Taco Shells

 

I just had a scent memory of frying taco shells. I don’t know where it came from. There isn’t any food being prepared in my home right now, and I’m definitely not having a stroke (I think). But the memory slammed into me, all the same. I decided to just sit with it, and see where it went. I was quickly reminded of Sunday afternoons spent at home, playing games, watching movies, and being with my family. I could be wrong, and anyone in my family who reads this is free to correct me, but fried taco shells usually happened on Sundays. I’m sure we probably had them on other days of the week, but most often on Sunday.

Whenever my mom cooked a roast, if there were leftovers, it generally meant we would be having Mexican food soon thereafter. She had this old, manual meat grinder, and we would take chunks of the roast, and crank it through the grinder. No extra seasonings, nothing fancy. Just ground up roast beef. And I was so naïve, because I wanted our ground beef tacos to taste like the kind I got from Taco Bell (I also wanted our home to be the kind of home that had lots of frozen food/meals in the freezer, but poor me all I got was my mom’s homemade meals. Sometimes kids are dumb. THE MEALS WERE DELICIOUS). I would take one of those homemade ground beef tacos over a Taco Bell one, ten million times over.
I haven’t had a taco like that in years.

Whenever it was time for leftover ground beef tacos, my mom generally got the sides and toppings put together, while my dad made the taco shells (with the exception of chopping the tomatoes. Dad was super particular about the way he wanted tomatoes chopped for tacos. Very small pieces, not mush, but small squares. He taught me how to do it the way he liked them, and that’s generally the way I still chop tomatoes for anything. There’s nothing worse than a too big chunk of tomato. Except war and famine and political turmoil and so on and so forth. But still. Too big tomato chunks….shudder). Dad would take a package of corn tortillas and fry them up. He had some sort of knack with using a pair of tongs to hold the tortilla in such a way, and flip it over at just the right time, that it held the perfect shape for being filled when it was done. He’d also throw some in the oil, just to soften them up, and get them nice and greasy flavored on both sides. These, he would use to make “enchiladas.” He’d take one of the soft, greasy ones, put it on his plate, then layer red enchilada sauce, beef, and cheese (I think?) on it, then repeat the layers a couple more times, finishing with a splash of Tabasco. Then, being the weirdly particular person that he was (there was a spreadsheet for nearly everything in his life), he made sure that every bite he cut of the enchilada, was the exact size to fit onto his fork. Every single time. I wish I’d paid more attention to see how he handled the round sides of the tortilla, fitting them to the shape of the fork.

But his fried taco shells, those were the best. That was my favorite part of the meal. If there were any leftover, I would sometimes come back later for one as a snack, and just sprinkle some salt on it, like a giant tortilla chip. My mouth is watering right now thinking about it.

A few months after he passed away, we decided to be brave and do a good old-fashioned roast beef taco, with fried taco shells, dinner (at this point, it had been happening for so long, I feel safe in calling it an old-fashioned meal). I tried frying the corn tortillas, but couldn’t get the shape right. Darius (my brother) tried frying the corn tortillas, and he got the shape better, but they ended up chewy. I think Mom may have even tried a couple, and then we gave up. We’ve bought our taco shells from the store ever since, because Dad was the only one with the skills.

Now that I’m thinking about this, he took two other food skills to the grave, also related to Mexican food.
My dad could make a ridiculously delicious chimichanga, and he rolled and folded the flour tortilla in such a way that it never came undone as it fried. We have had success in making Dad’s chimichangas, but it involves a lot of toothpicks….
Then there’s his salsa recipe. He didn’t make homemade salsa until the last few years of his life, and I was never much of a salsa fan (I am now), but Dad’s salsa was so good. He just threw stuff in the blender (probably the only occasion in his life when he treated measurements in a cavalier way), but it tasted the same every time. He must’ve somehow known the exact amounts. His salsa is the reason I love cilantro. We have tried many times, particularly my sister Angie, to recreate Dad’s salsa the way it was.
It simply can’t be done.

My dad got all of his Mexican food making skills from his mom. His family lived in a middle of nowhere town in southern Arizona, nearly Mexico, by the name of Bisbee (if you’ve heard of it, give me a holla, and if you’ve actually been there, then give ten points to Hufflepuff). He was a little boy when my grandma had him standing on a chair, next to the stove, learning how to make authentic Mexican food and fry the perfect taco shell.
(speaking of Grandma, SHE was kind enough to leave behind her recipe for homemade noodles, which I haven’t had in years, but maaaaaaaan those things... I wish she had passed the ability to pass on food directions to my dad. THANKS DAD.)

In conclusion, I’m fasting today, and as I write this, my stomach is growling angrily at me, and I’m getting close to the edge of hangry, which is making me really irritated that I can’t ever have one of those tacos again.

Happy Sunday. Don’t chop your tomatoes too big.