In 2008, we left minutes after the Man burned, and found ourselves on a fairly empty stretch of Nevada desert at 1:00 am. In the vast darkness, we saw a few lights glittering and beckoning us to make a stop. It was an Indian taco stand.
You do not know nirvana until you eat one of these at 1:00 am after a week in the playa. In the spirit of helping the local economy, we ordered two tacos each, and promptly died and went to heaven. The fry bread was crispy on the outside, yet doughy and and soft inside. A heaping ladle of ground beef and beans were mixed in with lettuce and tomatoes. A shake or two of hot sauce to add an extra layer of hallelijiah on your tongue.
The people at the taco stand were so so sweet and so nice, and even at 1 am in the darkest of nights, they bid us a fond farewell and a safe journey home.
Did it again in 2010, but this time on a Sunday afternoon. Crowds at the taco stand, everyone was happy and patient and dusty and dirty and we wore the Playa like a badge of honor, while the taco stand people were flying the tacos out their windows and making everyone grin with happiness.
Indian tacos served with a side of love.