Taco Bell

I was here, and I have the guilty check-​in to prove it. Much like the The Scarlet Letter «A», the Taco Bell condensed name, TB, doesn’t associate favorably. What comes to mind most quickly when mentioning the TB? Oh, that… tuberculosis.
Anyway. This kind of TB isn’t so bad. But, it’s not so good, either.
I haven’t been to TB in at least a couple years with so many legit taquerias in Chicago. But when faced with a late + ravenous night in the suburbs, finding decent Mexican eats ain’t so easy. I was driving by, my car just kind of happened to leeeeeeean into the parking lot (okay, so maybe it was a deliberate turn) and I placed a drive-​thru order for a newish chicken ranch flatbread and a former standby, the chicken baja chalupa. The flatbread tasted like ranch and only ranch, and the chalupa was predictably passable. After eating real Mexican food in the Pilsen neighborhood the past few years, TB’s flaws are unfortunately only highlighted. God, I loved you in high school… or, maybe the sneaking off campus to get you in 25 minutes roundtrip comprised most of the allure. Guess I’ll never really know, will I?
Nope, I won’t. There’s just too many fantastic tacos out there to be spending my time and money in a TB drive-​thru. I’d rather remember you as my forbidden lunch of angsty yesteryear. Muah!