Inside of the factory, with industrial corn meal mixers grinding away in the background, and Norteno music blasting, you order your tacos at this little kitchen, and sit down at the long communal table to dine with dirty hipsters and hair-netted tortilla makers alike. Basically, a utopian dining experience.
And oh what tacos they are! So achingly good they tickle the heart-strings and make your nose run from happiness and hot sauce. Green and red are equally great.
They have tacos, tortas (really good because they bun is not too over-sized and it's nice and toasty, like a Mexican panini) burritos (I have yet to try), tostadas, and these awesome things that look like giant sopes, called picadas. They cook all of the meat to order and the chorizo, pleasantly greasy, grainy, and flecked with bits of earthy potato, might be my favorite.
I know what you Angelenos might be thinking, "Hmmm, what about all that lettuce and crema on there? That doesn't look too autentico..." Lettuce is superfluous, yes. Still incredibly delicious? Quite. Just look at the smile on Brandon's face; that is one happy man. We're going to be okay, New York! We can survive!
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