A Trip Down South. (I Mean Nolensville)

I only get the opportunity to go south to Nolensville once in a blue moon. It may only be 10 miles away, but I feel like I have to set aside 4 hours to visit. Don’t know why. Maybe because they speak a different language there. Really.

Tucker was nice enough to drive Onionhead and me to Las Americas after I convinced him that tacos and pupusas were a much better choice than Waffle House. An hour or so later, I had 3 tacos and a pupusa in my belly, along with ladles and ladles of happiness. I swear, Mexican food is like a second comfort food for me. In another life, I would’ve lived in Oaxaca, or Mexican City. In regards to the meat, I’d have to say that beef cheek is the new pork belly. Highly underrated. Even more fatty, flavorful, and “indie” if I may use that descriptor. The meat disintegrated in my mouth, floating away in a million different directions, each carrying tiny molecules of beefy, eventually converging in the oblivion of my stomach. Yeah, it’s kinda like drugs. I stayed far away from the horchata this time. Last time the amount of undissolved powder in the drink left me feeling like I was choking down a glass of metamucil, only without the added benefit of some quality bathroom time afterwards.

I’m still looking for some good quality tacos in Nashville proper. While it’s also pretty much another country, I’ve seen a string of taco trucks along Charlotte Pike. Granted I don’t get shot or robbed at night, I’d like to go on a taco truck crawl along Charlotte one night.

Las Americas

Nolensville

Nashville, TN

The Hipsters: They Scare Me–Local Taco.

Deep down inside, there lies a a very intense fear of hipster. And it just happens that this fear of mine is compounded by a blind rage over and over. I do think, however, that such strong emotions juxtapose often: when I see one from a distance, I’m overcome with fear and loathing; and when I’m surrounded by them, their ever-multiplying numbers taking up my seat at the local independent coffeehouse or restaurant, I fill with disdain. Just why do I harbor such emotions towards this unstoppable and enlarging segment of the youth? And why am I venting here? The first question is easy to answer: their super skinny jeans and extra deep V necks are frightening, just like how some people get the heebie-jeebies when they see pictures of spiders, I feel the same when I see them posted all over the world-wide Internets. I’m sure that there are more logical reasons to be scared, but sometimes the most visceral emotion is the only one that should make sense. As for the second question: because I can, and I’m sure all 2 of my readers (I don’t count myself one of them) would skip my opening rants anyway.

More importantly, I speak of hipsters because they do plague restaurants and coffeehouses; they take up precious customer space (tables and sofas) while spending very little, therefore hurting the establishment and economy. And so that was my train of thought as I walked into Local Taco a couple nights ago. The neighborhood was the perfect breeding ground for hipsters: small brick-laden strip malls populated by independent laundromats, restaurants, pubs, and eco-friendly stores. UGH. I spotted the line in front of Local Taco, winding out the door. The outdoor patio was quickly filling up. And most importantly (as I have learned since kinda joining the working force) pitchers upon pitchers of margaritas were strewn on tables. I glanced over the menu. Fish tacos. Chicken tacos. Fried shrimp tacos. KOREAN BBQ TACOS.

Elvis has left the building. The shark has jumped. This was it. KOGI has officially changed the way hipsters see tacos. I knew I wasn’t going to get a real (dirty and delicious) taco. But I still got the carnitas taco, grabbing on to all that futility would offer. Each taco is $2.50. They come on factory-manufactured, grocery-aisle, unwarmed, stale tortillas. Tip: I’m sure the carnecerias on Charlotte Pike offer bags of tortillas infinitely tastier than these ones. So already, one key component of the taco (the other being the filling) was off. I ordered the whole shabam: carnitas, spicy shrimp, korean bbq, and pork bbq tacos. The pork bbq was basically a bbq pork sandwich with coleslaw in a tortilla instead of a bun. The spicy shrimp was sweet, not spicy. The korean bbq was also sweet, but not so much that desecrated the deliciousness inherent in Korean bbq (translation: it was decent). The carnitas was the white-flight version of pork: no fat, no grease, no flavor. I will be going to Nolensville when I want real tacos. However, if I wanted to sit on a patio and drink beers (not margaritas cuz their margaritas were disgusting and pricey) on a summer evening in a hipster neighborhood (which isn’t entirely bad) I would chill there. And all in all, the crowd wasn’t entirely hipster. The crowd was actually older, as in “I have a real job” older, but still cool. Anyway, I’m craving a taco right now. Filled with buccal muscle. That would be awesome.

Local Taco

Murphy Rd.

Nashville, TN

Las Americas Makes Me Warm And Sleepy Inside

The good news:

I finally found a place in Nashville that conjures fond, stomach-pleasing memories of Mexican food entering my mouth, writhing through my guts, and inevitably finding its way back out the other end. While it’s not the same caliber, the $1.25 tacos, which include cabeza, al pastor, and carnitas (pictured), are still satisfying with a squeeze of lime. I’m not a big fan of the salsa, however. But whatever, these tacos scream, “Eat my ass SATCO (San Antonio Taco Co.), you suck!” Or maybe that’s me saying it.

The pupusas are supposed to be the big draw here (I’m guessing the place is El Salvadorean). While the fillings are rather standard–combinations of meat, beans, and/or cheese–they hit the spot. Add a bit of the cole-slawish toppings (I forget what it’s really called) and you almost forget about the 5 tablespoons of grease you just hungrily devoured.

The bad news:

The horchata is a little too powdery, a little too cough-inducing. The place is kinda small, and confirm which side of the street the restaurant is on before going; don’t make the mistake of going to Las Americas the record store across the street from the restaurant like I did. It also reminds me: going there is pretty much going to another country–not only is it far (20-mile round trips are too much for a busy medical student like me), Nolensville might as well be another country with its run-down streets and convoluted traffic. My PPD test was negative, thankfully, even after going to that area. So it’s (relatively) safe to go!

Hopefully I’ll go back when I’m free. Like in 2 years. Sigh…my life sucks.

Las Americas Market

4715 Nolensville Pike # A

Nashville, TN‎

(615) 315-8888‎

This Is A Mess

I mean the burrito from Qdoba. Not me. Really.

Although I do have a problematic tendency to go overboard sometimes in regards to both food and drink (and maybe behavior as well). Given the option to pile on the toppings, I usually top off the burrito with cheese, pico de gallo, lettuce, corn salsa, green salsa, and habanero salsa. My burrito ends up looking like a bloated package before the end of the assembly line, much like my stomach after eating the burrito, and shortly before passing out in a food coma. I still prefer Chipotle for some unknown reason–call it a gut feeling.

Thanksgiving Onslaught

I’ve had a good week to let my stomach recover from Thanksgiving (somewhat–a few of us went back to Prince’s Hot Chicken for round 2 a couple days ago). Out of all the holidays and special occasions, Thanksgiving is my favorite. It’s a food lover’s day. Christmas is for consumerism, Valentine’s is for lovers, St. Patrick’s is for alcoholics who are in denial, Independence Day is for Will Smith, Halloween is for white people, and my birthday is another excuse to get excessively intoxicated. I don’t really care; I just want turkey and gravy in my belly. And yes, I know I can eat that any day, but I need a day dedicated to eating, napping, eating, napping, and repeat.

I started my Thanksgiving day bright and early at 10:30am to pick up the turkey kit from Whole Foods. However, this dinner was not destined to be; my mom dropped a bomb the night before when she told me that we were going to a Chinese church Thanksgiving potluck instead. At the time, I was overcome by devastation. Chinese and Thanksgiving are polar opposites. It took my family over a decade to transition from Thanksgiving hot pots to Thanksgiving turkeys.

Thankfully, there was actually a mix of Western and Chinese fare at the potluck, and I was happy. My stomach, not so much. It was about to burst even before I started on my second plate and way before I started on dessert. On the way out, I also chowed down on some extra chicken wings. I’m a fatty, what can I say?

Side note: I had just finished my exam on the heart, lungs, and reproductive system. As part of the potluck, some members gave speeches on what they were thankful for. One member detailed his story of surviving a heart attack, getting a stent, getting restenosed, and then finally getting bypass surgery. While listening, all that went through my head was the pathology and treatment for each stage of this man’s ordeal. I couldn’t even escape medical school after flying thousands of miles away. Crap.

On Friday, or Thanksgiving Part Deux, I had a respite for lunch when I got some tacos with my friend Viv. It wasn’t really a break for my stomach, though, because I ordered three tacos and a horchata. Dear Stomach, I’m sorry.

Dinner came around, and I was confronted with another feast. At this point in the 48-hour period, I’m not attacking the food anymore; it’s attacking me. I suffered through another glorious Whole Foods Thanksgiving meal, calling it quits midway during my second helping. I couldn’t even entertain the notion of eating Whole Foods’ oh-so-delicious pumpkin pie. It was good food, but I was on the verge of entering food coma oblivion after my second Thanksgiving. I definitely didn’t prepare enough for so many consecutive feasts. It was sorta like “death by schnoo schnoo” on Futurama.

Now that I’m thinking about all this food, though, I’m getting hungry and long to relive it all again. Maybe I’ll be better prepared when Christmas dinners roll around.

Los Angeles Day 5: More Mexican Food, And Two For The Road

My plane was leaving at 3:30 so I had to leave the USC area around 2 to get to the airport on time. I had already planned the day out a week before I even left Nashville, and replayed the scenario over and over in my mind: wake up at 8am, get breakfast, pack, eat lunch, buy some snacks, leave for the airport. I had at least enough time for two meals my last day in Los Angeles.

However, I never factored in just how much my gastrointestinal system would resemble the 405 freeway on a Friday afternoon by the end of my trip–even I was surprised my GI system wasn’t firing signals to my brainstem telling my body to puke up a couple tacos or bowls of noodles to relieve the jam of food clogging up the entire length of my intestines.

I skipped breakfast. But I did get lunch!

The weekend had already been packed with visits to lots of good eateries, but I was still excited about getting tacos and mulitas from La Taquiza, a gem hidden amongst strip malls riddled with fast food chains.

One of their specialties is al pastor: meat on a spit, just like how meat is made for gyros, except it’s much greasier and therefore more delicious. I got two tacos al pastor, each of which came with a soft tortilla and generous chunks of meat. That’s it. All other toppings, like onions, cilantro, and salsa, are added at the eater’s discretion, but I bet the taco is just as good in its pure form; I decided to add onions only because my brain needed to be tricked into thinking I was eating at least somewhat healthy. Mission accomplished; I ate two meaty tacos without the slightest regret about what it was doing to my arteries.

Why, I even went on to eat my mulita with chorizo without any reluctance. It was my last meal in Los Angeles after all. The mulita is La Taquiza’s true specialty–cheese, avocado, and meat smushed and melted between two sheets of tortilla (similar to a quesadilla, but not). It’s a fusion of all the forms of fat you could ever want–dairy, vegetable, and animal–that, when combined, unleash a triglyceride and cholesterol-laced explosion in your mouth. I doused it with green sauce and red sauce, then proceeded to savor every bite.

After I washed it all down with horchata, I left for the airport.

It was a good trip. And I also got two burritos for the road!