It's Cheese Week here on Earth. While Scott says things like "affinage" and "huffing bathroom cleaner," let's talk about the cheese that we all eat whether we admit it or not (because sometimes the electric bill is WHAT and you're broke for a week or three). So I'll just go ahead and admit it for all of us, taco cheese is the guiltiest of cheese pleasure. It's cheap, it's frighteningly yellow and it's the most delicious part of the dollar-ish you just paid for an entire meal wrapped in waxy paper and thrown through your car window. Sometimes landing on your dog passenger.
But you know what it's not? It's not abundant. It's not spilling over the side of the tortilla or completely obscuring the edge of your tostada shell. That shredded, neon yellow Tex-Mex staple is usually presented as an afterthought. A casual sprinkle. Sometimes it looks like your taco construction representative climbed a 12-foot ladder and blew a few shreds of cheese from his or her palm and whatever landed atop your taco got to go home in your belly. Exhibit A: Taco Bell. There are 12 shreds of cheese on that sad taco. To this I say, FOR SHAME.
Luckily, there is a cheese oasis in our beloved North Texas where you can go to properly inhale a taco with a respectable amount of cheese involved. If you've ever been drunk, you know I'm talking about Taco Casa. TACO HUGYOURMOTHER CASA. It's orange. It's yellow. It's on the corner and it's the shit. The cups look like they haven't changed since their 1970s inception and the their cheese game is on point. Go ahead, look at that picture again. The cheese cannot be contained. It is flowing. And you just paid $1.59 for it. If it's Tuesday, go ahead and knock off 50 cents. Because Taco Casa cares about you. Maybe not so much about your regularity, but they care about your cheese needs. And your happy level. And happy is just the first of the string of feelings you'll feel when Taco Casa takes your money at noon lunch thirty.
