Having written about food in San Francisco for longer than I want to admit, I am no stranger to the guilty complex that comes with living in a town influenced greatly by the S.L.O (sustainable, local, organic) movement. I’ve cringed along with the rest of the liberals while watching Food, Inc. I consider Michael Pollan my journalist hero. I had the first edition of the Monterey Bay Aquarium Seafood Watch card shoved in my wallet for years. (See the tombo tuna, versus ahi, on our tostadas as an indirect result of this.)
I once sat in on a press conference where Alice Waters got weepy introducing her own hero, Slow Food founder Carl Petrini who then proceeded to give a speech—with a booming, proselytizing voice and hand gestures that could compete with Al Sharpton—that included a story about a poor woman in Mexico who didn’t even know she had some traditional herbs growing in her backyard because she was so far removed from her heritage that she shopped at the—no!—supermarket.
Disclaimer #1: Before I go further, I should state that Tacolicious was founded on the principals of sustainability. A large portion of our produce comes from the Ferry Plaza Farmers Market where we launched our stand last summer. We use natural meats. Our tortillas may not be organic but they’re made daily at our very local La Palma.
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Which is part of the reason why Joe and I found ourselves low-crawling through the vast aisles of Safeway one night on a secret mission to buy a thing of Velveeta. (Thing being the best word to describe it, really. Any dairy item that doesn’t have to be refrigerated cannot be categorized.)
Disclaimer #2: This was not Joe’s idea. It was mine. I wanted to try to make the Tex-Mex style chili con queso for Tacolicious; it was a dish that I felt that any self-respecting, margarita-drunk Marina inhabitant would be grateful to have available late night.
Joe’s first reaction was to try make it with legitimate cheese (which he ultimately attempted), but real cheese separates and does weird things. I knew that chile con queso and its creamy greatness does not come from anything natural. I suggested we just try it out and then tell me what he thought.
The Velveeta purchased, we came home and, after analyzing the processed cheese spread’s ingredients, we decided to go for it. The chili con queso made, we brought it up with a bag of chips to my super foodie neighbors—neighbors that cold-smoke their own salmon, roast their own coffee beans, forage for their own chanterelles. And? Well, they couldn’t stop eating it. And to be honest, neither could we.
My guilt turned to something that I can only describe as giddy pleasure. Each taste of velvety, spicy deliciousness threw me right back to the mid-80s, back before I knew better. I felt a rebellious thrill rush through me and it felt great.
So, Carl Petrini: Strike us down.
Or better yet, have a few margs, dip into the chili con queso and we won’t tell anyone.