Rio Verde also serves a full menu of tacos. I sort of hate that I'm telling anyone this, but they're one of the best-kept secrets in town.

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Read the first part of our interview with Gustavo Arellano in case you missed it.

Gustavo Arellano -- a.k.a. "Ask a Mexican!" himself -- doesn't shy away from having strong opinions or expressing them. It's what has made Arellano into a popular columnist, author and public speaker over the years and what's bringing him to Houston on November 15 to kick off the University of Houston's lecture series, Food for Thought.

The free talk starts at 5 p.m. and will explore everything from how salsa overtook ketchup as the country's favorite condiment in the 1990s to why Taco Bell matters from a historical and cultural perspective. Afterwards, Arellano plans to consume large quantities of Tex-Mex food -- the subject of his most recent book, Taco USA: How Mexican Food Conquered America -- at El Real Tex-Mex Cafe.

And perhaps while he's there, Arellano will get a small taste of the reason Houstonians were so incensed to have been left off his recent list of the 5 American cities most influential in the development and spread of Tex-Mex food. Although Arellano made it up to us in a follow-up post, he remains a bit mystified as to the hysterical (or "impassioned," depending on your perspective) responses he received from Houstonians after the list was published at our sister paper, the OC Weekly.

In a recent talk at the University of Texas San Antonio, Arellano related the story of discovering Houston's penchant for extreme agitation and anxiety when we are left off any national lists of any kind.

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Popular author Gustavo Arellano is coming to the University of Houston on November 15 for a free lecture.

Gustavo Arellano isn't just any Mexican. Over the years, the writer has turned himself into almost the "official" Mexican of America thanks in large part to his syndicated column, "Ask a Mexican!" and books like Taco USA: How Mexican Food Conquered America.

This is his most recent book and one in which Arellano tackles the question of how the food of a country that many Americans despise -- thanks to issues such as drug cartel violence along the border and concerns over illegal immigration -- has become one of the most popular cuisines in the United States. Arellano, also the editor at OC Weekly (one of our sister papers) is headed to Houston on November 15 to discuss this very topic at the University of Houston.

The free talk -- which launches this year's Food for Thought Lecture Series at the university -- starts at 5 p.m. and will explore everything from how salsa overtook ketchup as the country's favorite condiment in the 1990s to what's considered "authentic" Mexican food (and why does authenticity even matter?).

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Photo by Katharine Shilcutt

Goat korma, chana masala and saag paneer at Tandoori Nite

Not all food trucks are taco trucks, nor are they gourmet food trucks serving lobster and foie gras in Montrose. There are plenty of mobile food units that occupy a space in between, and Tandoori Nite -- the subject of this week's cafe review -- is one of them.

Although it's technically a food truck, Tandoori Nite bills itself as a dhaba -- and it's the closest thing you'll find to a traditional dhaba in Houston, especially by virtue of its location in the parking lot of a Phillips 66 gas station along Highway 6. But what is a dhaba?

In India, it's the local version of a greasy spoon diner or a truck stop cafe. They're generally located next to or inside of gas stations and serve a variety of Indian and/or Pakistani fare to hungry, weary travelers. Because dhabas are located throughout India, you'll find them in every shape and size -- from basic, dirt-floored structures (indeed, the first dhabas were little more than mud huts) to sleek, modern dhabas that look like American convenience stores.

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Photo by Katharine Shilcutt

This year leading up to our annual Best of Houston® issue, we're counting down our 100 favorite dishes in Houston. This list comprises our favorite dishes from the last year, dishes that are essential to Houston's cultural landscape and/or dishes that any visitor (or resident) should try at least once.

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Photos by Katharine Shilcutt

The ultimate taco.

This is the last installment of a four-part series: They Don't Have Tacos In the Suck, which chronicles an afternoon taco truck crawl with my best friend from college, an Air Force EOD sergeant whom I hadn't seen in 10 years. Read Part 1 here, Part 2 here and Part 3 here.

Ryan and I had been driving for a while, for many blocks since our "palate cleanser" of elotes at Refresqueria Rio Verde. I knew he was wondering why I passed other taco trucks and failed to pull up to them, but I had a plan.

In my mind, I knew this stop would be our last taco truck of the day. I had to pick my cousin up from the airport soon, and Ryan had to get back on the road.

I pulled into our final destination: El Ultimo, a brightly decorated taco truck near Long Point and Wirt. Its parking lot was already busy, a line had already formed outside that was composed entirely of blue collar workers off for lunch, equal parts white, black and Hispanic. I've made no secret of the fact that El Ultimo is my favorite taco truck in town, and have followed it over the years as it moves a few blocks up and down Long Point.

"On the weekends," I told an impressed Ryan, "it has a waitress who takes you order, since the line gets so long."

"So this is your favorite, huh?" he said, eying the simple menu and wondering what exactly made this spot so special.

"Yes. You'll see."

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Photos by Katharine Shilcutt

"I have corn on a stick!"

This is Part 3 of a four-part series: They Don't Have Tacos In the Suck, which chronicles an afternoon taco truck crawl with my best friend from college, an Air Force EOD sergeant whom I hadn't seen in 10 years. Read Part 1 here and Part 2 here.

"Let's get a palate cleanser," I told Ryan as we pulled into the parking lot of the New Flea Market on Long Point at Pech. On the weekends, you can't find a space to park in the asphalt lot. But today, on an overcast Thursday afternoon, it was empty except for a few trucks parked haphazardly around Refresqueria Rio Verde.

"What are we getting here?" asked Ryan as we climbed out. "Do they have tacos?"

"Sure, they have tacos," I said. "But I thought we'd get something different in between. Do you like elotes?"

Elote, as I explained to Ryan, is basically corn on the cob. But instead of serving it with butter and salt, as us white folks tend to do, elote is served with crema, chile powder, lime juice and a host of other condiments that only seem foreign until you taste them all mixed together. Elote in a cup, the shaved kernels topped with a thick dollop of cream and a rough shake of chile powder, is mystifyingly comforting even if you've never had it before.

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Photos by Katharine Shilcutt

This is Part 2 of a four-part series: They Don't Have Tacos In the Suck, which chronicles an afternoon taco truck crawl with my best friend from college, an Air Force EOD sergeant whom I hadn't seen in 10 years. Read the first part here.

Tacos Arcelia has two things going for it: The first thing is the 99-cent tacos that it advertises in bold black letters on the side of its second thing, a school bus that's been painted bright red and silver. There was already a line forming around noon on Thursday, so Ryan and I figured it was a sure bet.

We ordered a taco each -- lengua for me, chicharrones for him -- and stepped back to await our orders. Even working in the larger-than-average confines of a school bus, the crew was moving at a slow clip.

"You know that part in Black Hawk Down where an RPG gets lodged in a guy's chest but it doesn't go off?" asked Ryan idly while we waited.

"Uh, yeah. Although I hadn't thought of that movie -- or that scene in years." I didn't ask why he asked me, wary of the answer. He told me anyway.

"That really happens."

I thought back to the time when Ryan and I were making dinner at his apartment one night, both 18 years old, and I'd stupidly thrown a handful of frozen okra into a deep pan of hot grease to fry not knowing any better. I started a minor grease fire which we quickly put out, but my face and hands were pockmarked with grease burns that took a few years to fade. The burns hurt terribly and I avoided frying anything at all for at least another five years, scared to death by such a minor injury.

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Photos by Katharine Shilcutt

"Can I have the hot dog, please?" I asked the woman inside the bright green Tacos D.F. truck on Long Point at Witte.

"You're ordering a hot dog?" teased my friend Ryan with a chuckle. He'd already placed his order for a pastor taco and a can of Coke at the window. "I thought we were doing a taco truck crawl."

"I'm getting a taco, too!" I grinned sheepishly, before placing an additional order for a taco de cabeza.

"Is that what I think it is?" asked Ryan as he eyed the cabeza. Shreds of fine beef from a cow's head a la barbacoa filled the double corn tortilla that the woman handed through the window, topped with a handful of raw white onions and cilantro leaves. Despite his initial misgivings over its provenance, he ate his half of the taco with relish -- pronouncing it "great" when he was finished -- and I remembered why I'd missed him so much.

Ryan was my best friend in college, where we fancied ourselves a couple of misfits at a highly conservative university that made both of us itchy and desperate with discomfort. We met on the first day of school our freshman year, both of us shunted into an off-campus apartment complex because the dorms were overflowing in the late '90s and, somehow, releasing 17-year-olds into the wild seemed like a good idea at the time.

Ryan couldn't cook. I had roommates that I hated. We bonded over shared meals in his apartment and nights spent commiserating with each other about the limited kinds of politics and religious dogma that teenagers understand while the other kids rushed sororities or went to Bible study. Until last week, I hadn't seen him in ten years.

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photos by Marco Torres

Hello, gorgeous!

They said it couldn't be done. But "they" were wrong. I made it. And now, ten pounds lighter, I'm back and hungry as ever.

Thinking back, the premise was so simple. Can a Houstonian go 30 days without Mexican food? The simple answer is "yes, of course!" But the reality was anything but simple, especially for me. You know that thing when your subconscious picks up on an object or idea, then all of a sudden you see that object or idea in everything, everywhere? For the month of November, tacos ruled everything around me. It was my forbidden fruit in this urban Garden of Eden called Houston.

My #30DaysNoTacos challenge was never intended to be an exercise in discovering new restaurants or cuisines. Nor was it intended to prove the unhealthiness of Mexican food. It was simply an interesting gastronomical experiment. The reactions that I received from my friends, family, and strangers ranged from support ("you can do it, Marco! Just a few more days!") to outrage ("how dare you turn your back on the most holy and noble taco!"). All of the comments and support made this craziness worth the suffering.

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