It was one of those days that I’m embarrassed to admit how little I had to do.  3/5 of my kids were at school, while the other two were playing the blood-pressure-skyrocketing game of Hi-Ho-Cherry-O Confetti, where pea-sized cherries from the popular board game become projectiles, choking hazards, and eventually painful foot-lodgings.  O childhood gaiety.

I had to intervene.

Intervention, of course, meant getting my ass of the couch and setting aside my laptop.  With Twitter full of commuter rage and work litanies, and our living room raining tiny cherries, I hatched my plan like any good parent:  ”TACO TRUCK!”

My Lil’ Taco Warriors (Lachlan, 3, and Vigo, 2) snapped to attention instantly upon hearing my plan.  ”TACO TRUCK?  FIRST WE HAVE TO GET A TORTILLA, AND THEN WE EAT A PIZZA AND A QUESADILLA.”

However vague their recollection of how this worked, our team was amped to have an activity . . . like Phineas & Ferb’s signature saying, “Hey, I know what we’re gonna do today!”

The plan was simple:  Wait ’til 10:15 a.m., load kiddos in the van, and head west on FM 1960 to look for taco stands.

After passing approximately 18 fast food joints whose headquarters are in places called Nopa Linda – Detroit, Massagua-chussetts, USA, we happened upon the taco stand where I lost my taco truck virginity. “HEY WE’VE BEEN THERE!” shouted Lachlan.  ”We go watch airplanes!”

“Correct!” I replied as we raced past Lee Rd.  ”But let’s keep going!”

About a half mile further down FM 1960 I just about slammed on the brakes when I saw this on the far end of a strip center:

Looked flashy and I knew it had to be relatively new because, well, I’d never seen it!  After a quick U-turn we were on it.

“No taco truck today, boys.  It’s a Taqueria!”

“A WHAT?!?”

“Just trust me.”

This was a dangerous strategic move.  When you take the word “TRUCK” out of any equation with toddlers, you may run into tears, attitude, or both.  But my team held fast, and looked excited to try a new place.

We walked into what felt like a typical latino convenience store.  An ample food counter with lots of selections was in the center, and a small register on the right for checkout.  A gringo with two gringo toddlers is always inspected up and down (not being the typical customer here) but we were received warmly by the cashier and the lady making food behind the counter.

“HELLO!” she said.

“HELLO!” my team waved.

I then ordered in Spanish, much to the delight of the staff.

I ordered three tacos with corn tortillas, one al pastor, one with chicken fajita, and one with beef.  I was delighted to find out the tortillas are “hecho a mano” – made by hand – and this made all the difference.  They were fantastic.

While the tacos themselves were above average (actually the al pastor was below average), the red salsa was apocalyptically good.  It had the look and texture of a sun-dried tomato pasta sauce – thicker than most I’d seen or sampled – but just a perfect pinch of jalapeno and chile.  I ended up drowning all my tacos in it before snapping a photo.  Oops.

The kids fared well, too, and the photographer received a “Talk to the Quesadilla” move:

Being a meat market, I was glad to find one table – with oddly ornate wooden chairs – for us to enjoy our loot.  We sat, ate, and laughed . . . chatting with staff and even a few customers who’d come in.

So, gang – it’s the same old story.  A “Dad’s Life” Mr. Mom with two toddlers went taco-trucking again – with success!  We were happy campers without the happy meals, the saturated fats, or the germ-caked playplaces that litter the lunchscape.  Does this look tell you anything?

Check ‘em out!  They’ve even got a facebook page:

El Toro Meat Market

7231 FM 1960 W. Ste G

Humble, TX 77338