Everyone—everyone—in Austin is fueled by tacos.
Pretty much anything tastes good wrapped in a tortilla, and people here take advantage of that. Tacos can be vegetarian, gluten-free, vegan, or loaded with chicken-fried you-name-it and topped with queso. They can be super-traditional Mexican tacos, crispy old-school Tex-Mex tacos, tricked-out amped-up tacos, or something else altogether. They can be the eggy glory that is the breakfast taco (see the breakfast chapter, this page).
Austin didn’t invent tacos, of course, and there are certainly other cities in Texas that boast incredible taquerias. But tacos are nevertheless part of the fabric of this city, to the point where it’s almost possible to take them for granted. You don’t go out for tacos, you “grab” them, like they’re just hanging from a tree in your front yard. Like you can stick your hand out of a moving vehicle and pluck foil-wrapped, tortilla-bound GOODNESS from thin air as you drive down the street. (Heck, if the place has a drive-thru, you sort of can.)
They are omnipresent, popping up where you least expect them. I have eaten fantastic tacos at gas stations and Laundromats, and, once, outside my polling place in the hallway of a local elementary school.
The tacos in this chapter represent a spectrum of Austin’s taco offerings, from the traditional (Tamale House East’s Traditional Carne Molida Tacos, this page) to the new school (the Peached Tortilla’s Banh Mi Tacos, this page). There are also tacos in the breakfast chapter (this page). And whatever taco you decide to make, remember: If it fits in a tortilla, it’ll probably TASTE GOOD in one. Don’t take that for granted.
Which tortilla goes best with which taco? The short, simple answer is whichever you prefer. If you love flour tortillas, go with your heart. If you’re into corn, follow your bliss. Alternately, go with whichever is higher quality: If there’s a store around the corner from your house that makes fresh corn tortillas, go with those over those odd, shiny flour tortillas you get in the bread aisle at the supermarket.
A slightly more philosophical answer is that corn tortillas are best when you want the tortilla to soak up some juice. That’s why they’re really the only tortilla you should use for enchiladas. (Ever had flour tortilla enchiladas? Slimy is putting it kindly.) Thus, corn tortillas work well with carnitas and barbacoa, whereas flour tortillas are great with breakfast tacos.
Unless you just made your tortillas fresh, they’re going to need to be heated before you can use them for tacos. There are a few ways to do this, and none of them involve the microwave, which will turn your tortillas to mush.
Both corn and flour tortillas do well in a dry skillet or cast-iron pan over medium heat for about 30 seconds on each side. Corn tortillas will get crispy if you heat them in a little oil—a few seconds per side in hot oil will result in crispy-yet-pliable tortillas, while a bath in a couple inches of hot oil for about 1 minute will get you the school lunch–style crispy taco shells of your dreams. (Bend the tortillas into that classic U-shape using tongs while they fry.)
If you’re making tacos for a big group or party, wrap stacks of eight tortillas in foil and put the stacks in a 300°F (150°C) oven for 10 minutes. You can then hold them (but not for long) in plastic or fabric tortilla warmers, available at restaurant supply stores, Mexican grocery stores, and online.
Puffy tacos are pretty much what they sound like: fresh masa rolled thin and fried until, well, puffy. The degree of puffiness can vary anywhere from slightly thicker than a traditional crunchy taco shell to all-the-way puffed up, like a ball. A phenomenon more commonly associated with regions south of Austin—specifically San Antonio—puffy tacos do make their way into the capital city here and there.
These are not traditional puffy tacos, fitting the playful food at Swift’s Attic. The masa shells are smaller than usual, about three inches (7.5 cm) across, making these more happy-hour bites than a full meal. They’re great for parties, since everything can be prepped in advance—heat the shells on a baking sheet in a 300°F oven just before guests arrive.
Makes about 24 mini-tacos. Serves 6.
1 recipe crispy masa shells (recipe follows)
1 recipe braised pork tails (see Note)
Grapefruit Salsa (this page)
Top each masa shell with about 2 tablespoons meat; dress with salsa to taste.
Note: Prepare the Basic Braised Pork (this page) for tacos, substituting 5 pounds (2.3 kg) pig tails for pork shoulder. You may also add ¼ cup (55 g) light brown sugar, 1 tablespoon hot paprika, 2 teaspoons ground cumin, and 1 teaspoon ground coriander to the seasoning.
3 cups (340 g) masa flour
½ tablespoon salt
2 teaspoons baking powder
2¼ cups (540 ml) warm water
Vegetable oil for deep-frying
Mix the masa flour, salt, baking powder, and water together until a dough forms; scoop the dough into 2-tablespoon balls. Flatten the balls into round discs about 3 inches (7.5 cm) across, and chill for at least 1 hour.
Heat a couple inches of oil in a deep pot to 350°F (175°C), or until a small piece of dough dropped in the oil sizzles immediately. Fry the discs until golden brown, 1 to 2 minutes per side. Remove to a paper towel to drain.
This is a very basic pork braise that will result in pulled pork for tacos. You can use this method in several recipes in this book, including the Braised Pig Tail Puffy Tacos (this page) and the Texas Benedict (this page). It’s also good as enchilada filling.
In the same way that you can play around with rubs in barbecue, feel free to add small amounts of chile powder, paprika, onion powder, granulated garlic powder, or whatever seasonings you like to the spice rub. (Some people add brown sugar to rubs; if you do this, be very careful not to burn the pork when browning.)
Makes 4 quarts (3.8 L) of taco filling (which is a lot, but it freezes well).
1 pork shoulder (about 8 pounds/3.6 kg), cut into 3-inch (7.5-cm) cubes
¼ cup (60 g) salt
¼ cup (28 g) black pepper
3 tablespoons vegetable oil
Rub the pork with the salt and pepper and refrigerate it overnight, or for at least 1 hour.
Heat the oven to 300°F (150°C).
Heat the oil in a large Dutch oven. Working in batches, brown the pork. When all of the meat is browned, put it back in the Dutch oven along with any drippings that may have collected, and add water to cover by an inch (2.5 cm) or so. Cover the pot, bring to a simmer, and transfer to the oven to braise until the pork is incredibly tender, 4 to 5 hours, checking periodically to make sure the meat is covered with liquid. (If it’s not, add more water.) Let the meat cool in its braising liquid, then lightly pull the meat, discarding gristle-y bits and unrendered fat.
When you’re ready to make tacos, you can reheat small amounts of the braised meat in its liquid in a saucepan until warmed through; remove the meat with a slotted spoon and serve. For a crispier taco filling, heat the drained meat in a sauté pan over medium heat with a small amount of oil until it just begins to brown and crisp up.
Tacodeli is a growing taco shop with South Austin roots, and they are committed to serving local and organic foods wherever they can. They serve a wide variety of tacos, from traditional options like the carne asada tacos here to their own creations—mashed potato breakfast tacos, anyone? And if the line out the door at lunchtime tells you anything, the tacos are pretty tasty.
These carne asada tacos represent what Tacodeli does best: high-quality ingredients, prepared simply. You can make these outside on the grill or inside on the stove, whichever you prefer.
Serves 4.
¼ cup (35 g) finely diced onion
¼ cup (10 g) finely chopped fresh cilantro
2 teaspoons paprika
2 teaspoons salt
2 teaspoons black pepper
2 ribeye steaks (½ inch/12 mm thick)
1 tablespoon vegetable oil
Corn or flour tortillas
2 limes, cut into wedges
2 avocados, sliced
Salsa (see chapter 9)
Combine the onion and cilantro and set aside. (Tacodeli calls this ubiquitous taco garnish “mex-mix.”)
Mix the paprika, salt, and pepper together and rub the mixture all over the steaks. Heat a skillet over high heat, add the oil, and sear the steaks on both sides. You don’t need to cook it all the way to your preferred done-ness—you’ll cook it more right before you serve it. Just cook it long enough to get a good sear on the meat, 1 to 2 minutes per side. Remove the steak to a cutting board and let it rest for 15 minutes.
Cut the steak into ½-inch (12-mm) dice, discarding any unrendered fat, and return it to the skillet over medium heat. Sauté until cooked to your preferred doneness, about 2 minutes for medium-rare. Heat the tortillas (see this page) and serve the tacos with a lime wedge, sliced avocado, the cilantro-onion mix, and your choice of salsa.
Several locations of Tamale House have come and gone since the original restaurant closed in 1984, but each one has been run by the descendants of Moses “Baby Moe” Vasquez. The family’s dishes have been passed down thanks to Vasquez’s daughter Diane, who started working in the family business at age thirteen; her daughter Carmen Valera calls her “the guardian of the recipes.” Today, several of Vasquez’s grandchildren, including Valera, run Tamale House East on East Sixth Street, where they serve these old-school crispy beef tacos that were on the menu at the original location.
Valera says the key to making these tacos like her grandfather did is to use yellow corn tortillas (the white ones will fall apart) and fry them lightly in oil: “Not until hard, and not soft, either. They are kind of medium; you want them to have enough bend that you can fold them without cracking them in half.” For the true Baby Moe experience, dress them with Louisiana Hot Sauce: Valera says he carried a small bottle of it in his shirt pocket wherever he went. (She herself prefers Crystal.)
Makes 10 to 12 tacos.
2 pounds (910 g) ground beef (a fatty blend, like 80/20)
1 medium onion, diced (about 1 cup / 110 g)
4 tablespoons (37 g) granulated garlic powder
2 tablespoons ground cumin
1 teaspoon black pepper
1 cup (240 g) whole, peeled tomatoes and their juices (canned)
1 tablespoon salt
Put the ground beef and diced onions in a pot with ½ cup (120 ml) water; stir to combine. Cover, bring to a boil, and then reduce to barely a simmer. Add the garlic powder, cumin, black pepper, tomatoes, and salt to the meat. Stir to combine, then simmer for an hour and a half, stirring occasionally while breaking up the tomatoes with a spoon. If the mixture dries out, add a little more water as it cooks. You’re not searing anything; the idea is to have super-soft meat.
For the crispy tacos
Vegetable oil for frying
10 to 12 yellow corn tortillas (or store-bought crispy taco shells)
1 tomato, chopped
1 cup (55 g) shredded lettuce or spinach
Shredded cheddar cheese
Guacamole (this page)
Hot sauce
If using fresh tortillas, add a few tablespoons of oil to a skillet, enough to cover the bottom of the pan. Fry the tortillas over medium heat one at a time until they are slightly crispy but still pliable, 1 minute or so on each side. Serve the meat in the tortillas immediately, with tomato, lettuce, cheese, guacamole, and your choice of hot sauce.
This is the filling for the Enchiladas Tejanas (this page), but it also makes for a great taco.
Serves 6.
1 whole chicken (3 to 4 pounds/1.4 to 1.8 kg), or 1 cooked rotisserie chicken
Salt
2 tablespoons adobo sauce from a can of chipotle peppers
2 cups (360 g) diced tomatoes
1 cup (110 g) diced red onion
3 medium jalapeños, seeded and diced
2 tablespoons chopped fresh cilantro
Juice of 1 lime
If using a raw chicken: Heat the oven to 400°F (205°C). Salt the chicken liberally, and roast in a pan or cast-iron skillet until the juices run clear or the internal temperature hits 165°F (74°C), about 1 hour 15 minutes. Let the chicken cool completely.
Shred the cooked or rotisserie chicken meat into a pot, removing skin and bones and chewy bits. (You can save the bones for making stock, if you like.) Add the adobo sauce, tomatoes, onion, jalapeño, cilantro, and lime. Bring to a boil, reduce the heat to a simmer, and simmer for about 5 minutes, or until the vegetables have released their liquid. Remove from the heat and season to taste.
You can use whatever mushrooms are available, although I like to use a mixture of a few different kinds when possible. The key to these is getting the pan blazing hot, so a cast-iron skillet works best if you have one.
Serves 6.
For the hongos
1 tablespoon vegetable oil
1 poblano pepper, stem and seeds removed, cut into thin strips
½ small onion, thinly sliced
Salt and black pepper
8 ounces (225 g) mushrooms, cut into ¼-inch (6-mm) slices
Heat a skillet until very hot, nearly smoking. Add the oil and immediately add the poblano and onion and season with salt and black pepper. Cook, stirring constantly, until the vegetables begin to soften and brown on the edges, 3 to 5 minutes. Remove the pepper and onion to a plate, and repeat the process with the mushrooms, cooking until the edges just start to brown. Combine the cooked mushrooms with the pepper and onion.
For the tacos
Corn or flour tortillas
¼ cup (30 g) crumbled Cotija cheese
Lime wedges
Hot sauce or salsa (see chapter 9)
Heat the tortillas (see this page) and serve with the hot filling, a sprinkling of cheese, a squirt of lime, and hot sauce or salsa.
The Peached Tortilla was founded by Eric Silverstein in 2010—an early entrant in Austin’s food truck boom—serving Asian-inspired mash-ups like these banh mi tacos. What began as a single roaming food truck now also encompasses a brick-and-mortar restaurant and an event space. These tacos combine a five-spice braised pork belly with banh mi toppings, all wrapped up in a tortilla.
Makes 8 to 10 tacos.
Braised pork belly (recipe follows)
Corn or flour tortillas
Pickled daikon and carrots (recipe follows)
Sriracha mayonnaise (recipe follows)
Fresh cilantro
Heat a pan over high heat and add the chopped pork belly; sauté until the meat is slightly crisped and heated through. Heat the tortillas (see this page). Put the pork in the tortillas and top with pickled daikon and carrots, sriracha mayonnaise, and cilantro.
Pickled Daikon and Carrots
1 small daikon (about 8 ounces/225 g), peeled and cut into thin strips
3 carrots (about 8 ounces/225 g total), peeled and grated
2 tablespoons rice vinegar
2 tablespoons chili garlic sauce
1 tablespoon fish sauce
3 tablespoons sugar
Mix all the ingredients together and chill thoroughly, about 1 hour and up to 2 days.
Sriracha Mayo
½ cup (120 ml) mayonnaise
3 tablespoons sriracha
1 tablespoon fresh lemon juice
1 tablespoon rice vinegar
Whisk all the ingredients together until smooth. Store in the refrigerator.
1 tablespoon five-spice powder
1 tablespoon plus ¼ cup (69 g) brown sugar
1 teaspoon salt
1 teaspoon black pepper
3 pounds (1.4 kg) pork belly
1 tablespoon vegetable oil
1 yellow onion, chopped
3 garlic cloves, minced
⅓ cup (75 ml) soy sauce
⅓ cup (75 ml) rice vinegar
3 pieces star anise
Heat the oven to 275°F (135°C).
In a small bowl, combine the five-spice, 1 tablespoon brown sugar, the salt, and the pepper. Rub the seasoning all over the pork belly, and brush off whatever doesn’t stick, so the rub will not burn.
Heat a Dutch oven or heavy pot over medium heat and add the oil. If the pork belly won’t fit in the pan whole, cut it in half crosswise. Sear the meat on all sides until it is nicely browned but not burned, about 3 minutes on each side. Remove the pork belly from the pot and set it aside on a plate.
Pour most of the fat out of the pot, but do not discard the meat juices or brown porky bits. Add the onion and garlic and sauté over medium heat until softened, about 2 minutes, scraping up any browned bits that have stuck to the pan.
In a bowl, whisk together the soy sauce, rice vinegar, star anise, ½ cup (120 ml) water, and the remaining ¼ cup (55 g) brown sugar to the pot and stir. Place the pork belly in the liquid, along with any pork juice that may have collected. The liquid should reach about halfway up the pork; if it doesn’t, add water. Cover and braise in the oven for about 3 hours, checking periodically to make sure the liquid still reaches halfway up the pork belly. Again, add water if not.
Once the pork belly is good and tender and most of the fat has rendered—you should be able to pull the meat apart fairly easily—remove the pot from the oven and let it rest for about 15 minutes. (Or refrigerate overnight in order to remove the fat more easily.) Remove the meat from the liquid and chop into bite-size, taco-friendly pieces.
Dai Due’s restaurant opened in 2014, but Chef Jesse Griffiths and his crew have been serving Texas-sourced treats like these carnitas since 2006 through their supper club and butcher stand. And when Griffiths says Texas-sourced, he’s not just talking about shopping at the farmers’ market. Everything served at the restaurant, from olive oil to wine to meats, is sourced in Texas.
Wild boar is an especially Dai Due–esque choice, as Griffiths explains on this page. If you can’t find wild boar, regular old pork shoulder will work. But you can buy wild boar online, and besides: It’s good for the environment to eat these guys.
Serves 10.
1 tablespoon ground cumin
1 tablespoon Mexican oregano
¾ teaspoon ground coriander
2 tablespoons guajillo chile powder
1 tablespoon salt
1 tablespoon black pepper
6 pounds (2.7 kg) wild boar, from a fatty cut like belly or shoulder, cut into 1-inch (2.5-cm) cubes
Juice and grated zest of 3 oranges
Heat the oven to 225°F (110°C).
In a small bowl, mix together the cumin, oregano, coriander, chile powder, salt, and black pepper.
Put the pork and orange juice and zest in a Dutch oven, then add the spice mixture. Stir until the meat is covered in the seasoning.
Cover the pot and place it in the oven for 6 to 7 hours, or until the fat has rendered from the pork and the meat is starting to crisp up. Serve with warm tortillas.
Chef Jesse Griffiths of Dai Due doesn’t just run a butcher shop and restaurant, he also teaches classes on the responsible use of wild Texas resources. These days, that often means focusing on how to deal with the state’s infestation of wild boar. He explains:
Half the population of feral hogs in the United States resides in Texas, every county in Texas—that’s 254 counties. From the Sabine to El Paso, Amarillo to Brownsville: they’re everywhere.
But luckily, you can eat them.
If the hog’s got a fair amount of fat on it, you can use it pretty much anywhere you’d use farmed pork. In fact, some of the most beautiful pork I’ve ever seen is from feral hogs. Hogs from San Saba especially look like domesticated pork, because they’re eating pecans and acorns and probably a little corn, too. They have a fat cap on them, they’re a little marbled, they’re fantastic.
I could have a very compelling conversation with a vegan as to why you should eat feral hogs. They’re killing your vegetables, they’re polluting the rivers, they’re destroying farmland, outcompeting native species, killing ground-nesting birds. People think the quail decline of recent years might be related to feral hogs. If we don’t do anything about them at all, then we’re going to have an ecological disaster.
So we hunt them, we trap them a little bit. It’s mostly standard rifle hunting. I enjoy it. We kill every hog that we see, and use all their meat. That’s why we focus on them so heavily, trying to educate people about what can be done with them.
Think about it this way: if a farmer kills two boars that are destroying his crops, and instead of leaving them in a field, he takes them and butchers them, he has a hundred pounds of meat in his freezer. That’s a hundred fewer pounds of intensively farmed meat that has to be produced.
When the Spaniards landed in Texas in the sixteenth century, they brought their hogs. When they were exploring, they’d drop a pair of pigs off, knowing that at some point they’re going to come back. A pair of hogs is going to reproduce, and when they come back, there’d be pigs. They were planted like little seeds here in Texas.
Fast-forward to the twentieth century. There’s been a real explosion. Exponential population booms twenty years ago, five years ago, two years ago. They breed at an incredible rate. The whole cycle is catastrophic. If you’ve ever seen the damage they do—they can devastate a field of crops. It looks like bombs went off: they dig huge pits. You’ll sprain your ankle!
And they’ll eat anything. They’ll eat baby deer, quail, turkeys, crops, grubs, roots, anything. They’re very adaptive, intelligent, and have a really good sense of smell. They’re survivors. That’s what makes them so hard to control. They will come at you if they’re cornered. I respect the hell out of them. But I’ve seen what they can do to two acres of crops overnight. It’s devastating.
