A brand new shell for the legendary Dos Tacos

Dos Tacos is legendary to those of us who experienced the restaurant during its all-too-fleeting Park Street incarnation. From its inexplicable name (two tacos?) to the sloppy drawings on its hand-lettered menu, the restaurant burst at its scuzzy seams with indie credibility. The Daily Caffe of Mexican food, skate-punks and student hipsters perpetually spilling out of its dilapidated storefront, Dos Tacos lent Park Street more character than XandO ever will. And the food was cheap. Ah yes, it was cheap. During the dining hall strike of '96, I survived on dollar-portions of rice and beans, and saved up my laundry quarters for burritos that overflowed out of their foil wrapping. When the restaurant closed without warning at the end of my freshman year--the taped-up menu still visible through dusty plate-glass windows, vague rumors of drug-peddling surrounding its sudden departure (after all, how else could a restaurant survive with a closet's worth of space and nary a dish more expensive than five bucks?)--the legend grew. Dos Tacos was too cool to survive.

The news that Dos Tacos has reemerged, tucked away on the corner of Orange and Elm Streets, comes as an ambiguous blessing. After all, the food was never the thing at Dos Tacos, although it was invariably fresh and tasty; the mystique emanated from the place itself, that tiny little storefront located geographically and spiritually between the Daily and Mamoun's. The first sign that things are awry when one steps into the new, disappointingly clean Dos Tacos is that the food is a little bit more expensive. Mind you, prices have gone up just by nickels and dimes, but no longer are they in the mythic "I can't believe they can get away with charging so little for so much food" range. There are still too many patrons for the three or four tables in the room, but there's no pushing or shoving to remind customers of the atmosphere that was once as sweaty and intimate as the Tune Inn on a good night. Speaking of the Tune Inn, one can't help but notice that the folks snarfing down the proverbial dos tacos seem more clean-cut than the original crowd--the new Orange Street locale has attracted customers from nearby office buildings, and at least one necktie-and-blazer combo is in evidence.

The staff behind the counter, pierced and black-clad, does carry on the Dos Tacos tradition. As does the ordering ritual--signs posted on the wall direct the customer to pick a dish, pick a size, pick a topping, pick a spiciness level, pick a drink, in that order, or else. (Or else what? All hell breaks loose.) And the food is reassuringly familiar. I split a colossal quesadilla with a friend and we both marvel at its colossalness; it's oozing with cheese and chicken and beans and veggies and tastes as freshly made as it undoubtably is. Best of all, one of the tables is not a table at all, but a Space Invaders video game. When I was in junior high and reported to the orthodontist's every month to get my braces tightened, the pain of my existence was ameliorated only by the Space Invaders game in the office; it had been rigged so that quarters weren't necessary. If you'd brushed your teeth before your appointment, the receptionist would let you play it. Space Invaders and Dos Tacos seem to go together well; they're both kinda old school, and if you jumble all the Space Invaders characters together, they look like a taco, only green and pixilated. Furthermore, if Space Invaders alone weren't enough of a draw, don't forget the restaurant's proximity to lower Chapel Street's always-popular Nu Haven Book and Video.

Ah, Dos Tacos. Now that the Whole Enchilada and Baja's on York have taken over as student standbys, the enticing prospect of tasty, inexpensive Mexican food is no longer as novel asit was in those lean days, when only El Amigo Felix and the margaritas at Viva Zapata's stood between us and the dining hall's chili crispitos. Bean-filled burritos and freshly-fried tortillas can be found all over the Elm City.

But if you're as secretly sentimental as I am, you'll want to take a trek past memory lane and down to Orange Street. Jostle the folks waiting in line, select your dish, size, topping, spiciness quotient, and drink--in that order, of course--play a round of Space Invaders, and, for God's sake, enjoy your tacos. Both of them.

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