Martin Villegas, who took over ownership of Taco Mex six years ago (he has a second spot at 92nd and Pecos), usually sets up the pastor tent at night and on weekends; during weekdays, it's often packed away, leaving rainbow-swirled pools of grease in its stead. That's when your best bet is the breakfast burrito: a lard-infused flour tortilla wrapped around a dense mix of scrambled eggs, finely chopped crispy potatoes and a massive portion of meat (I usually go with the spicy sausage). Topped with green chile, this burrito is exceptionally peppery and porky, and just the thing to fight the physical reminder of a night of bad decisions. Other items prepared indoors are more disappointing: The horchata, for example, definitely needs more cinnamon.
I timed a return visit — this one with a group of friends — for an evening when we knew the outdoor kitchen would be smoking. While I went inside to order up a feast, my friends grabbed a picnic table and loaded it up with items from the salsa bar — more radishes, onions, pickled jalapeños. We ate some as appetizers and loaded the rest onto a few rounds of those incredible streetside tacos.
mark manger
The al pastor tent outside of Taco Mex is just beginning to cook.
Location Info
Details
Taco Mex
One taco $.99
Breakfast burrito $4
Menudo $6.50
Gordita $2
Smothered burrito $5.50
7840 East Colfax Avenue
303-394-7555
Hours: 8 a.m.-midnight daily
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We were just wiping our fingers free of grease when a cashier delivered a stack of Styrofoam packages filled with the rest of our order. The refried beans in the burrito were heavy with lard, as was the tortilla surrounding them — but the green chile that smothered this monster was surprisingly mild, thick with pork but lacking in jalapeños. The chile relleno — a sweet, earthy roasted pepper oozing gooey white cheddar and Jack cheese — was drowning in that same dull chile. We pushed aside both dishes in favor of the gorditas, fat corn cakes that sandwiched a variety of fillings. I'd expected the chicharrón to be the best, but the puffs of deep-fried pork skin had gone soggy under the sour cream, and oddly tasted like just so much more wet cornmeal. The best version was stuffed with finely chopped longaniza, heavy with delicious orange grease and scorching with chiles, the heat mitigated by more sour cream and cheese.
Our voracious hunger finally met its match with the menudo. The broth was sticky with collagen, so thick with rust-hued chiles that it coated our plastic silverware with an oily sheen and hid the pieces of spongey tripe and stomach within. The dish was rich enough to give me a side stitch after three bites, but the flavor was addictive. The intense mix of salt, spice and fat would be just the thing to kill a hangover the Mexican way, coating your stomach, replacing lost electrolytes and making you sweat out residual alcohol.
Our night was just starting, though, so we abandoned the morning-after soup in favor of watching the sun set over colorful Colfax.
And before we left Taco Mex, I grabbed another order of tacos to go.
