It's unbelievably hot these days, dear reader. The heat is playing hardball. I always picture it as some bald, turtlenecked villain in a motorized wheelchair stroking a Persian cat, laughing maniacally as he beams his death ray on moving objects.
One of these days I'll find Heat's lair and burst in, ready to unleash my inner farmgirl, but Heat will push a button and I'll fall through a trap door into a shark tank, and the cat will accidentally wet himself upon realizing what an absolute crackpot he has for an owner.
Oddly enough, none of this pertains to the topic at hand, which is the total nirvana awaiting patrons of my favorite local taco shop, Los Tacos. The tacos, the shrimp cocktails, the mango frescas...it is all so simple and yummy you will wish you had two stomachs in order to keep eating.
It's one reason I don't care if the heat gets as obnoxious as casino decor--because when it's too hot to cook, Los Tacos often comes to my rescue.
And to my nemesis: that's not reverse psychology that's for real, you lamentable man with a twitching, sour-faced cat.