Right across the street from Xochimilco there’s the wood-paneled Tacos Matamoros, which looks and sounds more like a Benihana-style eatery than a place that slings al pastor and lengua. The facade put me off a bit, but I had read some good things so I decided to sneak a few tacos before I took the longish train ride back to Greenpoint.

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Is it wrong that my heart starts to pound when I see a little taco cart surrounded by ravenous locals? Is this unnatural? Shifting my weight nervously from foot to foot as I stood in front of Tacos Quicho’s I found myself puzzled by these questions. What was it about this cart? There were like four mother’s with kids in strollers and several men all jostling for position. There was one woman inside cooking all the food and taking care of the transactions. She wore a plastic glove on her food handling left hand and kept her right hand bare for handling money and paper plates. I saw several delicious looking tacos served up before I was able to belly up to the window. I ordered a single carnitas taco because it was first on the list of specialties.

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