The Best Kept Secret Taco in Phoenix

Phoenix is a great late night city. I'm not talking about Scottsdale, with its blinged out silly trucker hat set, the Ed Hardy orgy, and the Dirty Scottsdale party girls. I'm reppin' CenPho proper here, with its burgeoning farmers market, glass pillar buildings, broad streets, and sense of imminent identity. See, Phoenix grew too fast, gorged itself on easy money and terrible debt. Stretched itself out to the point of exhaustion. And when it was time for the devil to collect his dues, the city itself had to regroup and reinvent itself in a manner more authentic, more culturally diverse, and with emerging culinary excellence...tacos included. After this weekend I have more hope than ever.

I rocked a taco over the weekend that is the best I've had so far. Tucked into a parking lot next to Charlie's, the shack has the classic look of many puestras around town: an aluminum trailer with a couple white tent-like deals set up in front. One word: "Taco" is painted on the front end of the trailer. And, after about 9 p.m., they start cranking out insanely good tacos. By 3 a.m. there's a line around the corner--chilly masses huddling together, noses bloodhounding the air to catch a whiff of the char-grilled goodness pouring off of the grill. Carina and I started going there a few months ago and it's become a regular pit stop on our weekend rotation.

The first thing that makes these tacos so unbelievably superior is the meat. They're using skirt steak and butterflied chicken breasts, and both have obviously been marinating in some magic elixer before they slap it on the searing hot, perfectly seasoned grill. The marinade itself tastes like a mixture of cumin, orange juice, grilled onion, chile powders, and a hint of cinammon. I asked for the recipe, trust me, but got nowhere. Plus, the guy manning the grill puts a mean char on the meat, expertly judging the doneness before passing it on to the smiling dude at the tronco.

The second exceptional thing about these tacos is the tortilla itself. On any given day I'd say that a freshly made tortilla will put the Snooka down on a store bought tortilla. But in this case I'm wrong. They use pre-made corn tortillas, lots of them. To add another layer of flavor, however, they lightly dredge the edges of the tortilla in what looks like rendered fat. I've seen this done before, but never up close like this. After wetting the edges of the tortilla they toss it down on a hot, well seasoned griddle for a quick warm up. And as with most taco shacks, they double up the tortilla before stuffing. I don't know if it's the fat or the flavor of the griddle, but these little guys come off tasting like a meal all their own. They aren't rubbery or too dry, and they maintain enough structural rigidity to perfectly nest an expertly chopped handful of meat.

Years ago I bought a big Chinese style cutting block at a fancy kitchen store. It weighs a ton, made of beautiful maple, and I've oiled it religiously through the years. It's a good friend, and has helped me out with some awesome meals. Still, when I see a taco cook wailing away on a worn tree trunk that's been hollowed out through whack after whack from a cleaver, well, I get envious. So to watch a grill cook toss a brilliantly charred piece of skirt steak onto a tronco is a thing of true bliss. Then, to watch the knife man dice the steak up--as he's done thousands of times--into luscious little bites, puts me over the edge. The dull "thunk" of the cleaver into wood (bear in mind, he's not even looking at the meat--he's chatting up the guy in the pink cowboy hat)has a metronomic ease that is gastronomically hypnotic. But that's exactly how it is. By the time you make it to the grill to place your order, the sound of the cleaver hitting the wood and the smell of grilled meat and warm tacos has you so wound up that's you can't help but order eight or nine tacos!

I'm increasingly convinced that portion size has a lot to do with a quality taco. Too much meat, etc. and you've got a mess on your hands. Too little and the tortilla-to-filling ratio is also out of whack. I mean, you go to Taco Bell (god forbid) and they proudly tout a "STUFFED taco." But really, is that necessary? All that happens is that you blow cheap ground beef out the back end of the beast and gain four pounds. A great taco succeeds because of balance, and this late night shack killed it on that end. The taco-to-filling ratio (TFR) is absolutely perfect. The tortilla doesn't overpower the meat, and the salsa complements the taco without smothering the other flavors.

There are five salsas at this puestra. Each is excellent. There is masking tape on big plastic bowls, on which someone has written (in black Sharpie) "Hot" "Medium" "Mild" "Verde" and "Fresh." There is also a huge bowl of nicely diced white onions and another of cilantro. On this particular night I ordered five beef tacos in order to try each salsa. The "hot" salsa was excellent, bordering on almost too peppery for my taste. "Medium" and "Mild" were top quality. "Verde" and "Fresh," however, were slam dunks. The "Verde" had smoked green peppers and tomatillo expertly blended together, and the "Fresh" tasted like smoked serrano peppers. They knocked me out. Really great stuff. Plus, the white onions have obviously been soaked in water as they didn't have the "onion-y" badness that I normally try and avoid unless I'm hunting the great white taco.

The more I think about this grail quest the more I'm convinced that the atmosphere of the taqueria or puestra plays a significant role in the allure. There's something to be said for sitting at a communal table, very late, when the air itself is quiet, and munching tacos and laughing with people that are complete strangers. It's just a fantastic way to share those late night stories with others and reminds you that there's a huge amount of goodness out there. And that we've all elected to be at a taco stand--not a Denny's or a Pancake House--but a taco stand. Remarkable. After piggish years of growing from the outside out, this city is developing a heart of its own--one that's growing from the inside this time, and these tacos will fuel us all.