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I honestly can’t tell you the last time I had a taco. I can tell you the last time I tried. In 2004 or 2005, a bunch of us were flying to Miami for my older brother’s bachelor party in Key West. We made a stop on the way to the airport, and there was a Taco Bell nearby. A few of us were hungry, so we stopped in and ordered food. As the last one to order, I paid expecting everyone to pay me back. As soon as he found out I had paid for everything, my brother, being the asshole he is, said we were in a hurry, and if I didn’t leave right now, he’d leave me there. (I’m a picky eater, probably due to lingering childhood food allergies or pressure to eat, and my family would often use food to torture me as a child.) Tacos aside, deciding to go on the trip was my mistake. I should have said, “Okay,” and let him leave. But I didn’t. I acquiesced, and of course no one paid me back.
That clearly leaves a bad taste in my mouth (so to speak), but the reason I don’t eat tacos — or Mexican food generally — is because, other than mozzarella and parmesan, I hate cheese. As any cheese hater can tell you, an order requesting no cheese on something that usually has cheese rarely comes back as ordered. I have no problem peeling the cheese off of a turkey club, but if the food is hot, you can’t just peel away the cheese. As someone who hates to waste food or make a server’s life harder on them, I won’t order anything hot that generally comes with cheese. Ergo, if I go to a Mexican restaurant, the only thing I can order are fajitas. Even tamales, which I love (and recently had), tend to come with cheese even if the menu doesn’t mention it. Consequently, if I’m not in the mood for fajitas, Mexican food is out, but in any event, tacos are out.
So, here we are on Taco Tuesday at least 17 years since my last taco, and I’ve decided to break that fast. I’m having tacos for dinner, and I’ll probably go to Taco Bell. I’m a picky eater but not a snobby eater. What I hate, I won’t eat, and what I like, I like even if it’s low quality. Taco Bell is good enough for me.
. . . and I’m a lousy cook.