Tacos are served with choice of cilantro or white onion—get both. They also come side-saddled with a small cup of charro beans, a pouch of tomatillo salsa, and a lime wedge on the side. The salsa pouch has a pointy tip with a knot tied into the other side. To open without looking like a total gringo: bite the pointy tip. Too little of an opening and it doesn’t work, too much and it squirts all over the face so, until this skill feels second nature, proceed with caution. Next, spit the miniscule piece of plastic on the floor somewhere. I’m serious that’s how it’s done— sea turtles called; they said it’s fine.
The tomatillo sauce is hot. It’s nice, it creeps, but enough to see it coming. Unlike the Hello Clarice silently pulling up in a truck behind me saying, “Hey. Hey, come here. You look European or some shit, where’s your family from?” Yeah, that hot sauce plus lime juice turns these tacos next level though some proteins need it more than others.
The beef barbacoa, involves the most flavorful part of the cow: its face. Tender, juicy, face. Every bite is insane because the seasoning is so on point. Enjoyed in a buttery flat top-crisped flour tortilla with melty Oaxaca mozzarella, it doesn’t necessarily need the lime, but wow, it does need the tomatillo sauce to cut through all the richness.
The barbacoa, again, served up in corn tacos emits similar emotions. Go all the way with this one—cilantro, white onions, hot sauce, lime squeeze.
The tripa— the
The chicharron—chingao. Okay, a toss-up between barbacoa for best part of the animal. Taconmadre serves its crisped pork belly and skin finely chopped with crispy fat pockets littered throughout. Divine. Country roads, take me home. Lime is mandatory, and tomatillo tambien, pero more lime than salsa.
Tacos aside, Taconmadre also slings tortas ($6.50), tostadas ($5), burgers ($5-$7), and sope. To wash it all down are fizzy fountain drinks and Aqua Fresca.
Taconmadre is open 24 hours a day seven days a week.