People who had tasted a legitimate Mexican dish would know that real burritos and Taco Bell’s cheesy tacos are completely different. And I am the one of that kind who used to think that Taco Bell is the best Mexican restaurant.
It was my first chance to try Mexican food when I came to the United States in seventh grade. Once, my grandpa brought a twelve-tacos-package from Taco Bell. Since I have never tried tacos, I was half curious about and half afraid of them. When I revealed the wrapper, I did not even guess how to eat. Lettuce slices were going to flow and beefs were about to rush out of the nacho. Grandpa told me to wrap it back and put a sauce atop the taco. After liberally spraying the sauce on top, I took a first …show more content…
Unfortunately, after I came back to Korea, I had a difficult time without Taco Bell. Thus, I asked my mom to make a taco, so she read over the recipe through the Internet and bought all ingredients from a supermarket. While roasting beef, she chopped tomatoes, cabbages, paprika, and other vegetables. She put beefs inside the nacho and put those vegetables on top. It seemed fair at first; in fact, it recalled my nostalgia. However, when I took a first bite, I could feel my mom’s concern on my health: it was such healthy tacos that crunchy paprika obstructed grease of the meat. Tomato cubes were too big and fresh so they stood out like wasabi in a sushi. And I ensured, Taco Bell is the best Mexican …show more content…
I met her in a summer school camp. I asked her about Mexican culture and she asked about Korean culture. One day, she invited several camp friends including me to her home. I was excited to go to exotic household, but the more excited was that her mom served me homemade Mexican foods. From nacho chips to guacamoles and salsas were served as appetizers. Salsa and guacamoles were that I had never tried. Tomato cubes in salsa sauce made a salty nacho to spicy and sweet. For main dishes, tacos, burritos, enchiladas, al pastors, and quesadillas were served. At that moment, I could taste the first legitimate burrito, one veiled in tortillas inside with rice, beans, salsa, cheese, sour cream, and guacamole. When I first grabbed an al pastor, it was crunchy outside. The smell of freshly baked tortillas penetrated my nose. Then, the first bite of the al pastor was a mixture of rice, beef, and cabbages flown over sour cream. The next bite was crispy tortillas and rice mixed with cheese and beans. I could never compare these amazing al pastors to those inferior fast-food tacos and burritos in Taco Bell. Then, the next bite… Just had a bite of it, I could feel a pungent odor. “What is this?” It pierced my tongue to neurons, to spinal cord, to my brain and bleached my head. A little tear stepped out aside my