Alebrije’s Is My Taco Truck and Also My Office

This is part of our series that celebrates America’s Favorite Neighborhood Restaurants. We asked 80 of the most interesting people we know to reveal the local spots they love the most.

I don’t even give Alebrije’s a name when I tell people to meet me at my favorite Santa Ana, California, taco truck. “Just look for the pink lonchera off Main Street,” I say. “You won’t miss it.”

They never do.

This lonchera—another name for “food truck,” for the uninitiated—sports a glorious Pepto-Bismol-esque hue that's probably visible from Graceland, one that would make a Mary Kay top seller green with envy. But even the color-blind immediately see something rosy here. There’s usually a line, Mexicans and not, and eaters scattered everywhere—on the curb, on milk crates, on rickety chairs, or just standing around. Alebrije’s is so popular that police officers park in the red zone right behind it and eat off the hoods of their Ford Interceptors.

And this has been my public office for the past decade.

Here, I meet sources, hold court with friends, or conduct interviews with television networks—producers from Switzerland, Mexico, and Argentina, plus NBC and even ESPN, have all stopped by. Alebrije’s slogan is Coma Como en el DF—“Eat Like in Mexico City”—and so I take my guests through their specialties: alambres (a bunch of meats glued together with melted cheese), mulitas (halfway between a quesadilla and a gordita), and picaditas (think sopes on steroids).

They always shoot me a bewildered look when they first arrive, but I shut up skeptics for good when I order them the taco acorazado.

It’s a specialty of Cuernavaca, a city about an hour and a half away from Mexico City, and translates to “battleship taco” in English because it’s as mighty as one. Alebrije’s cooks pat out a fresh corn tortilla as big as a hardcover novel and place upon it a bed of Spanish rice. That’s topped with beef milanesa—crunchy and buttery and glorious—followed by strata of grilled onions, grilled cactus, fresh tomatoes, diced cabbage, avocado and a blizzard of cotija. Grab some habanero-spiked pickled onions from the salsa bar, spoon some green or red salsa on everything, and then we're ready to talk.

You don’t eat the taco acorazado so much as deconstruct it layer by layer, and my guests inevitably devour it with gusto. And while they do, I tell them the other reason why Alebrije’s is my office: out of eternal respect.

In 2006, the all-Latino Santa Ana City Council decided to enact laws that would force loncheras to move every half hour, thereby killing their business. Alebrije’s decided to sue the City Council on behalf of the city’s taco trucks—and won. A new council tried to do the same last year—this time, they also wanted to enact regulations banning scrolling marquee signs and forcing food trucks to stay at least 500 feet from elementary schools. The council modified the proposed regulations after a collective outcry from the city’s 150-plus loncheros—led once again by the Alebrije’s crew.

“We just want to sell tacos,” said owner Albert Hernández as he took orders. “We’ve brought much fame to the city and want to make everyone proud.”

So, America: If you ever want to meet me, just look for Santa Ana’s pink taco truck. I even take my laptop there. Because who needs a corner office with a view when you have tacos acorazados?

Gustavo Arellano is a writer and author of Taco USA.