On Tab’s Grill & Cantina and White People Mexican Food

Usually, when you walk into a Mexican restaurant and the first person to greet you is a middle-aged white woman, the proper course of action is to run as fast as possible in the opposite direction. But that’s not always the case.

You see, there are two kinds of Mexican food popular in America. There’s authentic, actual Mexican food made either by Mexican people or Rick Bayless, and then, much more commonly, there’s White People Mexican Food. White People Mexican Food consists of store-bought flour tortillas, pre-shredded Colby Jack cheese, iceberg lettuce, under-seasoned ground beef, sour cream, and, if you’re very daring, Red Hot sauce. 

Don’t get me wrong, there’s something beautiful about White People Mexican Food. It’s one of those things that’s easy to shit on, but that you’re secretly protective of--sort of like a little sibling. I’ll always have a soft spot for WPMF because I grew up eating it. 

Let me briefly recall the Rise and Fall of Hot Tamale, because the story of Tab’s is really the story of Hot Tamale, and therefore the story of all WPMF across the country. 

Hot Tamale opened in Canton around 2011 when I was in, like, sixth grade. Immediately it was the greatest thing to ever happen. It was WPMF at its peak. The burritos were enormous, and the decor was about as stereotypical as you can get without being overtly racist. 

All of the basic ingredients were slightly above-average quality, which is more than you can reasonably expect from WPMF. My friends and I went three days a week--at least. They knew our names, orders, and probably Social Security numbers. One of my friends, Ben, had so many points on his Hot Tamale account that he could have had a serious claim to majority shareholder.

But like how Hemingway described one’s descent into poverty, Hot Tamale went downhill gradually, then suddenly. At first, just the lettuce changed--from crisp, refreshing Iceberg to soggy, lugubrious Romaine. Then the pork became flavorless and overcooked. Then the cheese changed from the nice white stuff to that gross orange shit. Then the chips changed from the nice thick ones to the thin and brittle kind. Then the rice stopped having cilantro and lime. 

All the while, prices rose exponentially. What once cost $9 was now around $14. No parent in their right mind is gonna consistently pay $14 so their shitty kid can have a shitty burrito (I know from personal experience.)

These measures, we believed, were taken to cut costs. But all they did was alienate and offend the loyal fans who, by and large, would have happily paid a tad more for the same product. 

We tried to support it as best we could, perhaps even deluding ourselves for many months that it was still worth going to, but eventually even we couldn’t stand to hang around anymore. I think we saw Hot Tamale as that friend who went down a bad path, never to be the same.

At some point, around 2019, the owner owed too much in taxes and shut all locations down. Rumors swirled that drugs were involved, but that never bothered me. I mean, I’d happily let anyone sling coke so long as they also sold good food. 

(At one all-too-brief point, Canton had a Jamaican shack across from Shoulette’s run by this jolly, fat Jamaican man who sold the best jerk chicken. It was shut down shortly after it opened, when he was arrested for selling drugs. That was the greatest injustice ever visited upon this town, and it solidified my anti-police politics ever since. I don’t care if he was trafficking children, for god’s sake, let that man sell chicken!) 

Once Hot Tamale closed, the Dark Ages dawned in the Canton-Potsdam area, where there were zero Mexican-takeout options. To this day, it’s nauseating to reflect on the sheer crime of harboring no takeout-burritos in a community with four colleges. It was almost as bad as Canton, a town with two colleges, not having a goddamn McDonald’s until recently. 

That all changed on Nov. 1 when Tab’s opened on Main Street. When I heard they were launching a storefront back in September, I looked forward to it the way I might the birth of my child. But I was nervous. I tried Tab’s food truck once, and knew it was simple WPMF--in other words, mid. Not that it was particularly bad by any means, it just wasn’t going to seduce me out of bed in the morning. 

Still, I knew I had to try it the day it opened. After all, we hadn’t had a burrito place in so long that even if I knew it was bad, I was still gonna go. 

I’m glad to report that Tab’s doesn’t disappoint, which is about the highest compliment one can bestow upon WPMF. Don’t walk into this place hoping it will be Los Tacos No. 1, Birria-Landia, or Mariscos Jalisco. Those places and WPMF are differences of kind, not degree. 

I went with my two friends Ben and Isaiah. When you first walk in, you think you’re in a candy store. We almost walked out because we thought we entered the wrong door. Glass jars line the walls and are stuffed with all sorts of interesting confections, like chocolate covered nuts and peppermint patties.

As you get closer to the cash register, the contents on the shelf become more, well, Mexican. At some point the candy jars turn into hot sauce bottles, and at the front there are lollipops filled with mealworms, which I think are supposed to scream: look how weird Mexican candy is! (I don’t think they actually eat those in Mexico, by the way.)

It’s almost like a north country general store had offspring with a Mexican restaurant. They offer home-made desserts such as blondies and chocolate peanut-butter parfaits, both of which were quite good, albeit unexpected. And they had a large variety of drinks in the fridge. 

Ben and I ordered a burrito, because it’s a good litmus test for how the rest of the menu is, and because that’s just what one typically orders at these places. (You can easily make a quesadilla at home, for Christ’s sake!)

There were three meat options: chicken, beef, and chorizo. I got chorizo, Ben got beef, and Isaiah got a chicken taco bowl because he’s an eccentric. The burritos came with cilantro-lime or Spanish rice, refried or black beans, mild or hot salsa, pico, lettuce, cheese, sour cream, and add-ons of peppers and onions or guacamole. The taco bowl came with the same options, except it was bowled in a fried tortilla shell, which is nice because you should always be able to eat your bowl, no matter the meal. 

This article is criminally long already, so I’ll just say that everything matched or exceeded our expectations. The portions were generous, too. 

Finally, the people of this long-suffering community have a Mexican takeout place that doesn’t suck ass.

Does it live up to the memory of early Hot Tamale, may she rest in peace? Perhaps nothing ever will, with its festive neon-green interior painting and burritos as big as my head. But looking back, I don’t think I ever liked the food that much. I just liked going somewhere with my friends. 

As these communal-eating spaces continue to decline with the proliferation of DoorDash, drive-thrus, and to-go orders, it’s more important now than ever to sit down with somebody, anybody, and share an experience over a meal, even--nay, especially--if it’s White People Mexican Food.