Jamaica’N Me Homesick #5

Kegan had been dropping hints (he’s as subtle as a fart in a car) for a couple of weeks that he really wanted to try a taco truck taco. And I was subtly trying to change the subject because I know me. One taste and I’d be hooked for weeks and soon he’d be begging me to make him a home-cooked meal so he could have a break from those little handfuls of Mexican goodness.

But the sun was shining and he was particularly endearing and I didn’t feel like cooking, so we stopped at the taco truck.

I’ve had Tacos Tumbras plenty of times. I’ve obsessed over their menu countless times. I’ve ordered just about everything they have to offer, save one. Lengua . In English, it’s called Tongue . I call it gross. But Kegan wanted to give it a go, and at only $1.50, we figured he could leave it for the birds if it was entirely disgusting.

So he gets his plate of 3 tacos; one chicken, one beef and one (ugh) tongue. He eats the first one, obviously chicken because it’s white meat. He’s left with two similarly colored meats and can’t decide which is which. He sniffs them. He takes little baby bites of each. And still he’s not sure. I decide to help him out, and go through the same routine. I can’t really tell either.

Kegan mans-up and takes a big bite of the taco on the left. He says it’s really good so I decide to try a bite. Not bad. Then a little chunk of meat plops onto his plate and he picks it up to examine it before saying, all serious, “Oh, yep, that’s the tongue all right. I can tell by the tastebud bumps.”

And I vow to never, ever again taste anything that can taste me back.