Detroit - “La Taquerilla” greets passers by on a Saturday night, its small awning a beacon of florescent light on an otherwise dim avenue, pouring out from the handful of patrons that surround the open-air eatery after dark.
For years the taco stand has remained across the street from a laundromat, and tucked into the edge of the parking lot for a grocery store in the city’s Mexicantown district.
And for residents of this Southwest Detroit neighborhood, “La Taquerilla” is a place that remains vibrant in the throws of a city struggling to maintain its livelihood in the midst of a recession.
Customers form in crowds, ushering in chatter (mostly in Spanish) and fits of frenzied laughter that merge with the din of cooking: spatulas clanging and the sizzle of grease—which is constant here, filling the air like static.
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"La Taquerilla" on a typical evening in Southwest Detroit. Photo courtesy of David Schalliol. |
When the cook takes an order, he tries to pierce through the clamor. His voice is curt and quick. He extends a look of urgency.
And then grinning, he resumes his frantic pace at the grill.
Plain flour tortillas are placed on one side of his cooktop. The cook then reaches behind him for clunky metallic cooking pans filled with season meat, whose contents he heaps onto the grill.
He goes to work chopping and hacking, portioning and pushing meats about the crackling surface with his spatula. He’s like a machine.
Once the tortillas are cooked to a glistening gold, he fills them with meat and passes them back to a prep-cook behind him who then adds fresh onion and cilantro and serves them on neat, rectangular plates made of white Styrofoam.
The food can’t be beat.
The taste strikes a pleasant balance between the tame cornflour of the tortilla and the savory gusto of the seasoned beef (canre asada), pork (al pastor), chicken (pollo) or tripe (tripa).
“La Taquerilla” is modest by definition. It’s no bigger than your average minivan, minus the wheels. And in modest fashion, the price is spot-on.
Seven tacos, one quesadilla and a Mexican Coke (made with real cane sugar, not the corn syrup you’d drink from a vending machine or restaurant) cost $14. And that’s enough to feed three adults.
Satisfied customers lean in on the counter that extends around three sides of the open-air panels for more tacos, quesadillas and tortas (served on large, flaky buns slathered with mayonnaise).
One beckons and the prep-cook stops his furious chopping to reach for a refrigerated casing full of Mexican soda beneath his cutting board.
He uses the dull edge of his lengthy kitchen knife to pry open a bottle of Jarritos, sending the cap off into the night with a pop like champagne.
This is a merry place to be on a night like tonight. The bustle is enveloping.
It’s easy to forget that you are mere blocks from Michigan Central Station, the abandoned train terminal that has become a monument to Detroit’s urban decay. The massive building appears more as if plucked from the set of a horror movie than from the drawing board of the very architects who created Grand Central in New York.
The flow of customers remains constant. Cars pull right up to the stand, the last parking spaces closest to the taco stand and its awning.
It becomes clear that they come to “La Taquerilla” for more than just great food at a good price.
They come to enjoy the things that the recession can’t take from them—or any of us. Laughter. Company. The sights and sounds of a city pulsing with life.
Listen in. Click the box below to hear some of the lively sounds of "La Taquerilla" I recorded during my visit.
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