Even though some small chain eatery secured a trademark on the term “Taco Tuesday,” it’s become a tradition of sorts all over the nation plus Canterlot High School. It occurred to me more than once while I was hospitalized that I wasn’t in any position to observe this particular tradition, and hadn’t been since mid-June. Came the first of November, and dammit, I decided, I’m going to have a Taco Tuesday.
I’d done this often enough in the past to have developed a routine, and at its peak it was possible for me to dish up twelve decently-stuffed tacos for somewhere around nine bucks. Not that I have any business eating 12 tacos, but reducing recipes is so disheartening. After four months out of practice, I hadn’t forgotten anything; but my wondrously annoying mobility issues made the production, which requires lots of movement around the kitchen, more difficult than I imagined, and cleanup, never fun, was even less so.
I admit to one shortcut: instead of slicing sections off a head of iceberg lettuce, I bought a bag of pre-shredded, and used about 40 percent of it. (Other veggies and trimmings were handled in the traditional manner.) This pushed the batch price closer to $10, but I spent nearly $10 yesterday at Popeye’s, and you’re not hearing me complain about them. Still, it may be a while before I try this again: it certainly won’t be next Tuesday, unless I suddenly take a turn for the better, which strikes me as highly unlikely.
This would be the ideal time to serve up Spike Jones’ 1956 single “16 Tacos,” were it out there to be served up. Alas, it is not.