Tacos at Taco Chulo

I helped my friend Damon move today. Now, as an incredibly sedentary individual, I can attest to the suckitude of such a task, coupled with the fact that Damon a) has the heaviest freakin' furniture of all mankind, and b) keeps moving into freakin' walkups. Seriously. I think that bookcase is made of granite.

But the evening did have a pleasant ending. Williamsburg has some tasty tacos in the form of Taco Chulo.


And so, beaten and bloody (I took a nasty spill carrying one of his ancient speakers up the stone porch), we settled into our seats. His brother and his brother's friend had already ordered up some guac and pico.


Tasty enough, but I'm a little guacced out from all the experimenting we've been doing at the homestead. Both dips were a little on the acidic side for me. And I mean citrus acidic, not tomato acidic.

But we weren't here for the guac, we were here for the tacos. Sure enough, they arrived with all the mouthwatering appeal of the tacos I had in Puerto Vallarta. None of this tex-mex crap piled with deli lettuce and overloaded with cheddar. Damon's monstrosity, some fish thing called the Juicy, was particularly impressive.


It came with two tortillas, so the taco was free to perform meiosis. My plate was a little more humble, consisting of two simple, non-fancily named tacos.


The first was their carne asada. Tasty, to be certain, but not spectacular. Nothing really popped. The chorizo, though... damn. It made me wish my other taco had been chorizo rather than carne asada. It also made me wish the bowls of guacamole and pico de gallo were replaced by bowls of chorizo. Something about this oily, spicy Mexican sausage reaffirms all that is good and beautiful in life.

Like any good taco, it left my hand a mess.


But hey, that's the mark of good finger food. Sorry about the terrible photo quality today, folks - the lighting in the place was particularly bad. Until next time!