Atlanta’s Most Exciting Taco Doesn’t Come From a Taqueria
“This tastes like Atlanta.” That’s what diners tell chef Maricela Vega when they try the crispy mushroom taco at her restaurant, 8Arm in, yes, Atlanta. Maybe it’s because of the intensely hyper local sourcing of the ingredients. Or maybe it’s because the flaky texture reminds them of the pride of the ATL: wings! But one thing is certain: This is a taco that bridges both the flavors of Mexico and the South.
The Mushrooms
For this dish, Vega draws inspiration from the family fish fries her Uncle Jose hosted in Guanajuato. But while he hauled coolers full of shrimp and oysters, Vega goes vegetarian with fat oyster mushrooms from Qihe Mushroom Farm in Newnan, Georgia. She dunks the shrooms in aji-pepper-spiked coconut milk before dredging them in locally milled cornmeal—a sweet blue variety from South Carolina’s Anson Mills or vibrant red bollito from Buckeye Creek Farm just north of Atlanta—then fries them till they crackle.
The Rajas
This year, Vega was blessed (or cursed) with a surplus of aji peppers, as in 250 pounds of them. That’s the nature of working with local farms, but she isn’t complaining. She’s turning them into rajas, a chile-based condiment that “hits you immediately, like a jab.” To make it, she starts with acid—maybe leftover chamomile vinegar or apple cider vinegar with a bit of lime juice—then layers sliced garlic and onion, salted and dried aji, and Greek oregano, hotter and earthier than the Mexican kind. The result is spicy, tangy—and gone within a few days.
The Frijoles
Vega tried black beans for the requisite frijoles, but they didn’t compare to Anson Mills’s nutty, creamy Sea Island red peas. One of her old chefs introduced her to the Low Country gem—a staple in Hoppin’ Johns and Gullah “reezy peezy”—and since then she’s been cooking them down with aji, onions, preserved tomatoes, and her mom’s smoky chile negros for a guisado-style mash. “It makes this taco feel Southern,” she says, “without compromising.”
The Salsa
When tomato season’s long gone, Vega conjures up chile tamulado, a Yucatan-style salsa of charred habaneros, garlic, and sour orange juice that gets its name from the Mayan word for mortar and pestle. She roasts habaneros from Mena’s Farm on Atlanta’s Westside, then blends them with local garlic and citrus. Finished with a little salt, the salsa is so sweet and smoky that you won’t miss the tomatoes.
The Tortilla
Fifty percent Oaxacan yellow corn, 50 percent Georgian yellow corn—that’s the masa blend Vega works with for her lithe tortillas. She picks it up from Minero, chef Sean Brock’s Mexican spot across the street, and mixes it with a little water to shape the tortillas so they’re pliable, not crumbly, and hefty enough to support sauce. “The salsa and rajas release liquid, so the tortilla needs to be thick, like a folder,” Vega says. Once flattened in her tortilla press, she cooks the tortillas in a hot cast-iron pan—no oil, just pure sweet corn flavor.
The Toppings
To balance out all the smoky, spicy, and fermented flavors, Vega crowns her taco with what she calls “palate cleansers”: thin rounds of crunchy Easter radishes, intensely grassy cilantro from local urban farming collective Grow Where You Are, and ribbons of raw kale. “Is it still in fashion? I’m not sure!” she jokes. “But it’s a good winter green that adds a bit of freshness.”
Maricea Vega
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Originally Appeared on Bon Appétit
