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The Tacombi aesthetic is visible everywhere, even in the wash room. The dining space suggests it may have been a garage or an alternative industrial venue.
Highchairs piled high suggest that this is a family-welcome place. I can attest to this, having been turned away on a couple of Taco Tuesday nights.
Many of those who succeeded in securing a table had brought strollers in. The joint was, as the song goes, jumping.

Their wonderful street corn in a cup renders street fair Mexican esquites redundant. These are not a cob. They sit in pools of the condiments, the cheese, the chili, ready to spoon. Delicious and not sloppy!















































This one’s for our secy of war who attempts to erase all traces of accomplishment by black Americans.
It hasn’t snowed yet this season. Is that right?
It’s what I recall. Here’s what it might look like for us if it had:



One more if?
If it snowed and we lived in a cabin in the woods.

























With the crazy manipulation of the clock come lots of grumbles.
It gets dark so early, my friends groan. (It’s pretty likely that you know some folks with a similar complaint.)
My sympathy with anyone who suffers from S.A.D., seasonal dis- affective disorder.
I get it: all that gloom has a way of landing. You go out at 5pm and there’s no sunlight.
There are some remedies to the S.A.D.ness.
This is not my endorsement; it’s just a suggestion.
