Tacos Campechanos

The campechano is from Ciudad de México. Not from Campeche, despite the name. This is a street taco that belongs to the late-night taquerias of Colonia Roma, Condesa, Narvarte, Doctores, the places where you stand at a counter at midnight and the taquero asks what you want and you say campechano con todo.

The meat is the point. Suadero, a thin cut of beef from between the brisket and the flank, cooked slowly in lard until it surrenders. Longaniza, the long red sausage that Mexico City prefers over chorizo for its slightly coarser grind and its deeper red color from achiote. And chicharron prensado, the pressed pork rind that brings the crunch. Three meats on the comal at the same time, mixed together the moment you order. That is the dish. Anything else is a different taco with the wrong name.

The word campechano comes from the verb campechanear, to mix freely, to combine without ceremony. CDMX taqueros borrowed it for a taco that refused to pick a single meat. My mother did not eat tacos at street stands. She thought it was undignified for a woman from Colonia Roma. I started eating them at sixteen on Avenida Cuauhtemoc after school, two campechanos and a Boing de mango, and I learned more about Mexico City in those evenings than in any classroom at UNAM. Cada estado, su propia cocina, and the campechano is what Ciudad de México sends to the table.

Do not overthink this. Suadero needs lard, not water. Longaniza is not chorizo. Chicharron stays on the comal long enough to warm, not long enough to wilt. Doble tortilla because the fat will defeat a single one. Saber cocinar es saber vivir, and knowing how to eat a campechano is part of that.