Somehow, though, thinking of all the writing would get in the way in of the food. This was Mexican food. At least the Mexican food that people who are from Mexico call Mexican food when they talk about finding it here. It was not nearly as good as a tent in a strip mall in Orange County, but I'm not native, so it shouldn't be.
This was simple food. Simple to cook, simple to put together on your plate. And then you realized all the pieces fit together into something much better than a simple meal from somewhere else.
The pork, as Homesick Texan told me it would, melted into itself. Even with a squeeze of fresh lime on the finished product, and the sweet/sour from the salsa; I could still taste the sweet citrus of the orange juice in which it cooked.
The tomatillo salsa had a hint of sour that was the perfect flavor counterpoint to the (literally) glistening fat melted all over the carnitas. The crunch of a radish slice was the texturaly counterpoint. And damn me for not having better tortillas.