It started with my father. Back home in México, he learned to cook the way the best cooks around him did — watching, tasting, failing, trying again, until the food came out right. There were no shortcuts and no fancy equipment. Just instinct, patience, and a deep respect for what good food can do for people.

When he came to the United States, he kept learning. He moved through kitchen after kitchen, soaking up everything he could and sharpening a craft he already loved. But the pull of home never left him.

He didn't have the tools, so he built them himself — the grills, the comals, the fryers — from nothing but what he had and what he knew.

Back in México, with those hand-built grills, he started something small of his own. Word traveled the way it does when the food is honest: people came for the flavor and remembered it long after. He became known for it. And somewhere in all that, an idea took hold — that this taste, this care, deserved to be shared further than one town.

So he brought it north. A little piece of home, packed up and carried across, so it could be set down at tables here.

That's where I come in. This has been my father's dream since he was young, and I get to help him bring it to life. Taco Dad is how we share it — one event, one plate, one family at a time.