Tacos y Salsas is a tough place to miss. It's as bright and shiny and carnival-colored as the street outside is gray and grim and run down by long, rough use. It almost seems like a spot where clowns should go to buy their floppy shoes and hand buzzers, all red and yellow and orange. But this homegrown chain is serious about its food. The Federal outpost, in particular, always seems full of cooks from other restaurants. Cooks and families of cooks and other families and neighbors and construction workers. And dedicated gastronauts, too, who're digging into tacos and enchiladas filled with exotic grilled meats and weird, mushy rellenos that they've doctored up with salsas and toppings from the bar. In a town full of Mexican restaurants, there's always room for another Tacos y Salsas.