So several months ago, new neighbors moved in.
With a taco truck.
That may not mean much to native Arkansans, but to a Texan, the taco truck represents, well … heaven.
Tonight, Hubs and I finally wandered over, lured by the smell of meat on the grill.
We ended up staying for 30 minutes, tasting the beef and getting details on where to find the taco truck.
And oh … the homesickness.
I miss true Tex-Mex food.
I don’t care what all the Arkansas restaurant reviewers say — what you get here isn’t what you get in Texas. It’s just not.
And tonight, as I licked my fingers and passed a plate back and forth with Hubs, I remembered … “Oh, yeah. This is the real deal.”
I’m so happy to have neighbors who remind me of home.
I love the Latino culture. Family first. Food. Celebrating.
I totally get all of that.
I will absolutely be chasing this taco truck. If, that is, I don’t manage to arrange for a dinner-to-go deal.
And if I find out they do breakfast tacos? They’ll find me parked in their driveway at all hours of the night.
What a lovely evening. What a heavenly appetizer. And what promise — to have neighbors who can take me back to my childhood in seconds!