Unlike the other pastor vendors in town, Andy caramelizes his meat to an almost-crunchy texture. That process makes it picture-perfect when he shaves it off the vertical spit, fries it, splashes it with a somewhat fiery salsa, kisses it with thin slices of pineapple and hands it over with a grin. If you blink twice from the sweet-smelling smoke in your eyes, you'll swear that Elvis is alive and well and living in San Miguel. That's part of the reason you come here.
Tacos Mesones doesn’t fire their meat long enough to get that mandatory char and when Chilly Willy’s pointed to a bowl of canned pineapple after I asked where the fruit was, I threw up my hands and declared the competition over. It was never really a close contest to begin with.
When I finally sat down to the fruit of my labor and took one bite of the WSJ recipe, it erased every bad memory and word I used in the process to make it.