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It's been over ten years since I left KC, but every once in a while, I still crave those deep-fried tacos. I loved the mysterious meat, ground so fine that it could have been as powdery as the cheese before greasy reconstitution, and the little angular packets of sour cream that you had to pay extra for, and that delicious sauce that is unlike any sauce I've had before or since. It was risky business to pry the things open so I could dump the sauce and sour cream inside, they'd shatter if you weren't careful. I'd eat six at at a time, slightly sheepish but unable to control myself. One of my best gourmand memories of KC, without a doubt.