Before I moved to Texas, my favorite taquitos came from Chronic Tacos on the Newport peninsula. I’ve since sampled many a taquito in Texas, always drawing comparisons to my favorites at Chronic Tacos and wondering when I would get back to Newport again. Tonight, after celebrating the first birthday of the son of one of my friends who had lived on the peninsula, I was feeling nostalgic and decided it was time to pick up some taquitos.
The woman who regularly took my order six years ago was there, explaining to me, yet again, that guacamole would be $1.50 extra. The folks in line are still mostly drunk and disorderly. But the taquitos weren’t what I remembered. In fact, they seemed dry and flavorless without the jalapeno ranch I’ve become accustomed to.
As I put my keys in the ignition and got ready to head back to LA I thought about all the shenanigans that had happened here. This is where I had parked my car every weekend when I visited my boyfriend. This is where the mom at today’s birthday boy had hopped behind the donut shop counter to help herself to a maple bar. This is where I’d run to buy a bag of ice when my boyfriend busted his forehead open. This is where we walked through the fast food drive-thru. This is where we bought slurpees before heading to the beach. This is where we hung out at the dive bar after watching a friend come _this close_ to winning the Miss America pageant. This is where I learned what it was like to realize that my car had been towed. This place makes me feel connected to those precious couple of years between college and law school when I decided it would be okay to not take myself too seriously and have a little fun. And that’s why I remembered the taquitos tasting so damn good.
(For the record, you can’t beat the taquitos at Doc’s on South Congress in Austin, Texas.)
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