Foodsters. Like scenesters, but with food.



A general direction in which something is developing or changing.
1. Style or vogue.
2. To emerge as a popular trend; be currently popular.

Food, it turns out, is not immune to a good band wagon.

Liquid Nitrogen. Slow food. Raw food. Organic. Southern Comfort. Seasonal.
Perth has also seen its fair share of trends. The influx of tapas bars. Then the gourmet burger places (I live within a 5 minute drive of no less than seven). Right now, if you’ve got a good eye, Mexican places are creeping into the ‘burbs.

I get highly irrational food cravings. Ones that make pregnant women seem relatively sane. The idea worms its way into my brain, and takes hold. There it will remain, unrelenting (think Bart Simpson with a pot on his head yelling “I am so great”, unrelenting) until I relinquish control to the voice in my head; commanding me to eat until breathing becomes uncomfortable and I require elasticated pants.

I got one of these cravings. For burritos. And it needed to be more than that Old El Paso, imitation Mex (what’s the Mexican equivalent of Fasian?).

Being one of those nights when no one was home, and half my kitchen was taken up with another baking venture, there was no chance I was cooking. So, I recruited my friend Wheezy for a mid-week catch up, and convinced her to meet me at The Flying Taco in North Perth.

The menu isn’t complicated. Choose from a style (taco/burrito/quesadilla), chose a meat (or non-meat if so inclined) throw in a salsa, and you got yourself a tasty, tasty feed..

Fillings are marinated in imported spices, and combined with a bean and rice mix. It’s all smushy, delicious goodness.

They hand make their own tortilla corn chips, served with sour cream (which, by the way, is the best sour cream ever).

All can be washed down with a variety of refreshments, including home-made iced hibiscus tea. The Flying Taco is also BYO, and within stumbling distance from The Rosemount Hotel, if you feel that a brewski is in order.

As Wheezey and I inhaled our burritos, we looked at our own. And the at each others.
“How is it?” I asked.
“Pretty damn good”, came the reply.
“Um… Want to try some of mine?”, I offered.
So, like kids in the playground at recess, we swapped. Giving them back was much harder than you would have thought.

One pollo burrito later, the raging craving was quieted.
For now.


Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out /  Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )


Connecting to %s