The geedunk truck rolls into the parking lot every day around 9 AM. This is not a taco truck, but simply one of that legion of faceless nameless roach coaches that scurry from one job site to the next all day long. "Somebody Catering", like. I've long since wearied of the same-o assortment of Costco taquitos and bean rolls and corn dogs (although a good corn dog with plenty of mustard does mellow ya out some). So today I kind of slouch over to the truck, maybe get some melon, and I notice a little small paper plate taped up with just one word on it: BARBACOA. The
nice Filipina lady says, "Sure, barbacoa burrito." And smart as you like I tell her "Barbacoa burrito, carne solamente." And she smiles and says, "Beans, rice, tomato." And I'm inspired to say, "Meat only, please." So OK.
The guy explains to me that he buys this stuff already made, in the Mission, for $3 a pound. I'm thinking, "Motherlode!" But when I ask him where he gets it, he loses his English and starts speaking what may be Ilocano. The burrito's only $3.50, and it has to weigh a pound itself. I must have misunderstood.
Careful auditors will recall how much I bitch and whine about "those burritos I used to get in Baja". This is one, just like them, coming back to me after 40 years. Tender shredded beef, buttery and rich in flavor, in not so much a sauce as an infusion of tomato and chile and onions. There are visible red and green bits of chile salted through the meat, but otherwise nothing to distract from that wonderful beefy beef. By the time I finish I have ruined a white shirt, but the foresightful hound keeps a spare shirt in the truck, along with chopsticks and wineglasses. I lean back, "Barbacoa," I sigh, and the air conditioner whispers, "Barbacoa".
Anonymous catering truck
129 Lindbergh Ave