Few things in life are as comforting as a pillowy soft, freshly-pressed flour tortilla with (and here’s the important part) BUTTER. I like my butter cold and my tortillas hot, so that the warm tortilla softens the butter without melting it completely, thus creating a texture and a temperature contrast that my tongue particularly enjoys. Before moving to LA, I was unaware of this simple pleasure. Now that I’m hooked, I get my fix at Paco’s Tacos on Centinela in Culver City:
There is ALWAYS a wait here. Always. Last Sunday night around 7pm, awesome pal Dylan and I waited about 20 minutes and that’s fast, for Paco’s. But to keep you merry, you can order margaritas in their makeshift “lobby” area, and entertain yourself with the fact that that Renée and Tom were serenaded by mariachis here in Jerry Maguire. (Don’t worry. There’s nary a mariachi to be seen these days. But there are fish tanks! FUN!)
Unlimited chips n salsa, check. Decent Cadillac margaritas with a shot of Cointreau on the side, check. Typical non-descript West LA street corner location, check and check:
Good, fresh Mex is one of the best things about LA. (Even if they do skimp on the guacamole and most avocados I see at the store cost $2/each and are grown in freakin’ CHILE. What’s UP with that?) ANYWAY. Where was I going with this.
Oh yes. So, I’ve had BAD Mexican food before, and it sucked (obv), but when it’s good — it’s the same good everywhere. The variances between each restaurant’s version of ‘good’ are almost imperceptible. It’s like twins. One might be slightly hotter on any given day. But it’s still hard to tell them apart. Some of the best Mexican food I’ve ever had was at awesome pal Myrn’s parents’ house, while some of the worst (or at least, most overpriced and least satisfactory) was at fancy-pantalones Border Grill in SM. Go figure.
So, just for your viewing pleasure, here’s a pic of the two taco combo plate at Paco’s. (Or is it?!)
YUM. I have a sudden urge to A. call Myrna and ask when I can come over for a barbecue and B. date twins. If you know any (preferably male, mid-thirties) please make introductions immediately.
And just while I’m here, quick story about that — I once went on a first date with a guy, and after 10 minutes of telling him how I find twins kind of creepy, alien and pod-peopley, the way they have their own language and do God only knows what to each other while cohabiting in the world’s smallest apartment (get a womb!), he finally interrupted me to say that he was a twin. Game over! No wonder I’m single.