Go Figure: Taco Taco

I'm always amazed that a national magazine like Bon Appetit would pick a restaurant within walking distance of my house as being the best in the entire country for the type of food it serves. Not because there aren't a lot of good restaurants within walking distance (for an ambitious walker, at least), but because I always think of San Antonio as being somehow off the radar for the rest of the country. A big city, yes, but close enough to Houston and Dallas that, when people think of Texas, they don't think of us. And now Austin, just up the road, is taking on the mantle of coolness, leaving us as kind of an oversized colonia, but with plumbing.

In a sense, though, it's natural that even the sophisticates who run national magazines would eventually be led to San Antonio for the best Tex-Mex food. While the vast majority of people in the mainstream hinterland believe what they're told, that you can get good Mexican in Houston and Dallas and Santa Fe and even Los Angeles, they don't realize that when we say Mexican, we mean Tex-Mex, and that don't come no better than right here in River City.

It's been a while -- probably more than a year -- since the professional foodies at Bon Appetit pronounced Taco Taco Cafe to be the best Mexican food In The Whole Country, but the banner's still up out front, the review's still on the door, and let's face it: no place in town has gotten higher praise since from People Who Count.

What does that mean?

I, obviously, don't count. I've been to Taco Taco a number of times since the Greek lady who owns the gas station next door opened her taquería in this unassuming space after Panchito's moved uptown. I've been there for breakfast, and for lunch, and even went back several times after the magazine piece and accompanying television program, just to see what it was they'd found that I never had. I still don't know.

I went back again today, and had a couple of chilaquile tacos, and coffee, and have once again come away completely unimpressed. The flour tortillas were fresh, as always, and this time they weren't overcooked as they have been on occasion. The coffee was good. The chilaquiles were, well, not bad, though the cheese tasted like Velveeta. They were a little messy, which is a good thing, and the salsa that was available in the nearly-empty pitcher on the table was tasty enough. The service was mediocre despite the fact that, when I arrived, the place was more than half-empty. The kitchen seemed disorganized -- the three army officers at the next table got their orders in three separate deliveries some minutes apart, and I had time to drink my coffee and read five chapters of a trashy novel before the waitress brought my order and a refill. Not bad, really, but not good.

Cheese is an integral part of chilaquiles, to my way of thinking. Without cheese, it's just scrambled eggs with tortilla strips mixed in with the veggies. So I object to being charged extra for a dose of cheese; it reminds me of that old "I Love Lucy" episode where the man sells Lucy a vacuum cleaner -- "the works" for ten bucks. "And now that you've bought the works, don't you think you'd like this attractive case to put them in?" Cheese is not an added ingredient for chilaquiles.

I especially object to being charged extra for Velveeta, which is not cheese, but is a cheese-like substance. And still more, I object to being charged 59¢ for it ... twice. That objection is reflected in the rating for value.

Best tacos in America? Oh, puh-leeze! They're not even the best tacos on that street.