Tortillaphilia

You gotta hand it to them: Dropping “Carnitas” into their name shows confidence. Assertiveness. Perceived dominance, even. Carnitas originated in Michoacán, and it’s admirable that this North Beacon spot doubles down on what conceivably is their specialty.

Conceivably. What quality the carnitas hold is still up in the air, as I never got to try them. Who knows if I missed out on something special? Going by the tacos I did receive, I doubt it.

Maybe it was my fault. I ordered delivery, which can be a shaky proposition, but seeing Michoacan’s website proudly displays an “Order Now” link, I feel like I was operating within acceptable boundaries.

At $3.49 a pop, the tacos are a smidgen more expensive than their truck brethren—that’s fine. And it would be even more OK if I received all three tacos. Instead, I was delivered only two—the carnitas were left out—in a less-than-stellar presentation.

I get it. A bumpy ride—a very bumpy ride—could be the culprit, and with some goodwill, I managed to reassemble the tacos. That’s when it became clear that one was missing, and that’s far more difficult to excuse.

Even so, had the tacos at least been acceptable, I could have lived with it, but oof. We’re talking stale tortillas…

… with cardboard texture incapable of holding chewy, bland lengua, inconsistently chopped onion, and a passable chorizo. The latter was not enough to add much of anything to the meal.

At this point in my life, I rarely bother writing about low-quality food. I find it dull, and the Yelps of the world are littered with angry opinions. Once in a while, though, something like this comes around, and it’s my civic duty to let the world know, particularly when Michoacan placed on the Times’ top 30 list.

There are good tacos, there are bad tacos, and there are messy tacos—Michoacan exists firmly in the latter two categories.

— Remi A. Olsen