![]() The salsa is bright and fresh, but it doesn’t save the powder-dry steak. It’s served all day, and it satisfies down to the socks. The Big “D” taco ($5.29) is bacon, sausage, chorizo, ham, potato, pico de gallo and scrambled eggs on a corn tortilla. On a recent trip to Tacos Y Mas, the air as cold as steel knives, the Tacos Y Mas patio is empty. Zaman must have felt the force: Tacos are strong in Dallas. Who among us hasn't felt primordial cells cry out in surrender-joy at the unsheathing of a Crunchy Taco Supreme? When sour cream fills out that crispy shell, loaded with mysterious ground sort-of-meat, we all turn into I Am Legend bloodthirsties. One great secret of humans, from chefs to Olympians, around the world: We, the people, have a deep, stupid love of Taco Bell. Nick Rallo The taco stand was a different story. I didn’t know enough about the grocery business,” he says with a chuckle. “I thought I could run operations," he says. He felt like he had a firm grasp on the numbers side of running a business. One idea was to open a grocery store: the Texas Foodland at 2730 Samuell Blvd. “So I went from the field - meaning operating Taco Bell restaurants - to the corporate world, and that didn’t really sweep me that much. There, he helped Pizza Huts, KFCs and Taco Bells become the fast-food machines that they are in every city in the world. He moved up from assistant manager to a multi-unit manager at the Bell and 10 years later was promoted within PepsiCo (Taco Bell’s owner at the time). He’d traveled to Texas as a student in the early '80s from Bangladesh and found himself clocked into work in the melty, sour-creamy halls of Taco Bell corporate. In 1989, Zaman graduated from the University of North Texas, focusing on finance and banking. What started as one grill and one umbrella is now five locations with a growing franchise interest from third parties. The patio's vinyl whips in the chilly wind, the TV is blaring morning shows, and it’s all evidence: Tacos Y Mas is grown up. The car wash and Zaman’s flagship joint sit in the shadow of a modernized, sleek McDonald’s. Signs surround the brick-and-mortar, announcing burritos and awards from such papers as this one. Your steak tacos got bagged up in a styrofoam container for $1.19 each.Įighteen years later, a heated patio with seating has replaced the umbrella. Steak, bathing in marinade for 24 hours, sizzled and covered with cilantro and chopped onion, slid onto hot corn tortillas. ![]() The car wash next door buzzed with traffic, so Zaman took a chance on a tiny food stand. Just after Y2K, Mahbub Zaman’s taco stand was a solo makeshift umbrella and a portable grill at the beehive intersection of Ross and Greenville avenues. Revolver Taco Lounge 2822 W.All-American is a series that looks at beloved, longstanding North Texas eateries and examines their histories while exploring how the food has changed - for the good or bad - over the years. Revolver’s tacos come with a side of sticker shock (a plate of four lobster tacos is $30, sweetbreads and pastor options go for $13). The same can be said for their price tag. Otherwise, it was a knockout rendition of the classic dish from the Mexican state of Michoacan, the Rojas’ homeland.Ī restrained salsa accompanied our platter. All that was missing were more crackling nibs to offset the tender meat. The carnitas were firmly held in place by a pico de gallo that gave the packed threads of pork a spicy nudge. Also known as corn smut-some prefer calling it corn truffles-the huitlacoche was mild with a bouquet of damp forest floor softened by the pillowy corn tortilla in which it sat with queso fresco. (Revolver was the initial stop of five planned for the day’s taco tour of Dallas’ sister city.) The first was a food I have been eager to sample: huitlacoche, the fungus that bursts from corn on the stalk. ![]() Wowed we were by the two tacos time allowed. ![]() We took a seat at the bar where the restaurant’s eponymous firearms were inlaid, aiming straight for the taco roster. ![]() That’s what a friend and I saw when we walked into Revolver Taco Lounge right after it opened. The eatery’s tacos come wrapped in house-made tortillas produced from nixtamal (i.e., the hard way) in a kitchen staffed by-stereotypically enough-smock-wearing elderly women, among them owner Gino Rojas’ mother and aunt. In the mood for huitlacoche? Revolver’s got it. A lobster taco is laced with chipotle butter sauce. Here, the Rojas family offers pipian, a green mole with pumpkin seeds, blankets duck breast. Opened for more than a year, Revolver offers Mexican standards humble in presentation. Case in point: Revolver Taco Lounge, a contemporary Mexican restaurant awash in white with orange accents along West Seventh Street in Fort Worth. Some shine white and clean in developing enclaves. Not all great taquerías are hovels found in neglected districts. ![]()
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