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Bubba Lual
#8. Arturo's Tacos
2001 N. Western
Barbacoa Tacos
3 @ $1.80 each + 45 sour cream each = $6.75
Defeated #9 Lazo's Tacos in Round 1 [review]
As a rule of thumb, there is an inverse relationship between the size of a restaurant's menu and the quality of its food. Case in point: consider The Cheesecake Factory, which has a menu the size of a phone book, versus Charlie Trotter's, which doesn't really even have a menu at all, but simply dictates to you what you're going to be eating that evening (possibly with substitutions for food allergies -- if they're in a good mood). Even within the realm of fast food, this principle largely holds true. Chains like In-and-Out Burger, Chipotle, and Potbelly Sandwiches focus on small, simple menus featuring well-sourced ingredients. As a result, there are more efficiencies in their food costs, keeping the menu more affordable, and the quality is considerably higher, enough so that even a self-proclaimed food snob like me will find himself eating there once in a while.
Arturo's Tacos has a very large, diner-style menu: the menu literally takes up the entire length of the wall of the establishment. Some things on its menu, things like the milanesa torta, are quite good. Other things on its menu, things like the barbacoa tacos that I ate today, perhaps should not be offered.
The Food: Well, these were certainly good-looking tacos. Arturo's is more cognizant of presentation than perhaps any other restaurant in the bracket save Tecalitlan, and that presentation extends both to its interior decoration and to the food itself. Aligned neatly on the plate, and accompanied by a lime wedge and the streaming sunlight of Armitage Avenue, my tacos were almost self-consciously photogenic --as opposed to La Pasadita's, which might generously be described as "fugly".
Unfortunately, there's no way around it. I have a soft spot for Arturo's Tacos -- I consider it to be a Chicago institution, and it has served up many a good meal to customers in a variety of states of sobriety. But these barbacoa tacos simply weren't any good. As you might infer, the primary problem as with the meat, which was overcooked, stringy, and had a rather unpleasant aftertaste; it seemed like it had been sitting in a vat for awhile. The tortillas were also a little too tough and the sour cream verged on being runny; just not a good experience all around. The salsa was redeemable, at least.
The Experience: On the other hand, good food or bad, at least Arturo's heart is in the right place. The interior of the restaurant is beautiful, with a slightly kitschy, almost grotesque aesthetic that is distinctive without being overdone. The service was extremely prompt -- it might not have been three minutes from the time I ordered my tacos to the time they were sitting in front of me. Although it looks like they've slightly upped the prices on their tacos recently, the operation is certainly endearing enough that it's earned a mulligan on a bad meal here and there. But this was one of those bad meals.
well i think there are somethings wrong here, i thought arturo's and la pasadita used the same kind of tortilla cause it tastes the same to me, also the pico de gallo salsa is kick ass at arturo's why such a low score? but anyways in my opinion arturo's has good things and la pasadita has good things.
Putting aside the truly apocalyptic scene at our local grocery stores with their graveyards of Dasani and frozen okra, there was a time that fateful March, when this whole COVID-19 thing all seemed kind of like camping in your backyard as a kid, or like some form of mega-disaster cosplay. Many nights were spent hopping into video chats with a half dozen friends, all taking turns saying "iSn'T tHiS cRaZy?", then doing tequila shots from our hoarded stash of Hornitos.
Henceforth, everything changed. For 45 bucks, I halted the frightening downward trajectory of the appearance-based arm of my self-esteem. I recommend that you do the same, especially after numerous friends that I've spoken with have discussed also being emotionally terrorized by their webcams.
The second and even more whoa reason is that the cameras in our computers and on FaceTime make pretty much everyone look worse. The camera on an iPhone XS, for example, is equivalent to about a 26-millimeter lens on a full-frame camera, meaning that its angle emphasizes and visually enlarges the features in the center of your face. And I don't mean just a little bit: Your nose looks up to 30 percent bigger in a selfie taken with a phone! That's a considerable difference, and while, of course, there's absolutely nothing wrong with having a big nose, I don't think any of us want to be fed distorted images of ourselves without our knowledge or consent.
To make matters even worse, many of us work from home in less-than-ideal lighting conditions, which further create unflattering shadows and highlight skin imperfections. This is why so many celebs/influencers/YouTube skin care witches use those ring lights, which you may not realize unless you notice the telltale white circle reflected on their eyes. (They really do make your skin look way better; you can get a decent, cheapo version on Amazon for around $20, or a high-end pro light like Lume Cube's for $150-200.)
So despite the fact that we may know, deep within, that overhead lighting and bad photography create the most hardcore-untaggable versions of ourselves, we're still internalizing those images. Many people are even getting plastic surgery based on a false impression of themselves, because we're staring at ourselves through crappy cameras all day long.
Anyway! After Robby rocked my world with his advice, I realized that as it turned out, by incredible coincidence, I had actually recently bought a clip-on lens for my iPhone since I was about to embark on a Southwestern tour de beautiful hikes, roadside Taco Bells, and Airbnbs with my then-boyfriend. While there are plenty to be found out there, I settled on the Xenvo Pro Lens Kit, even though it had one of those scary SEO-packed product descriptions, because it also had truly fabulous reviews:
And I soon found that not only did that lens, which is actually a super wide angle and macro lens set (they screw together), produce delightfully kickass scenery photography, instantly transforming the lackluster iPhone XS cam into a DSLR-level art machine:
...But! As Robby had described, it also can be clipped onto your laptop camera to help correct some of that horrific, why-does-I-look-so-close-to-the-screen-I-hate-this-let-me-get-off-this-call-ASAP energy. The super wide angle actually makes you look farther away from your computer, which makes many of those bumps/shadows/threats of a double chin magically disappear. See for yourself! (Be forewarned that with this being an honest review in the hopes of genuine service to readers, I did not do any beauty prep in advance of taking these screenshots.)
If $40 feels a little steep for your video-call vanity, there are oodles of versions for cheaper out there as well. Read the reviews, get one that is made of sturdy materials (aluminum and glass, rather than all plastic parts), and make sure your set includes a 0.45X or even a 0.62X super wide angle lens. Most of these kits also include a macro lens, which will come in handy if you ever get really into nail art or selling Warhammer figurines or something.
Swapping the scratchplate for one in a different colour doesn't solve the problem that the scratchplate shape is a hideous abomination. Surely including a second one with a less fugly shape would be a better idea?
The history of bands to come out of Bremerton is pretty awful downright abysmal. Since William Bremer sold the prime real estate in town to the gummint in 1891 so they could build a shipyard, the hardscrabble hamlet has only produced a small, shitty hardcore scene, Ben Gibbard's whiny, morose Deathcab For Cutie, and the pure listening hell that is MxPx's chipmunk punk.
But, lo, behold Dear Darkness: a ragged sounding garage-rock trio led by my old school chum Billy. Billy is that dude who refuses to take anything (including pedagogical professors) seriously. He and I spent a few ferry rides back and forth to Seattle during our school days talking a little about art and design, and a lot about music. What I didn't know is that he fronted a kickass rock band.
Mushy, chord driven, electric guitar is the perfect accompaniment to Billy's voice, reminiscent of Joe Strummer's gravelly, singing-from-the-guts vocals. What's great about their demo (besides all of the not-suckiness) is the relentless pace the rhythm section keeps. Even with its lo-fi, amateur recording it delivers; pulling from folk and punk alike, these dudes have put together eight hellacious tracks about shame, sex, love, and the lack thereof. Here's to hoping they get some gigs outside of Bremerton soon.
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