There is nothing more prestigious in the world of cuisine than the Mexican-designed meal of perfection: the taco. Once a simple vehicle for beans, salsa and cheese, the taco has graduated to a higher culinary status and is now often elegantly stuffed with a vast array of ingredients. Savoury meats. Grilled vegetables. Exotic cheeses. Scientifically enhanced salsa. Oh yes.

Does Vancouver have a taco that lives up to the hype? I hopped on my burro, and went on a quest to find out.

I began at Taco Time. As they say in Mexico, "Beware of the barking dogs with chicken feet for eyes"* and when it comes to my experience at Taco Time I couldn't agree more. Unless you enjoy dry "beef" wrapped in cardboard and slathered with sour cream I suggest you steer clear of this joint.

Next, I decided to mosey over to Taco del Mar, an establishment which seems to pride itself on its fish-filled tortillas. As a masterpiece was prepared before my eyes I quickly realized I was going need a forklift to help get my fish taco to my table. Once I lugged it to my seat I dove in. What!?! A freakin' fish stick? The horror. Sure it tasted okay but a proletarian piece of processed cod was not what I signed up for. Four pounds heavier, I lurched out the door.

Did Vancouver have my perfect taco? Not yet. But I was convinced. Obviously my foray into fast food options was a mistake. Time to get serious.

I rode to Kitsilano and tied him up in front of Topanga Cafe on 4th Avenue. I had heard a lot about this place from my Mexicali posse and upon first glance I liked what I saw. Simple and cooked with love, my taco came with a handsome trinity of rice, beans and salad while the innards held enough flavour (not to mention heat!) to overturn the government. It was good. My quest was headed in the right direction. As I rolled out the door, he rolled his eyes, knowing I wasn't getting any lighter. Giddy-up!

I came to an understanding. First, the bloated sensation I was feeling could only be described as "tight". Second, I needed to focus on who made the taco famous: the Mexicans. I dug in my spurs, he groaned and we ambled to The Mouse & The Bean on the corner of Cambie & Hastings.

Owned and operated by a Mexican family, I knew I was in the right place when my host Cesare greeted me, "Hola amigo!" Excited, I yelled back. "HI! Bring me your best taco, young man!" Whoa. That was loud. He brought it to me. I was taken aback. How could something so simple be so good? Sure the portions were small, but the hallucinatory effects of eating tacos all day made me feel like I was El Presidente. I heard him whinny outside and knew it was time to go. We headed out into the night.

I was nearly at mi casa when I felt a strange lure. Led by primal instinct, I found myself at the door of Lolita's, a south of the border cantina located in the rather un-Hispanic locale of the West End. I drifted in. I ordered a muddled cocktail. I ordered the fish tacos. My head swirled in a mango salsa-infused heaven. My body was a pinata. I had reached my destination. I exploded.

(*loosely translated)