Death By Taco
| No, I’m not talking about the e. coli outbreak at various Taco Bells in 2006. It’s far more serious than that. What I experienced was the excruciating pain that only a broken taco shell can cause as it scraped and tore its way down my esophagus, wreaking havoc from mouth to belly. |
It still hurts to swallow.
I remember my first love with the taco. I had finally gotten up the nerve to invite all the “cool” girls in my fifth-grade class to a pool party. Of course, that made me just as much of a snob because I didn’t invite any of the “uncool” girls that were my true friends. I hurt a lot of feelings with that party, and it didn’t score me any points at all with the in-crowd. All they wanted was to hang out at the pool. They didn’t care about me.
Anyway. My mom served tacos, and tacos were my absolute favorite food in the whole world. (I had not yet discovered sushi–that would not happen until the year 2002.) I remember feeling like some sort of conquering hero as I demolished SIX of those suckers. Tacos were no match for my ambitious belly. I was the Nacho Libre of Mexican food.
My infatuation with tacos metamorphosed into a love affair with the tortilla chip. For my 16th birthday, when most girls wish for a car, I was actually MORE excited about the cubic yard box of tortilla chips and gallon of salsa that my dad hauled in. I didn’t share that mess with ANYBODY.
Now I’m 30, and having almost choked to death on a shard of tasty tortilla, nevertheless my feelings for tacos have not diminished. Next time though, I’ll probably go for soft.