Marco Herrera slipped a dusky lavender-blue tortilla off the griddle and into the palm of his hand. He made a fist, then opened it. The tortilla crumpled softly and rebounded like a rose.
"That's what we're looking for," he said. "It's been a lot of rigorous research to get the hydration levels right with this masa. I always say it's like the most shame on my family that I could bring: a tortilla that breaks." He slipped two more—lightly charred and more aromatic than I knew a tortilla could be—onto a plate and layered them with this and that. Subtly spiced vegan chorizo made with Japanese sweet potatoes, tofu and local mushrooms; pickled onions; kicky bright green sauce; a sprinkle of roasted pepitas. No dramatic flourish: just cook, serve, eat and feel better than you felt before.
It took all of five minutes—but developing the flavors has been the work of generations. "It's the food my mom used to make," Herrera said, "but a little bit modern, a little bit dressed up." He grew up in his father's El Paso, Texas restaurant, a neighborhood hub where many in the community would stop for lunch or breakfast every day. Herrera came to Tulsa with Teach for America, where he met chef Colin Sato, and outside of school time they set up shop in the Vintage Wine Bar's tiny kitchen making everything from small bites to Japanese hot pot dinners.
When the pandemic hit, the kitchen found a new purpose, with chefs making food around the clock for neighbors in need. They dubbed this mutual aid effort Food for the Screw'd. Herrera found himself cooking there full-time while pursuing a Ph.D. in educational policy at OU-Tulsa. In jest, he dubbed his brand Tacos Don Mamon ("[Mamon] roughly translates to 'dumbass'") but he's thinking twice about the name—and not just because his mom doesn't like it. A rebranding in homage to his dad's beloved café might be on the horizon, as life in the kitchen heats up.
You can find Herrera's playful, dimensional, snacky-yet-serious comfort food at Vintage Wine Bar's weekly Taco Tuesdays (get two ultra-satisfying tacos plus guacamole and a glass of wine for $20), and at regular pop-ups at Heirloom and Cirque. Vintage pairs the tacos with young, juicy wines, with a Spanish grenache and rosé cava taking center stage lately. In May, look for creations like Tacos de Desebrada—slow-braised beef brightened with sesame, cinnamon, ginger and honey, stuffed into a pan-fried tortilla and served Chihuahua-style with extra-spicy green salsa—and vegetarian options with stars like jackfruit, roasted cauliflower and, come summer, local squash and corn.
"Taco Tuesday is really just a way to preach the gospel about good masa," Herrera said. "I try to keep everything really joyful. It's fun. It's adventurous. It's exciting. The food is really personal. We work hard, and we stand by what we do." And what about that graduate degree? "I don't know," he said. "There's too many Ph.D.s in the world. There's not enough good tacos."
