Tacos HNS Rodriguez

I have been sampling tacos all over the USA, Mexico and other places south of the border, this are at the top — fresh, loaded, cheap, clean — just love them

I’m Unilocaling while waiting for my food. I bet this place is authentic, here you see how Hispanic people enjoy food with their family. I’m gonna bring my friends here. Btw the waitress is very friendly. The place is very clean as well

My colleagues are fond of this place so I decided to check this place out for lunch several times. I love tostadas so I ordered tostadas con cemitas (fried pork). The tostadas was really good but it was lacking tomatoes (as pictured in the menu). Basically, the tostada seemed a bit plain as it only had meat, lettuce and cheese. Plus, I know that the food is made fresh but I waited over 20 mins for two tostadas. The waiter though is very nice and sometimes you know, it’s about how a person presents themselves that makes you keep coming back. So although I prefer other places soley for food, I would say that service here is really friendly and that this would be a good place to hang out if you want some food and kill some time.
Oh an although they don’t really have vegetarian food on the menu, you can ask them to make something with vegetables and it’s delicious. My boss wanted a veggie torta and she does not speak Spanish so I wrote down her order. Apparently, it was very difficult for her to communicate so she just gave her the order I wrote down and was able to get her food that way! Sigh, the language of food!

The days when I used to hunt for birria de chivo are sadly behind me. The pulled goat in aromatic consome of El Parian (and their fantastic handmade tortillas) are 2808 miles away in LA. The incredible dry tatemada style of Chicago’s Birrieria Zaragoza is separated by a full day’s drive. And Guadalajara’s Birriería El Chololo, I experience only vicariously through virtual space [
].
But still, I spend many NYC weekends thinking about goat. On a cloudy Sunday afternoon, we stumbled upon Tacos HNS Rodriguez while in the mood for some. A lady in the outside stall was slathering mayo on a cob of corn — for elotes no doubt. But it was the sign for «tortillas hechas a mano» which beckoned us inside in search of barbacoa de chivo. Alas, what I really ever want is birria, but in New York, I’ve learned to compromise.
The tables inside were crammed tight, and when someone played the jukebox, the music shattered the eardrums. They used to say that the worse the music, the better the food — but in a Mexican joint, you measure quality in terms of decibels instead. A lone diner was asked to hurry up with his good looking tamal so that we could take his table — he obliged with haste. The menu looked good and ever so slightly diverged from the typical. A decent number of weekend specials, including the barbacoa, chileatole and fried fish. And cemitas Michoacan in addition to the more common version from Puebla.
We settled on a bowl of barbacoa de chivo, taco arabe, taco de lengua, and taco de carnitas (I was swayed by the earlier reference to Michoacan, home of the carnitas). A request for chips and salsa was declined and so we endured an excruciating wait for the food. The place was packed with families. The waitresses were busy. We waited and hoped the loud music would really serve as a harbinger for the food.
The best thing here are the salsas. Or to put it better, these are some of the best salsas in Queens. A smoky salsa roja tasted like it had a hint of agave, accompanied by the familiar chipotle; the verde had a nice bite of acid and garlic; another red one tasted like it had honey — it was sweet yet beguiling. Too bad they wouldn’t give us chips to dip into these tasty concoctions — next time, I am bringing my own!
The barbacoa came in a green tomatillo sauce, with slices of unexpected zucchini. The flavor was wonderful, with the squash complementing the chivo funk. The two hunks of goat were tender on the bone. The large handmade tortillas were good, if a bit too crisp — and most likely made from masa harina rather than fresh masa. The pinto beans and orange rice were regrettable, but who cares about those anyway.
The taco arabe uses a flour tortilla and is filled with meat cooked in the style of a schwarma — it is another specialty of Puebla. It is said to be a contribution of the Lebanese immigrants and the version here is decent. Just slather on some of that beautiful salsa roja and everything is better. The lengua was tender, but I’ve had better — more salsa roja. Were the carnitas really carnitas — who cares, it’s just a vehicle for salsa verde. Next time, I’m going with the barbacoa tacos. And maybe one of those chalupas that the adjacent table ordered. And, of course, more of that salsa roja — it really would pair beautifully with birria.

I am trying to sample my way through the chorizo options in my new neighborhood. With dozens of restaurants to choose from, it will be a long-​term, but enjoyable, endeavor.
I was pleased but not delighted by my meal here. It is far better than anything I have found in Manhattan, but standard for the area. I ordered chorizo tostadas (two for 6.00). They were topped with beans, lettuce, queso, crema, and a generous amount of shredded chorizo (I don’t know why so many of the local places serve it chunked!). It was flavorful and filling for the price.
However, when I asked for limes, I was told that sauce was in the bag. It was green chile sauce, not in any way comparable. I also missed having tomato or salsa on my tostada. Still, it was tasty and I know how to special order next time! Also, alas, no Diet Coke.

I was so excited to step off of the 7 train and essentially arrive in Latin America. I’d never seen so many taco trucks in such a close proximity to one another. Vendors selling grilled corn, sausages, chopped fresh fruit in lime juice. It all looked awesome — so naturally I was pretty excited to sit down and try some authentic mole.
After venturing up and down Roosevelt for a good half an hour, I settled on Tacos HNS Rodriguez — who had a picture of their mole poblano posted on the window. If it’s good enough to post, it has to be pretty decent, right? Not a true statement.
The «pequeno» size was one fatty drumstick in a mole which actually seemed 1 part mole 3 parts oil. The sauce was watery instead of thick and creamy-​ish like it should be. Beans were cold, tortillas were stale, etc. I did happen to sit across from a group of badly made up Mexican trannies — which was… something.
Summary of Jackson Heights: don’t eat in a restaurant — just buy stuff on the street. Make sure that you head to 90^th and Roosevelt, where a very loud woman is selling some of the most delicious hot rice pudding I’ve ever had. You’ll be able to smell the cinnamon from a block or so away.