The Abe Froman Files

I made tacos for dinner and dare I say it, they’re really effing delicious.

I make superior tacos.

Of course, it’s relative. In Mexico these tacos would neither prevent nor provoke divorce. In LA they’re still amateur time. But in VT, they’re effing award winning south of the border cuisine. And in my neck of Manhattan (where no amount of illegal Mexican house servants can drum up demand for a decent torta) I am really the best there is.

I want to take a photo of myself shoving them into my face, I can’t eat and photograph at the same time.

If I could only put up audio of my meal you might mistake it for the phone sex lady you threw $249.99 in the wee hours of the morning.

Tonight NYC can have its trendy lobster rolls and meatballs and ridiculous things made of berkshire pork that should never be made with berkshire pork. I’m eating in.