Taco Tuesdays with Marshall Eriksen

Mexican food is magical. I've already gushed about my love of all foods Mexicana, and indeed, it seems like this week is going to be very grub-heavy on this blog. I think I'm just tired of rice and pasta...

This weekend has seen the arrival of the Bournemouth Food Festival, a chance for local suppliers and restauranteers to show off their wares to the ever-hungry public. From local cheeses and oils to meats of every animal legal on British shores, the delicatessens have proved that you don't need to go far to find some truly delicious ingredients. Dorsey's chefs, meanwhile, have displayed an international rainbow of flavour, from the well-known to the down-right bizarre.

Parked rather strikingly in the centre of the square, like some colossal harbinger of awesomeness has been The Mexican Taco Bus. Perhaps seeing such a flagrant display of peacocking from what should be one the world's most humble and family-based cuisines should have been a sign that my excitement would be far from fulfilled, but, like a lost ship seeking a lighthouse, I headed straight for that bus at full speed.

Now, aside from its extortionate overpricing, my steak taco was far from awful. It did, in fact, sate my taco pangs somewhat. No, I have simply been spoilt as far as tacos go. After my amazing night out at Mestizo's earlier this year (see my previous post on Cinco de Mayo) no taco outside of Mexico itself will ever be up to scratch.

But that's always the way. You have an amazing meal, and spend the rest of your life trying to match it.

I will never forget the burger I once had at some stall in Newcastle's MetroCentre over a decade ago. Best burger I've ever had. Was it really? Probably I've had better since, but nostalgia has nonetheless created a burger of unparalleled and unbeatable awesomeness that may never be beaten. Hollywood. Pizza in Aberystwyth serves the greatest calzones, and the finest steak I've ever indulged in was at a restaurant in some tiny town in mid-Wales that may not even exist anymore.

Every meal, however, is accompanied by a backstory. If the mood is right and the food at least mediocre, any glee found in a meal can be elevated beyond its means. There is no way that some of the dinners shared with close friends in cheap bars were actually better than those that I've had with lesser aquaintances at establishments twice the price, but the fondness with which we look back at those occasions makes the meal seem all the more delicious. Hollywood's calzones remain so magical as they often signified the end of a night of debauchery. My MetroCentre burger was on a Ferris Bueller day off school, whilst my Mesizo's, whilst undeniably damn good tacos, was a night spent with some of the most amazing people to have whirled so briefly into my life,

But there will be better. Of course there will. Well, perhaps not better tacos, but certainly there will be better pizzas, better burgers, better steaks. But, much like the hazy fondness of youth, nothing can surpass the glory of meals long since passed. Much like Marshall in his hunt for the Best Burger in New York, no taco will ever truly satisfy again. Not until I find that elusive red door.