Last October when I came to visit, Chris introduced me to a place that instantly became my newest edible love affair.

It might even have edged out Chipotle, and THAT is saying something.

Steak so greasy it leaves a pool on the plate, melted cheese, lettuce, and a generous heaping of pico de gallo all bundled into a piping hot, deep fried (crispy, but still soft) corn tortilla coated in parmesan cheese… If the most beautiful music you’ve ever heard had a taste, it would taste like this. Right now, it’s only been 13 hours since I last had a Jimboys taco, and my mouth is watering. The yearning is great, dare I even say, quite overwhelming.

The tragedy in all this is that I have only ever, in my life, had 4 of those wonderful, exquisite tacos — two on two separate occasions.

Jimboys, as it turns out, exists only in the Sacramento area of California and a few locations in Nevada, meaning I am almost always between 400 and 1,600 miles out of reach. And I have yet to discover another taco joint that even distantly compares.

I wither in agony.


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