It all came together in a deliciously solid bundle with a personality big enough to rival that of its nighttime clientele. The tortilla was beautifully griddled, flaking off on the outer layers. Thick slices of avocado, not guacamole, lay throughout and found their way into each bite. The pintos were tender and plump, the crema thin, seeping into every corner. Cancún uses rice, lots of it, but it was moist, evenly distributed and flavored with tomato and cumin, making it an appealing addition. As at the greatest of taquerias, they were all tasty - plump, juicy chicken, stringy and rich carnitas, smoky carne asada.īut ultimately it was the al pastor, fiery red with bright chile flavor and a kiss of sweetness, that won me over. Several picnic tables in front led to the small counter/kitchen area, where I ordered several super burritos (the super adds cheese, sour cream and avocado) with different kinds of meats. Paper cutouts dangling from the ceiling, bright yellow walls and stained terra cotta tile also make a daytime visit feel like you’ve stumbled upon the aftermath of a raging party. Don’t get me wrong, it has a large, loyal following and has received its share of accolades over the years, but the long lines are never quite out the door, and the peaceful dinginess inside makes you feel more at home than you might at El Farolito or La Taqueria. Taqueria Cancún is the unassuming neighbor of the more glamorous Mission Street members of the Burrito Bracket. “If it’s your first time, you have to get the burrito. The tortilla was a bit thick and gummy at the beginning, and became tough before I could finish.Īs I walked out of the restaurant, a father and daughter explained to a waitress that it was their first time there, and asked what they should order. A sweet and tangy yogurt-like sour cream and bits of kiwi joined forces to cool the heat. Sprouts and pickled daikon added a bit of crunch elsewhere. Julienned pieces of cucumber were packed thick on one side, thin, curly slices of spicy pork dusted with flecks of spicy red chili piled on the other. The burrito comes cut in half and wrapped in red and white checkered wax paper. Of the meats on offer, I preferred the spicy Korean pork, though bulgogi beef is serviceable. The chef’s specialty is the smothered burrito with katsu, but the crowd favorite is the kimchee burrito. On a recent visit, smoke from grilled chiles and spices hung in the air, tickling my throat and lingering on my clothes, assuring me there would be some real heat in my order. Hip hop classics play on the radio and a sign on the door lets patrons know HRD was featured on “Diners, Drive-ins and Dives” in June. Open Monday to Sunday until 3 p.m., it draws lunchtime crowds that stretch down the block and around the corner. The space has been left intact from its previous life, complete with swivel chairs, a coffee counter and orange seat covers. HRD Coffee Shop is hidden in an old coffee shop near Interstate 80’s approach to the Bay Bridge. I took a seat on a back patio, which is fenced in so you don’t notice the sea of parking lot around it, and waited for my name to be called. At Chando’s, they marinate the pork in adobada, then slow cook it with pineapple. In some parts of Mexico, the preparations converge. The two often mean something different adobada is pork in a chili-based marinade with vinegar and spices, while al pastor is marinated in pineapple, chile and spices. One ordered al pastor, and the woman behind the counter explained that al pastor and adobada are one and the same at Chando’s (the menu calls it adobada). Taking my place in line, I chatted with the guys in front of me, Mexican construction workers on their day off. A little red and yellow hut faces the street, and a line of customers read from a chalkboard, deciding what to order. The original Chando’s is on Arden Way (there’s another location and a food truck these days), a five-lane road, busy with trucks, that runs east and west just north of downtown.
Hrd san francisco full#
Chando’s Tacos came to the rescue, with a hose full of holes misting customers while they waited. When I reached California’s capital city, I was greeted by blast-furnace conditions and a glaring setting sun, not my ideal burrito-eating weather. On the drive to Sacramento, I watched the outside temperature on the dashboard climb from 92 to 104 degrees.
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