“Texture. Character. Dignity.”
Qualities I demand in my food. And my Guy Fieris — “texture” refers specifically to his facial hair. Fine, all of them refer to his facial hair. These are also qualities Guy believes should be possessed by taquitos. Not just any taquitos. TAQUITOS THAT NO ONE CAN BEATO.
Ha, alright. Stop it. Stop laughing. Alright, already. I mean it. SHUT UP.
No Can Beato This Taquito is a really great pun, yeah, but you know what? It’s not a joke, you dicks. Guy says: “The name came out of joking around, but to me it’s true - no one can beato these quality taquitos. Some may come close, but these, my friends, are damn good.” See. The name came out of joking. I mean, he’s not being serious. But he is being serious. The end.
I should mention that the word “crunchalicious” is conspicuously absent from the recipe’s description and it seems like a really unfortunate oversight to fans like me.
How many taquitos do you want to eat? Just, like, right now for instance. I feel like my answer to that question would never be more than four, even if I was really hungry. Maybe a man would say five? Six? I don’t know. What I want to tell you is that this recipe makes 28 taquitos. I have a lot of friends (A LOT of people like me, is what I’m saying), but I’ve never been in a situation in which I needed 28 taquitos. And I don’t believe for a second that anyone has. Even Guy.
On this particular taquito occasion — and despite all the friends I am always having always — I was cooking only for myself and this guy who lives with me. Still, I didn’t reduce the ingredients in the recipe, and went ahead and made enough filling for 28 taquitos. Why didn’t I reduce the recipe? Is it because I’m too lazy to do math? Is it because I don’t know how to do math? (Full disclosure: I don’t.) But, no. I think it’s because I do everything and exactly what I’m told to by this fella …
Look, it’s our ingredients, including TWO POUNDS OF CHICKEN. And tequila. Couldn’t belieeeeve he didn’t specify to use Cabo Wabo. Sammy Hagar weeps.
Again, even though Guy says to cook all the ingredients in one pan (he did this with the flappity slappity stack, too), it’s not a thing that’s possible. I’m adjusting in advance now. Growing to understand Guy. In all his glorious complexity.
The taquito filling before the chicken was even shredded up, at which point it grew to look like even more taquito filling. We ate meals of this filling for a full week after the taquitos themselves were but our colon’s distant memories.
Taking a bath in erl.
“Gwynedd, those taquitos look delicious. Even better than the picture in the book.” “Oh, stop. But, you’re right, I know, thank you.”
So, this weekend, I’m moving to Chicago. Which means a whole new batch of Triple D places to eat in/dust for traces of Guy’s DNA (crustification). STAY TUNED.