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.
Photos by Katharine Shilcutt
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.More »