I zipped down to Boboland for a few days last week- Anner was in Paris and Bobo had a spare few hours for hanging out.
Took the train because I hate driving long distances and like trains. I rode a lot of trains in my youth and I can't say I'm happy with the changes wrought by cell phones- every other seat had some Chatty Cathy spouting the usual monologue ("yeah...I'm on a train. Where are you?"). But as technology taketh away it also giveth- I was able to dam the tide of cellular triviality by plugging in to my iPod, replacing banal minutiae with quality modern music.
Bobo picked me up at Union Station, a gorgeous, old-timey terminal and we went in search of late night provender.
Bobo's first several choices were all closed so we tried Del Taco, which had the dual advantages of a drive-through window and no outposts in my hometown. Alas, hungry as I was I couldn't get past all of their combo meals being served with French fries.
WTF man. Who in the hell wants fries with their asada taco?
This crisis led Bobo to a startling realization:
"I've been thinking like a white man!"
Minutes later we pulled up to his favorite taco truck, where the dilapidated menu offered head, tongue and buche* as well as the more traditional beef, pork and chicken.
I went for a pair of Al Pastor tacos (heavily spiced shredded pork) and an asada burrito, all of which were excellent. While some purists argue that serving burritos is a black mark, I disagree. They're not traditional, but so long as they're not the gigantic rice-stuffed monstrosities you expect to find at chain margarita joints I think they have a place.
We cruised back over the hill to Casa Bobo, greeted the hounds, relaxed for a bit and then turned in for the night.
(to be continued)
*subsequent investigation led to the discovery that Buche is pig skin.
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