Quest for Tacos Part 1
Taco way, Uvalde TX
The alluring aroma of freshly made breakfast tacos has always been something of a distant, fond memory for me, especially since moving back to the northern part of the country. While most adventures in life are shaped by grand narratives and heroic deeds, sometimes, the most memorable tales come from the simple, gastronomic yearnings of the heart.
A Long Road Ahead
Traveling back to Texas for the funeral of someone dear was not a journey I had been looking forward to. The distance itself was a daunting 1200 miles, but the added challenge of venturing on this emotional and physical trek with four kids made it even more formidable. Nevertheless, with my wife beside me, the combined strength of our resolve assured me that we were prepared for whatever lay ahead.
Our itinerary was not merely a linear trajectory back to our homeland; it was also a nostalgic trip down memory lane. The first major stop would be in Uvalde, Texas, a familiar spot from my past visits. What awaited us there was not just rest, but a reunion of epic proportions.
A Reunion to Remember
As my old friend Jesus Flores, the proud owner of "Jesus Chariot", welcomed us into his home, I was instantly transported to the carefree days of our youth. And before I knew it, the combined might of our offspring, all eight of them, including the two cousins who came to visit, had turned the quiet homestead into a bustling carnival of laughter, shouts, and play. If decibels were a currency, we would've been millionaires.
One topic dominated our evening conversation: my desperate craving for authentic breakfast tacos. Living up north had made me nostalgic for this southern delight, and Jesus knew it all too well. So, in the spirit of our enduring friendship, he decided to reintroduce me to a local haunt, the Taco Way. Although the changed hands in the kitchen had somewhat altered the taste, the meal was still a familiar blend of flavors that teased my taste buds but left me wanting.
The Culmination of the Quest
With a fulfilling but not quite satisfying breakfast behind us, we had to hit the road again. Forty miles separated us from the next part of our journey – seeing the legendary Grandma Flores, checking into our Airbnb, attending the funeral, catching up with old friends, and continuing my quest for the perfect breakfast taco.
Grandma Flores, with her age-old wisdom, had already got wind of my taco lament. I was, after all, returning home, and what is home if not the comforting embrace of grandma's homemade tortillas?
As we navigated through the maze of our past, present, and the myriad emotions that come with attending a funeral and revisiting one's roots, one thing remained constant – the heart's desire for that quintessential breakfast taco. Whether I found it in an old haunt or through the familiar hands of family, this epic quest was not just about satiating a culinary craving; it was about reconnecting with my roots, reliving memories, and finding comfort in the familiar during times of grief.
In the end, it wasn't just about tacos. It was about home.