"Hell is famous for its taco, quesadillas,
and devilishly tasty sauces."
Taqueria el Infierno

The mayor of Churumuco, Michoacán was gunned down on Friday while eating at Taqueria el Infierno in Morelia.  Taqueria el Infierno is a hell-themed restaurant that serves the "Little Devil," which is a tortilla dorada con queso y carne, "Devil Tacos," and the "Devil Special," which looks like some beans, presumably evil.  Their website is full of doctrinal errors, declaring that "Hell is not a place of tacos only," and that "Hell is a pioneer of grilled meats in Michoacán."  Nowhere in the Bible does it state that there are tacos in hell, but since Michoacán is a notoriously-violent place, it is possible that hell is indeed a pioneer of grilled Michoacánese meats.  Taqueria el Infierno is so important, the news report about the recent murder there devolves into an advertisement for the place.  Imagine tuning into the evening news to hear that "A small-town mayor was killed here over the weekend, but the carne asada is great."

Harsh.

So what's up with the devil and taco joints?  Torchy's is a famous taco chain in Austin.  Apparently they have restaurants all over the U.S., but it started in Austin.  I never went there.  I thought about it, once, while I was dropping a fare off near their location on S. Lamar, but I looked at the sign and decided against it.  If you've ever driven a cab (or worked in the service industry at any level), you know that entitled, abrasive devils make up a significant portion of your business.  They're a pain in the neck.  Getting paid to deal with them is bad enough; no way am I going to voluntarily give them any of my money.  And stopping would have been a waste of time.  You don't get paid by the hour when you're driving a cab, and when you're on, you're on.  I always preferred La Mexicana Bakery on S. 1st anyway.

Why hang out with a bunch of judgmental, insecure Austin hipsters, just to give somebody who revels in Satan too much money for some trendy tacos,

When you can get some real Mexican food for a fraction of the price, from actual Mexicans? 

I used to love this place.  Apparently, it went out of business in 2022.  Unfortunate.  La Mexicana was open 24/7, and I never saw any hipsters in there.  I was a night driver, and would go there sometimes for a burrito in the middle of my shift, or some pan dulce.  They had piñatas hanging from the ceiling, and a cheap, charming Mexican interior that was naturally peaceful, for reasons of not being overpriced enough to appeal to abrasive Austin demoniacs.  Though I'm sure many a midnight meal was consumed by many a drunken gringo in La Mexicana after a night of unremembered, yet irrevocable, mistakes.

I mean, look at it.  Perfect, right?

So what's up with the devil and taco joints?  Obviously, it's the hot sauce.  Little packets of hellfire, with which to season your trendy, overpriced soul.  Perhaps the devil is trying to blur the lines between habanero sauce and the 5th vial of God's wrath, as described in the book of Revelation.  The infernal imagery in the hot sauce industry is so ubiquitous that you have to wonder, at what point do condiments and theology overlap?

"And the fifth angel poured out his vial upon the seat of
the beast; and his kingdom was full of darkness;
and they gnawed their tongues for pain,"
Revelation 16:10

Because it isn't hard to find hot sauce with pictures of Satan on it.  At what point does seasoning your food become an act of rebellion?  Is hot sauce really just an opportunity for normal people to engage in the dark, infernal arts?  Is it vampiric spellcasting disguised as a form of culinary masochism?  Are the devils and witches on the label really necessary?  Satan's Blood?  You sure about that?

You may choose to believe that the inclusion of ugly, malicious demons on a bottle of lava-based chile condiments is a mere novelty, a clever marketing strategy designed to make hot sauce more appealing to fans of Norwegian death metal,

But it's not.

Ask yourself, honestly, to what degree do you see a taco joint called "Hell," a hot sauce called "Satan's Blood" that comes in a weird vial from the prop department of Angel Heart and... revel in it?  At what point do you laugh at such a gratuitous display of evil, and find it amusing?  That's all it takes.  You don't have to be a witch.  You don't have to believe in it, at all.  Maybe you simply find it humorous that there's a devil under the words "Satan's Rage" on the label, staring at you with malice that transcends the physical laws of marketing, and ventures into the quantum realm (Quantum Marketing 101:  Put Satan on the label).  Or maybe you buy it (or try it) because it has the devil on it, because it has a demon on it, because it's drenched in hellfire?

I want you to ask the question, because I've asked it myself.

I made this audio recording in the summer of 2022, while debating whether or not to pursue a show at the "Rockabilly Rebel Bar" in San Luis Potosí.  I had my doubts, because even though Punk and Rockabilly tiki people are always my best audiences, the "Y" in the word "Rockabilly" swooped down to form a devil's tail.  It was Torchy's all over again.  Should I book the show?  Should I stop for tacos?  Should I go to Taco Hell in Michoacán, for my last infernal supper?  What if this is my last supper?  These tacos dipped in fire?  These rockabilly flames, dancing up my legs like cool cats and tattoo kittens in a chrome and checkerboard diner, only to turn into mascots for a hot sauce company, and drag me down to hell?

I couldn't do it.  I contacted them on Facebook a couple times.  They responded, but I never followed through.

I couldn't do it.

It was a shame.  Why couldn't it just be guys who like hot rods and pomade, and retro chicks with giant flowers in their hair?  Why does it always have to be EVIL?  Why do there always have to be DEVILS?  Rockabilly is the coolest outlaw music subculture, because it is the most formal.  The formality, of course, exists within the soul.  Your wifebeater should be sharp enough to slice iron onions, and your hair should be able to stop bullets, but the formal cool with which you light a cigarette should not be limited to the sartorial elements of your persona.  You should be cool within, as well.

"I learned from everyone that being cool or
cute is not just about appearance."
Miki, Subleader of The Strangers

Rockabilly is also where old punks go to die.  When you get too old to use beer and rage as a cologne, it is nice to slip into some vintage animal prints, roll up the cuffs of your jeans, and head off into the great and unknown noir, the flashing casino wheel rising like a mirage from the shimmering truckstop, the all-nite diner of the dying, neon world, and live with what you find.

So, y'know, Rockabilly is cool.   But I can't do devils anymore.  Hell is not a place of tacos only.  I'm a rock band, and don't expect the other pirates on my songship to be saints, but maybe that's why I never play anymore.  I had a bass player who bought some badass boots once, cowboy or motorcycle I don't remember, with leather flames rising from the toes, and licking up the sides.  Cowboy, I think.  He bought them for the band.  Everybody thinks I'm into hell.  Yeah yeah, I get it.  It's not a mystery.  I know why.  But they're missing the point.

I'm not into hell.  I've just spent a significant portion of my life passed out in front of its gates, is all.  Demons used me as a dodgeball for many years, and there's no way to slam into the faces of your enemies like that, without getting a few bruises.  Eventually, if the demons toss you around long enough, your skin becomes a bruise.

But I'm not into it.

I hate it.

I've never been into witchcraft, but I've picked up a lot of demons, and I'll tellya:  All is NOT well in hell.  It may not be obvious, but the song above is not reveling in anything.  There's a difference in painting hellfire on your feet and thinking it's cool, and telling yourself you're going to make it out of this nightmare while being pinned to the floor of the pit.  "All Is Well In Hell" is the latter.  Listen to it.  Does the guy sound like he's enjoying himself?  

Enjoying himself, more than the mayor of wherever it was in Michoacán, perhaps.  Hell is not a place of tacos only.  There are cowboys and punk rockers and rockabilly kittens there, as well.  Hot sauce didn't send them there, any more than their tattoos or retro hair.

Not heeding the warning on the label, did.

Thanks for listening.