Can One Die of a Burrito Overdose?
Some days, you just need a burrito. Okay, okay– most days. In my humble opinion, burritos are the solution to any problem. Tough day at school or work? Burrito. Get in an argument with your parents? Work things out over a burrito. Break up with your boyfriend or girlfriend? Wallow in the beany, cheesy comforts of a B-U-R-R-I-T-O. For these reasons and more, I can’t stop eating at my neighborhood taco truck.
On a more personal level, the taco truck brings a literal taste of home to an unfamiliar place for me. You see, I’m from California, where Mexican food is kind of a big deal and carne asada fries are basically a fifth food group. But I live in New York now, where Mexican food is… well, generally overpriced and not as delicious. Imagine my glee when I discovered this little beauty of a roach coach, with cheap burritos, hyphy music bumpin’ from the speakers, and an entire staff from my favorite city on the planet, San Francisco! It was love at first bite.
I seriously eat at this taco truck three times a week, know all of the employees, and have even gone to their bands’ shows on weekends. During the winter when I’m longing for Cali sunshine, the taco truck’s burritos remedy my homesickness. During the summer, the truck always serves as the meeting spot for my friends and me, and we slam burritos while sitting on the curb like delinquents, before embarking on warm weather adventures. I couldn’t bring a lot of stuff with me when I moved to New York from California, so I no longer attach special powers to material objects, but rather meaningful people, places, and experiences, whose memories I can keep forever. The taco truck is that magical New York place for me.
Photo credit: Christine Barrett