I confess: I love tacos.
I mean, who doesn't, right? Who doesn't love the crispy shell, the warm, succulent meat, the crisp lettuce, tangy tomato, and melty cheese? What's not to love about that?
I'll tell you what's not to love about that: dignity. One cannot consume a hard-shell taco with dignity.
Today, our school cafeteria featured hard-shelled tacos for lunch. I recieved a glop of meat (two dollops = one glop), two shells, and a thimble of cheez. I have not misspelled "cheese." What I received was, in fact, cheez, a yellow, tasteless, soft substance that is impervious to the elements and chuckles audibly when sprinkled on food.
I carefully spooned a dollop of meat into the first shell, said a prayer, and took a bite.
As I'm picking bits of taco shell out of my Andy Rooney-like eyebrows, the question occurs: who thought this was a good idea? Let's take greasy meat and assorted condiments, put them inside something so hard and brittle it barely holds together, and then make it large enough to require at least 8-11 bites to consume in its entirety. It sounds like a joke. A hidden camera prank, perhaps.
Wouldn't bite-size taco shells be neat? Just a mini shell, enough to hold about a teaspoon of meat, that you could load up and stuff in your mouth all at once? That would be great. And the time it would take you to build each taco would stop you from wolfing the whole thing down so quickly.
Of course, you can do soft tacos. Wimp. But here in Texas, we know the way tacos ought to be done. If you're in no danger from shrapnel when eating with a friend, it just ain't tacos.
I can't wait to see if my afternoon students are picking shells out of their eyebrows, too.
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