#taco wednesday

[holy-havoc]

What’s on the menu tonight? Homemade taco crunch wraps with fresh homegrown ingredients from the garden.

Bone apple tea!

[aone-deviantbastard]

[coffeegleek]

Great life choice: Tacos for dinner! Taco Wednesday, if you will.

Ingredient prep took almost 2 hours, but it was so worth it. Homemade refried beans, seasoned ground beef (at least a dozen spices used,) chopped lettuce (not as chopped as I would have liked, but it is what it is and it'd been a long day of exhausting chores; it was also bitter for iceberg - not really the season for it so understandable,) sliced cherry tomatoes, sliced black olives, Mexican blend shredded cheese, bottled taco sauce (mild,) and El Paso Sit and Stuff taco shells.

[tailsteak]

This piece was a group commission for some folks who wanted this image on a t-shirt!

(You can get it on a t-shirt too: https://www.teepublic.com/t-shirt/47893428-taco-wednesday https://www.redbubble.com/shop/ap/148697750?ref=studio-promote )

[persepinesascent]

A story about a tortilla that fell on the floor, and no one liked, except one cat, who later abandoned it

(Don't turn on the sound unless you want to hear what they play when you're on hold with PT)

[chrisanthrope]

Fish tacos with pico and micro cilantro

[deinde-prandium]

Taco Wednesday

What feels like a bajillion years ago, @am2c inspired me with this tiny text post to write this ficlet. I had intended to post it for her birthday, but a ton of things happened that summoned up the worst case of writers block ever, and it sat 80% done in my drafts for 3 ½ years. Well, as I have said before: better late than never. 

All mistakes are mine. Enjoy.

——-

Taco Wednesday 

It’s become an obsession.

There’s this one little street not far from where I work that’s become a bit of a  hipster food alley of sorts. Maybe it’s gentrification or whatnot, but the pawn shops and convenience stores on 12th have given way to a veritable smorgasbord of delights from every cuisine imaginable. An Indian place that makes this crazy good pumpkin curry. Another, devoted solely to the art of soup…I tried one that I swear tasted like springtime. An English pub whose lamb stew is even better than my dad’s. I want to taste everything on that street.

Unfortunately, there doesn’t seem to be much chance of getting more than halfway down the block - not since I discovered Don Cesar’s Tortilleria. Despite the owner’s over the top personality and purple hair, it’s got to be the best place I’ve been to so far. The tacos there are nothing short of magical, to the point that I’ve effectively sworn off any of the other options on 12th. And they’re so cheap, I can actually justify going out for tacos nearly every day on my lunch break.

Which I have. For the past three weeks.

I guess I shouldn’t be surprised that Finnick has gotten a little sick of it. “Come on, Katniss,” he implores. “No more tacos. It’s not even a Tuesday.”

“I wasn’t aware of the rule that says taco consumption has to be limited to one day a week.”

Finnick rolls his eyes. “You know what I mean! You need to branch out. What about that new seafood place right across from Cesar’s? It looks really good. It’s already got, like, 4 stars on Yelp.” “I don’t have enough cash for a seafood place. And anyway, no one’s stopping you from going in and trying it on your own,” I point out. “But it’s a sit-down place,” he argues. “It’s no fun to go without someone.” 

I stop short, wondering if this is some weird way of Finnick trying to tell me something. “Wait, you’re not…? I thought you were into that Annie girl from marketing.”

Now it’s Finnick’s turn to look confused. When he catches on, his eyes widen. “No, no, of course not! Yuck.”

“Thanks for that, asshole.”

“No, I mean, you’re great, but yeah, Annie.”

“Then why on earth are you trying to talk me into going when you could be asking her?  It’s the perfect opportunity…just invite her to join us and tell her I bailed at the last minute. I don’t mind being the bad guy if it means I don’t have to deal with you mooning over her all day long.”

Finnick considers my proposal. “I knew we were friends for a reason,” he says with a grin.

“You mean, the fact that we spend 8 hours a day cooped up in the same cubicle isn’t enough?” I quip. “Go. I’ve got some stuff to finish up before I can take my lunch, anyway.”

Finnick doesn’t need to be told twice. He grabs his jacket and flashes me a grin. “Wish me luck.” I give him a little salute as he practically runs to the marketing department.

Putting thoughts of Finnick out of my head, I return my attention to the lines of code on my screen. The sooner I finish this task, the sooner I can head to lunch, too.

Carne asada, or carnitas? Hmm.

— It’s well past the lunch rush by the time I turn onto 12th Street. My mouth is watering. I already know what I’m going to have: their 3 tacos for $8 special and a tamarind soda. It’s my usual. I’m so busy contemplating whether or not to add churros to my order that I accidentally slam into the glass doors. The locked glass doors. I take a step back, feeling my forehead for bumps as I try to make sense of the situation. Then I see the flyer taped to the inside of the door: CLOSED FOR RENOVATIONS Closed? What am I going to do for lunch now?

I take out my annoyance on a nearby rock, kicking it to the curb as I start to shuffle down the street in search of another place to grab some food. I dig through my pockets to figure out how much cash I’ve got on hand, swearing inwardly for leaving my purse at my desk. Normally it wouldn’t be a problem - one less item to worry about means I can focus more on my beloved tacos - but now I’m regretting that decision, given that Don Cesar’s is by far the cheapest place on the block…and I’ve got exactly $9.85 to my name.

Stupid Cesar, why does your food have to be so deliciously inexpensive?

I cast my gaze skyward as I launch my invectives at no one in particular…only for it to catch on a wooden sign hanging from the next shop over. Mellark Bakery, it reads.

The sign is simple - beautiful without being flashy. The name suggests it’s a family establishment, which is promising as well. The last thing this neighborhood needs is another one of those obnoxious joints that sells nothing but overpriced cupcakes.

There’s no way I’m going to crash Finnick’s lunch date with Annie, and all the other options on 12th are likely to be out of my price range, so I decide to try my luck there. It won’t be the same, but maybe I can get a bagel sandwich or something.

I barely make it to the window before I come to the conclusion that I might not actually be able to afford a thing, because I’ve never seen so many beautiful looking carbs in my life. The name might be simple, but the interior looks like a fancy French patisserie.

Rather than face inevitable disappointment, I don’t even bother to enter; I simply turn around to go back the way I came. But after only a couple steps, I hear a bell jingle, followed by a voice. 

“Excuse me, Miss. Would you care for a cookie?”

Startled, I turn to see who’s addressed me. I was expecting a mom and pop kind of shop with a nice old lady manning the counter, but the speaker’s voice is decidedly younger, and decidedly male. I turn and find myself looking at a stocky blond man with the bluest eyes I’ve ever seen. He peeks at me hopefully through a fringe of golden lashes as he extends a silver platter laden with cookies. With the shadow of a beard, perfectly mussed curls, and arm muscles that seem to strain against the flannel he’s wearing (the sleeves half rolled up, because of course they are), the fact that he’s also clad in a white apron only seems to enhance the domestic lumberjack vibe he’s projecting right now.

And it’s totally working, because holy shit, this guy is hot. I must stare at him a moment too long, because he seems to blush as he rubs the back of his neck with his free hand. He tips his head in the direction of the taqueria and gives me a little smile. "Don’t get me wrong, Cesar’s a great guy,” he says. “But let’s just say him closing for renovations is a real piece of luck, since it means I can finally work on getting noticed by y- I mean, by some actual customers. We may be in different markets, but he’s pretty stiff competition.” "Yeah, I can imagine,” is all I can muster in reply. 

Hot lumberjack wipes his hand on his apron before extending it to me. “I’m Peeta, by the way. Peeta Mellark. This, um, this is my bakery.”

Heh. So much for a mom and pop shop. Hesitantly, I reach out as well, noting the warmth of his callused hand as it grasps mine. “I’m Katniss. This is, um, my regular taco place.”

“So I noticed- I mean, Cesar’s has got to be the best in the city, so I can’t blame you.” Peeta clears his throat before continuing. “Anyway, we don’t have tacos, but perhaps I could interest you in a sugar cookie?”

My gaze travels to the contents of the platter he’s holding, and I hold back a gasp at the sight. Normal sugar cookies these are not; while uniform in shape, each perfect little circle seems to have its own unique picture painted on with delicate swirls of icing. “These are almost too beautiful to eat. You really made these?”

“That I did,” he confirms, pride evident in his voice. “Please, try one. I’d love to know what you think.” My fingers hover over the platter, finally landing on a cookie bearing the image of a tiger lily. The smile that lights up Peeta’s face suggests that he approves of my selection. His eyebrows lift, silently encouraging me to taste it. 

I don’t want to scare the guy by stuffing the whole cookie into my face - though I’m so starving by now that it’s a wonder my stomach hasn’t eaten itself - so I only take a tiny bite. It’s practically a nibble, so I’m surprised by the impact it has on my tastebuds. The light and buttery flavor gives way to pops of vanilla, orange, and spice that explode on my tongue. 

“Oh my god, where have you been all my life?” I groan, polishing off the rest of the cookie in record time. I lick my fingers for crumbs…partly because I’m gross, but mostly because it’s legitimately the best cookie I’ve ever tasted and I’m willing to guess that they’re expensive enough that I won’t be having another anytime soon. “These are magic. Amazing. Seriously, the best cookies I’ve ever had. I mean, I’m only a casual foodie, but the touch of cardamom at the end? So good…”

My stream of compliments runs dry when I look back up at the baker, who’s just staring at me dumbly. I feel my cheeks heat up. “Sorry,” I tell him. “I, uh, I really like food.”

Peeta seems to blush in kind, which only makes me feel like more of an idiot. “No, it’s great. For a second, I thought I was dealing with a food blogger. Made me wonder if I should have brought out better samples.”

“You mean to say that these aren’t your best sellers?” 

“That would have to be our cheese buns. Or our cinnamon rolls. Or the apple and goat cheese galette. Or-”

“Stop. If you keep going, I might have to buy everything in the store, and I don’t have that kind of cash. I barely have enough for Don Cesar’s taco special.”

“Well, actually…we do have a special for first time customers…”

I look at him suspiciously. “Oh really?”

“Uh, yeah. It’s um, a sweet and savory combo. A sandwich, pastry, and drink for…um….” Peeta trails off, looking up at me with a shy smile that makes me feel warm all over. “Actually, I have to double check. How much did you say you’ve got again?”  

My eyes narrow, but the corners of my mouth tug upward despite myself. “I didn’t.”

He straightens, balancing the tray on one hand as he uses the other to reach for the door. “You know what? It doesn’t matter. I know the owner, and I’m pretty sure we can work something out.”

His boldness sparks something in me, and I can’t help but respond in kind. “You know, I’m no entrepreneur, but I’m not sure that’s how you’re supposed to run a business.”

“By offering cookie samples?”

“By offering “first time customer specials” to strangers on the street.”

“You assume too much. I don’t make up specials for every pretty girl I meet.”

Fuck, he’s smooth. “So you admit that you made it up?”

Peeta shakes his head, but his eyes sparkle as he issues his denial. “It’s a…new concept. Very new. Gotta get a foothold in the market somehow, right? If I can introduce my bakery to people who would normally be stopping into Cesar’s place, that’s something I should be exploring. My cheese buns won’t sell themselves.”

I smirk at him. “You seem pretty excited about those cheese buns.”

“Trust me, once you try my buns, you won’t be going back to Cesar.”

I find myself unable to do anything but gape at his remark as my cheeks grow hot for the second time in as many minutes. For his part, Peeta’s swagger has given way to a blush that seems to extend all the way to the collar of his flannel. Normally, I’d be mortified - I mean, I am - but I also find his reaction oddly endearing. 

And attractive. There’s that, too.

Silence gives way to nervous chuckles, to full on laughter from both of us at the silliness of the moment. 

“Oh god. I’ve got to be the worst salesman ever,” Peeta says when he recovers himself. “Seriously, I don’t want to pressure you. But if you liked these sugar cookies, I’m pretty confident that you’ll be able to find something to whet your appetite for lunch. No pressure.”

Peeta opens the door. The hypnotic scent of fresh bread and pastries wafts out, and I’m sold. 

“Okay, I’ll bite.”

His gaze snaps back to meet mine. “Really? I mean, great.” He opens the door wider, leaning back against it as he extends his plate-laden hand with a flourish. “Welcome to Mellark’s.”

I’ve got a feeling that I won’t be getting tacos for lunch ever again.

[titleknown]

Taco Wednesday

The event known as “The Taco Wednesday Massacre” was a horrifying moment in G.U.F.F. history. Especially given nobody’s yet figured out how to sort out that localized time loop...