I was excited to see a taco de nopales on the menu, having developed a fondness for eating cacti ever since spending a month in Colorado some years ago. Their gooey texture reminds me of okra, and it makes sense that people in hot, arid climates have incorporated these juicy plants into their diet. I was also relieved that at least one of our tacos that night would have something in it that didn't have to be slaughtered. 
(Note the forks!) Tangy, slimy and tasty, this was the only taco I had in the Mission that was built atop a fresh, handmade tortilla. We broke the rules and also got a pupusa, because who doesn't want a pupusa? I, for one, wish that I was eating one right now. 
The cook confirmed my suspicions about the floppy thing hanging above the range: they use the heat from the stove to dry out pork skin before frying it into chicharrones. The woman working the juice bar handed me a sample, and I quickly realized that it was the crunchiest, and loudest, thing that I will ever eat.
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