taco truck

28 Jul

It was awhile ago. The Swede hadn’t been my main squeeze for very long, but he talked extensively about his time at UT for undergrad and how awesome the food is down in Austin. I’ve never been to Austin, so for the most part I took his word for it, sad that we couldn’t take a trip to Austin so I could experience the food for myself.

“But there’s a taco truck near here,” The Swede would say, “and I’ve heard from Texans that it’s actually pretty good, pretty authentic.”

I’m not going to lie—I was dubious. A taco truck? For realz? You want me to eat out of a transient truck, which sits on a slightly run-down corner in Maryland, smushed in a parking lot alongside a Chinese restaurant and an Afro Cuts II?

I was dubious.

But The Swede sometimes has powers of persuasion that I cannot resist. And on a random night a few months back, he convinced me to give the taco truck a whirl.

Thank God he did.

I love you, taco truck. You are one of my favorite restaurants in the DC metro area.

Okay, so it’s not a restaurant, per se. And it’s not actually called the taco truck. La Preferida is the restaurant it’s in conjunction with, I believe. But we call it the taco truck because that’s how we roll. You can’t eat there unless of course you want to plop yourself down on the concrete and hunker down over your burrito and multiple papusas. I don’t think anyone would judge you, but I’m not one for getting gravel marks in my ass, so we always take it to go.

Our orders don’t change very much—a chicken or beef burrito, which comes with a heaping side of rice and two little plastic bags: one of a hot green sauce that will give you the spicy shits if you’re not careful, and a bag containing a sort of Mexican coleslaw. I’m not really sure what it is, to be honest, I always pass mine off to The Swede. And then a couple of cheese papusas thrown in for good measure.

You really can’t go wrong with papusas.


As much as I love the taco truck, I always feel kind of like an asshole when I go there. The menu is completely in Spanish, the employees speak only Spanish, and guess whose Spanish does not go much farther beyond what she learned on Sesame Street?

So the question becomes, do I order in Spanish, and potentially butcher pronunciations, and possibly sound like an asshole gringa? Or do I order in English, and possibly sound like an asshole white girl? Hard to say which is better or worse, but thankfully, the end result, no matter how I order, is always the same.

“Okay, 10 minutes,” the girl in the taco truck window tells me. And it’s never 10 minutes, it’s always more like 20.

But it’s worth it, to pull the plastic bag of Styrofoam containers through the taco truck window, scuttle back to The Swede’s house with the bag warm in my lap, and snarfle down bite after bite of excellent food.


3 Responses to “taco truck”

  1. The Swede July 29, 2010 at 10:20 PM #

    I ❤ the taco truck


  1. trying to make amends: the argonaut « McPolish.com - August 24, 2010

    […] more than two restaurants in the world/this area that I enjoy. I swear I don’t only eat at the taco truck and Tabard […]

  2. country road « McPolish.com - October 11, 2010

    […] 6 Oct The Swede and I have been making the rounds in Virginia and Maryland lately, driving here and there and everywhere, which is particularly beautiful now that leaves are changing and most of these travels have taken us down winding, tree-lined roads. It’s all fresh air and sunshine, and kind of makes me want to start humming the Green Acres theme song, except that we have not said “Goodbye, city life!” for good, we’ve merely traded it in for a couple of hours in favor of places that have no public transportation. And don’t have emergency vehicles racing up and down the streets at all hours of the night. And don’t have taco trucks. […]

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