The first time, the last time, next time.
One time, I bought my mother a pig shirt there. The gaze, it was an older Latina, proper form, my eyes lingered on the delicate gold shading in her eyes, flecks of color against the olive skin, older laugh lines, nothing new.
Ten dollars. Plus some sales tax.
Scorpio that time, “Those carn- carn, carn-EET-ass taste like goat toenails.”
Tasty, if slathered with hot sauce and rolled in a tortilla, but then, many things in life are rendered more palatable by proper presentation.
Wrap it in a flour tortilla, and it is good.
This time it was Lamb Barbacoa. New to me, although, from distant Austin memories, the better beef barbacoa was fattier, tastier, and more moist.
Not that I wouldn’t try it again. I know the most common weekend breakfast ad in old East Austin, and now in South San Antonio?
“Menudo and barbacoa, every weekend.” Alternatively it might just say, “Menudo & barbacoa, Sat. Sun.” Seen it both ways.
“People are fat because healthy food is expensive.”