You know you're in trouble when a Wikipedia treatise on the humble taco starts off with:
"The origins of the taco are not precisely known, and etymologies for the culinary usage of the word are generally theoretical."
That's before you wade into the hundreds of obligatory rules and styles—and attendant Spanglish monikers—that surround a dish that's really just a flat, thin corn pancake topped with just about anything.
Like everyone else with an opinion—and that includes just about everyone who has ever built a taco—we’ve drawn our lines in the sand:
Corn only. Don't even think about serving us a wallpaper-flavored flour tortilla.
Smaller is better. So-called "street" size is best.
For grilling the tortilla, a thin film of lard—no substitute!—on a cast iron griddle.
Otherwise—and this one came from a chef and family friend in Tijuana—flip the tortilla directly on the gas stove's open flames, turning every few seconds until the bubbles start to burn and catch fire.
Beyond that, it's open season.
Some of our more memorable fillings:
Broiled skirt steak. We save our Texican dill pickle jar juice for a marinade and combine with everything from fruit (peaches! mangoes!) to Chinese fermented black beans to Jamaican Jerk (or just allspice), with loads of onion, garlic, pepper, lemon and/or lime. At least a few days in the refrigerator.
For the marinade, just about any dried or fresh herb or spice in the rack. We lean toward the Mexican chilis and spices—this is tacos we’re making after all, and no culture knows their chilis like the Mexicans—but we experiment with everything.
Shrimp, scallops, octopus, lobster, gently sauteed or lightly broiled. Any kind of broiled fish from anywhere. Here, we tend to take it easy on the marinade--store-bought or homemade salsa, any clear salad dressing, garlic, lime, pepper, for just a few hours in the refrigerator. Maybe a dollop of sour cream or yogurt stirred in.
Pre-cooked lamb, pork, chicken—any meat, in fact—suitably marinated.
Pre-cooked or raw vegetables, marinated or not, chopped fine enough that they won't rip the taco between plate and mouth.
Our four favorite accents: avocado/guacamole, tomatoes/pico de gallo, sweet onions, and cilantro.
In other words, just about anything fresh or leftover will do. Empty out the doggie bags, storage bins, and refrigerator shelves. The only things to watch out for:
Draining the ingredients—you don't want your guests' tacos to disintegrate all over their tuxedos and evening gowns.
Our biggest sin—overloading the taco. This is very small-scale work. No matter how hard you try, you'll probably use a fraction of the ingredients you prepared. So just add rice the next day and call it intentional.
Don’t get us wrong. When we eat out, we still order—and love!—the standard restaurant styles like al Pastor, Carne Asada, al Carbon, Camarones, Pescatore, and so forth—not to mention enchiladas and quesadillas—whatever they’re serving, in fact. But at home and out of sight, we prefer to live dangerously and often do.
And BTW:
We weren’t kidding about those Texican dill pickles or the Chinese fermented black beans, both of which qualify as superfoods in our house.
Find the amazing Harold’s Pickles, Hot or Mild, at Amazon.
Find Mee Chun salted black beans at Amazon.