Taco, taco, taco

Few things remind me of LA: palm trees, the mountains that border my valley home, and, of course, taco trucks. So, when I was driving by the one on 22nd and International this evening on a strange errand for my mother, I couldn't not pull over. Taco trucks are a godsend. Food on wheels, and super cheap.

I ordered three tacos al pastor with everything on them. (I never know whether or not to try to order in my ridiculous yet passable Spanish, which, I've been told on several occassions, has a great accent.) I was going crazy on my drive home--glorious taco smell just permeating through the paper plate, foil top, and black plastic bag.

And, they were glorious. A squeeze of lime and some Tapatio made them perfect. I scarfed those suckers down. Ate the radishes and the pepper too. Sure, the pepper was way hotter than I could enjoyably handle and I went a bit overboard with the Tapatio, so my mouth and tongue started to tingle a bit, but, still, so good, so good. Probably the best $3 dinner ever. Hands down.