A taste of home

Many, many times in the past year – more times than I can count – I have passed over a strong desire for a taco by ordering dumplings instead.

 

And yet, one year after I walked off the plane and into Hong Kong, I found myself at a bar in a Mexican place, chatting with my friend Rosa and sipping margaritas.

 

It was, somehow, the most appropriate place to celebrate my Hong Kong anniversary. For 364 days, I had steadfastly suppressed any and all cravings for Mexican food. There’s a good reason for this: I’ve eaten Mexican food in foreign places before, and it’s almost universally disappointing. I learned long ago to steer my parents to my favorite Mexican place the instant we left the airport. (I’ve also known exactly where I’m going and what I’m going to order the day I return to Dallas in May. I decided months ago.)

 

In addition to the killer Chinese food, which I have loved from Day One, Hong Kong has a lot of great ethnic food – and you can get pretty much everything here. There’s no shortage of Thai, Indian or Vietnamese places. I’ve found the best croque madames and steak-frites I’ve eaten outside France. But, taco snob that I am, I found disappointing what my co-workers raved about. (Seriously, how good can something be when it comes from a place called “Taco Loco”?)

 

But when a friend told me that the new Mexican restaurant in SoHo had great margaritas, curiosity got the best of me – and I found myself at the bar with Rosa.

 

And I have to admit: They were far, far better than I expected. The nachos, too, despite the use of Spanish chorizo. Surprisingly, the tacos weren’t that bad. I wasn’t disappointed. Actually, I was impressed – I didn’t see a Mexican in the place. (In fact, the kitchen was staffed entirely by Chinese. It’s a bit funny, since the Chinese restaurants in the States are staffed almost entirely by Mexicans.)

 

At the time, I couldn’t decide if I liked it because it was good or if I liked it because it had been a year since I’d eaten a decent taco. I’ve come to think that I liked it because it was good. Because when you’re living in a place that’s as different as it can possibly be from home, nothing is better than a taste of the familiar. Was it the taco of my dreams? No – it’s far from it. But did it scratch that itch for goodness wrapped in a tortilla? You betcha.  

 

And on March 7, 2010, if the restaurant and I are both still here, you’ll probably find me at the bar, sipping a margarita.