Pump Taco

This is as good as any place to get started, so...

I was riveted to learn that Louisiana isn't the only State with killer munchies in its gas stations. Say huh? I know, I know...those of you from Texas wouldn't accept anything less. Those of you from shitty no-gas-station-food States have no idea what you're missing. Where I sprang from, you can whip into any convenience store, pump a few gallons, and walk away with fried catfish, shrimp, po-boy's, or even highly passable étouffées and gumbos. You can order alligator, too, but people from Louisiana don't really eat gator so much--we simply chuckle at the tourists who do. Anyway, it rocks. Also registering highly on the rocking meter are DFW's numerous 24-hour taco counters hidden behind the throngs of hungry folks in search of late-night tall-boys, treats, and a tank of gas. You might be forgiven for questioning the quality of such chow outlets, but Old Bull and I are here to set you straight. It's for your own good.

With apologies to this dude's head.

Fuel City, at I-35 and Riverview Blvd, seems to be the gas station taco Mecca of greater Dallas consciousness--and for good reason, too. This place might take some explaining. FC is kind of like an oasis of all things on-the-go, a truck stop/mega gas station towering at the edge of downtown Dallas. Its neon lights are visible from outer space, and there's more iced-down beer concentrated in its confines than in the entire state of Milwaukee (oh yes I did). Here you'll find half a dozen or so varieties of street-style tacos as well as a regionally infamous elote en vaso vendor (corn in a cup, dawg). Tacos are only a buck-forty, and the elote's cheap too, sold for a few bucks in three sizes. Wait-time is reasonable at about five minutes an order. There's even a police officer on duty to prevent you from getting conked on your noggin for your spare change. It's the little things that make a place a palace.

Bueno cuadrado.

On my first visit, I opted for a modest dos tacos. Uno picadillo y uno al pastor. Al pastor tacos remain for me the Holy Grail variety of all tacos, but ever the explorer of spiciness, I continue to try and enjoy other takes on tacos as well. Incidentally, this was my first time scarfing on a picadillo-style, and I'm pleased to say it now makes the short list. Old Bull saddled up to a pair of these pups as well, and before we could get the grease off our chins, we were marveling at the considerable spiciness packed into this high octane taco. Picadillo, roughly, is a mash-up of ground beef, potatoes, onion, garlic, cumin, chili, and other spices. Did I mention chili? Reach for your cervezas, taco lovers, and you'd better hope they're full. Overall, a success. The potato does a wonderful job of absorbing all the beefy renderings as well as putting a dent in your appetite. The flavor profile remains blanca enough to satisfy less adventurous palettes, but fear ye not, taco hounds, for Taco Bell this is not.

Bull's eye.

The al pastor was a smash, as well. For those not literate in Taco, al pastor is sort of like Mexico's gyro, only it's pork that's spit-roasted rather than lamb, and the meat is marinated for up to two days in a glorious combination of guajillo, pasilla, and/or ancho chilis, garlic, lime, cumin, pineapple juice, and who knows what else (word on the street is that the best vendors guard their al pastor recipes like a farmer guards his daughters). Obviously, a tortilla is the delivery vehicle instead of a pita. Corn or flour. Get the corn. The tacos are typically dressed with cilantro and chopped onions and usually topped with chunk of pineapple--but we still ain't done. On the side, you'll most likely find a pairing of red and green sauces, both of which are rocket fuel if you're lucky. FC's al pastor seemed a bit of a gamble, given the many taquerias dedicated solely and soulfully to the medium, but my suspicions melted away as the lime-chili emulsification did a Jarabe Tapatio in my mouth. The pork was hot and tender, the tortilla functional if not outstanding, and the condiments fresh and tasty. No frowns for these clowns. 


On a side note, this is was also my first stab at Mexican style elote. I couldn't resist. I paid $2.50 for a substantial serving of hot corn kernels, a few gallons of butter, Parmesan cheese, chili, and lemon-pepper all stirred up into a steaming cup of yum.

Corno porno.

I've no previous standard against which I might compare the concoction, but suffice it to say, it was enjoyed, and if buttered corn happens to be your thing, you should be all over this stuff.

Stay tuned, taco freaks. Fuel City has some stiff competition in the gas-and-a-taco market, and we're going to tell you all about it. There's even tongue involved. Until then, adios, amigos y amigas.