Page 36 of Thankful for My Orc
“I don’t half-ass food adventures, Forge. If we’re going to find the best birria in East L.A., we’re going to do it right.” She looks up at me with mock seriousness. “Are you prepared for this level of commitment?”
“I think I can keep up,” I say, my eyes lingering on the curve of her mouth as she bites her lip in concentration. Damn if my body doesn’t remember that mouth in far too much detail.
The first truck,Birria El Jefe, sets a high bar. The elderly woman working the window greets us in rapid Spanish, and I’m surprised when Jordan responds fluently, ordering for both of us with the kind of confidence that suggests this isn’t her first taco truck rodeo.
“Law school in San Diego,” she explains when she catches my impressed look. “You pick up survival Spanish pretty quickly when you’re living off food truck meals.”
The tacos arrive steaming hot, the corn tortillas dipped in the broth before hitting the griddle, cheese oozing from the edges. The meat is tender enough to cut with a fork, though we’re given no utensils, and the broth is rich and complex with just enough heat to clear my sinuses.
“Solid eight,” I announce after my first bite. “Good meat, excellent cheese pull, broth has depth.”
“Seven-point-five,” Jordan counters, making notes on her phone. “The tortillas are a little thick, and I want more spice in the broth. Also, points off for using pre-shredded cheese instead of fresh.”
“Pre-shredded?” I take another bite, trying to detect what she’s tasting. “How can you tell?”
“Texture. Fresh cheese melts differently, creating better stretch.” She demonstrates by lifting her taco, showing the way the cheese extends in thick strings. “This breaks too cleanly. See?”
I see, but what really hits me is the way her lips shine with broth and the way she licks her fingertip before jotting a note.Focus, Forge. Tacos.“You have very strong opinions about cheese.”
“I have strong opinions about quality. There’s a difference.”
The second truck, Tacos La Familia, proves more divisive. I’m immediately won over by the depth of flavor in the broth, but Jordan wrinkles her nose after her first sip.
“Too much oregano,” she declares. “It’s masking the meat flavor. And the fat content is off—see how it’s pooling on top instead of blending in?”
“I think it’s robust,” I argue, though I taste what she’s talking about. “Sometimes bold flavors work.”
“Bold, yes. Balanced, no.” She makes another note, then lifts her brows at me. “Well? What’s your verdict, counselor for the defense?”
“Seven and a half,” I say after another bite. “I like the depth. It’s hearty. Comforting.”
“Comfort food?” She smirks. “This is birria, Forge, not a casserole.”
“Hey, sometimes a little comfort is good,” I shoot back. “Not everything has to be edgy and refined.”
“Six,” she says, typing it in with mock precision. “Comfort’s fine. Execution matters.”
“So… cozy but chaotic?”
“Exactly.” She hides a grin behind her phone.
That earns me a laugh, quick and genuine, before she hides her smile behind her phone.
By the third truck,Birria Reyna, we’ve fallen into an easy rhythm of friendly competition. She orders in Spanish again, chatting with the young man at the window about his grandmother’s recipe, while I study the setup and cooking technique through the service window.
“Show-off,” I murmur, half-teasing.
“Research,” she corrects. “The family’s been doing this for three generations. The grandmother still makes the spice blend by hand every morning.”
“And you found that out in thirty seconds of conversation?”
“I’m good at getting people to talk.” She takes a bite, and her eyes immediately light up. “Oh. Oh, this is different.”
Itisdifferent. The meat practically dissolves on my tongue, and the broth has layers I didn’t know were possible in a taco truck broth. The tortillas are perfectly charred at the edges but still soft, and the cheese—definitely fresh—creates exactly the kind of stretch Jordan was looking for.
“Nine,” I say immediately.
“Eight-point-five,” she counters, but I can see she’s fighting a smile. When her tongue darts out to catch a drop of broth on her lower lip, it takes every ounce of willpower not to lean over and lick it.
