Saucy, shredded slow-cooked beef and pork, loaded with cheese and flecked with fragments of red onion and coriander, encased by tortilla and then shallow fried until luminously brown. Messy little envelopes of bliss as is. But then there’s the steaming cup of oily, red consommé to plunge your taco into — even messier edible bliss. There is a real joy to eating something so vividly untidy — and this is maybe why it seemed that, for a year or so at least, all anyone wanted to eat in this city was birria. Although the full-blown hype has, thankfully, settled down to more sustainable levels, our love for the dish endures with the renditions at Tokos Tacos. You can get a margarita mocktail to wash it all down with, and a koko-Sāmoa-infused flan for afterwards. Wearing white clothing is a really bad idea.