Got late night munchies? Run for the border

They can't seem to say enough about the great people, places and things to see in Ann Arbor.

So I figure I'll do just the opposite.

I decided that I'd focus my column on the features of Ann Arbor that remain safely out of the mainstream eye.

For every classy restaurant, there are a half dozen greasy spoons that never get close to mere mention in "Midwest Living." And for every notable man of the arts featured in "Current," there's a gaggle of crazy mofos off the street 10 times more compelling - and hilarious.

Hence the title of the column, "Unsung Ann Arbor," which I thought was a little more appropriate than "The Freakshow."

Speaking of freaks, lets get this avant-humor show on the road and talk about one of Ann Arbor's true dining treasures - the Taco Bell on East University.

I don't know how many late, weekend nights I've found my way through the disorienting, alcohol-induced fog swirling about my head to find myself sitting in one of those oh-so comfortable mock-wooden booths, swallowing down mass quantities of beef, beans and ghastly combinations thereof.

For the inaugural episode of "Unsung," I had no choice but to run for the border (and then to the bathroom so I could vomit after actually using that pun).

Like I mentioned before, the bright neon sign that shines through the front window often acts as a beacon, guiding me to the promised land.

There's just something about the taste of an original taco after you've had several snifters of brandy (or, as is more often the case, cheap beer) that is totally satisfying.

I'm almost beginning to think that there's some sort of special Pepsi Co. copyrighted ingredient that reacts in a violently delicious way when it comes into contact with even the slightest amount of alcohol. The folks at Backdoor certainly know what I'm talking about - they use the same thing in their pizza.

But I digress.

The East U. Taco Bell doesn't deserve acclaim simply for its food. The Lynchian cast of characters that function as the restaurant's employees are equally responsible for the surreal dining experience that is the Bell.

For instance, there's the bespectacled gentleman who, when finished preparing your food, shouts out your order in the most lilting of tones. "Two beef baja gooordiiiitas," I've heard him say on numerous occasions.

Once I asked him if he had any formal training in order memorization. He looked at me kind of awkwardly for a second, his eyes glazed over and he took a deep breath.

"Two beef baja gooordiiiitas!"

Okay, then. I'll just take my food. Oh wait...what did I order again?

"Two bee-"

Ah, yes. I remember now.

Then there's Jaime, the ex-patriate from Nicaragua who was more than willing to talk to me. After serving up my seven layer burrito, he lead me into the alley next to the Taco Bell and began explaining the plight of the rebels in Central America.

He asked if I was willing to fight for my Latino brothers. So I asked him if he simply hadn't noticed my red hair and distinctly European features (by the way, treats to the person who can successfully determine the nationality of my last name, Kula).

Jaime shook his head and said that as long as seven layers of rice, beans, guacamole and cheese flowed through my body, I could consider myself just as much a Latino as "C.H.I.P.S" star Eric Estrada.

I still don't know how to react to that one. But I do know that if I ever get a chance to patrol the California highways alongside Larry Wilcox, I can die a happy man.

Once I was verbally attacked by the woman working the late night shift (who, coincidentally, bore a striking resemblance to a guest I'd seen on Springer that very morning).

I had apparently walked into the store though it had officially closed a few moments before and had had the audacity to order some food - you'd have thought I was in a restaurant or something.

"Who the hell let you in here? Are you blind, or can't you tell we're closed?" she asked me in a less than cordial manner. My response? "Yeah, can I get those tacos to go or what?"

She liked that comment about as much as Tom Goss likes the phrase "Ed Martin on line one."

Employee weirdoes straight out of Tom Waits songs aside, the East U Taco Bell has brought me nothing but satisfaction (and the obligatory abdominal pain, as well) during my time at the University.

And with the cheap prices and friendly hours, it has the potential to do the same for all types, from nihilist GSIs who obsess over Pavement lyrics to hockey ticket-holding dudes who furnish the walls of their house not with paintings or posters but with the ever-charming Budweiser "Welcome Back '99" banners.

Taco Bell, Toxic Hell - call it what you will. In any case, it makes for the perfect end to a drunken night. In fact, I think that's how Taco Bell is being marketed these days:

"When your head's spinning and you're seeing double, you get twice as many tacos! Taco Bell-stumble on in."

Chris KulaUnsung Ann Arbor

09-16-99