Assembling a stylized Mexican street taco can be, to Tamalehawk, one of the most affirming acts available. Frought with self-discovery, one's taco architecture speaks volumes of who one is, and who one hopes to someday be. Several slabs of avocado to slant the flavor profile into creamy's favor? A tangle of grilled onions so it bites back? A sprinkling or avalanche of queso fresco that you finally got the guts to buy and really regret ever having lived without? One cilantro sprig or several? Maybe you'll just wind up eating the skirt steak off the plate, sans tortilla or toppings. That is for you to decide.
Tamalehawk ate at Tizi Melloul a while back. Situated right across from the nest of a red-legged honeycreeper he knew from back in the movie-slinging days, this spot radiates a Moroccan vibe, he guesses? Judging by the maroon and gold-tassled pillows, the dramatic draperies, and the too-close tables, it's shooting for Moroccan. Though definitely not Tamalehawk's kind of place - the precious, unpronounceable name alone would cause him to keep walking - the food was great. The appetizer inspired him to make an apricot chili glaze at home, and the crispy pork belly delivered on every hope he had riding on it. Plus, he completely dusted the valet by parking in the public lot two blocks away for four bones less. Take that, urban luxury.
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