Real tacos + freakin' hot salsa = flu medicine. →[More:]Y'know, real tacos. Those little steamy things comprised of two little corn tortillas filled with chunks of meat adorned with nothing more than diced onions, cilantro, hot-hot salsa and a little spray of lime juice. Maybe a little pico de gallo, but you're walking a thin line there. Six of them. Washed down with real horchata, of course.

No lettuce, no cheese, no tomato. No cabbage, unless it's a Baja-style fish taco. No goddamn sour cream passing as queso fresca, and may God smite you to dust for anything resembling catsup pretending to be salsa. Just real tacos, man. These kind of tacos are one of the reasons I can't leave the southwest. Texas or Utah don't count as the Southwest. Whatever Texas knew about Mexican food it apparently willfully forgot on the way to the Frito pie. Texas knows chili, sure, but tacos? Meh.

Phoenix, Arizona barely counts because it's hot, and because they have real tacos. Yay for real tacos!