Clayton, NC, 2008
Warm, sunny mid-winter days fill me with optimism and an ache for adventure. Such was the case today, when, on a cloudless, sun-filled late December day, Alexis and I headed east in search of...the outlet mall. OK, so it wasn't the most heroic of destinations, but I was determined to take the back roads in hopes of encountering rolling green hills and poetic barns. While we also saw a crap heap of strip malls and pawn shops, rural Eastern NC's soft side finally appeared and we drove along, soaking up the pastoral, golden light.
And once we were rural, my mind turned to another amusement...a true testament to the rapid demographic shift in the area. I knew that this farming region, rich with migrant workers, must have good TACOS! Skipping over the WASP-y, Southern downtown, we headed to the industrial, farming outskirts and found a tienda where, upon buying a snack of plantain chips, I asked the two men working where we could find good tacos. They send us a few miles further to Clayton. With vague directions, we nearly gave up, swearing that each traffic light we went through would be the last. But finally our persistence paid off with Rancho Grande. The menu made me feel like I was in Mexico--down to the errant, inescapable meat that ended up on my taco, despite my best attempts at describing the making of a vegetarian taco--and a 12 item taco condiment bar.
Here is Alexis, bathed in the heavenly taqueria light, being a fancy lady and eating her tacos with a fork:
And my plate of tacos con frijoles so sublime, so painterly in presentation, that Georgia O'Keefe or Frida Kahlo would have pushed and shoved their way to Clayton to see for themselves:
And once we were rural, my mind turned to another amusement...a true testament to the rapid demographic shift in the area. I knew that this farming region, rich with migrant workers, must have good TACOS! Skipping over the WASP-y, Southern downtown, we headed to the industrial, farming outskirts and found a tienda where, upon buying a snack of plantain chips, I asked the two men working where we could find good tacos. They send us a few miles further to Clayton. With vague directions, we nearly gave up, swearing that each traffic light we went through would be the last. But finally our persistence paid off with Rancho Grande. The menu made me feel like I was in Mexico--down to the errant, inescapable meat that ended up on my taco, despite my best attempts at describing the making of a vegetarian taco--and a 12 item taco condiment bar.
Here is Alexis, bathed in the heavenly taqueria light, being a fancy lady and eating her tacos with a fork:
And my plate of tacos con frijoles so sublime, so painterly in presentation, that Georgia O'Keefe or Frida Kahlo would have pushed and shoved their way to Clayton to see for themselves:
posted by Kate at 9:04 PM
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