5402 N 90th Street
Shake a tablecloth outside after dark, and someone in your family will die. This is one of the many popular superstitions associated with Louisiana Voodoo, a set of spiritual folkways that originated from the traditions of the African diaspora. And, just like the buzz surrounding Omaha’s Voodoo Taco, it’s a load of silly nonsense.
For months before it opened, Voodoo Taco tactically utilized social media to market itself as a one-of-a-kind establishment, creating a great deal of excitement and garnering thousands of Facebook fans. The restaurant posted pictures of peppers and pork carnitas, announced promotions and even held an oh-so-fascinating Q&A on Reddit. It was a truly brilliant way to distract the masses from a diabolical scheme. No wonder its called Voodoo Taco. These motherfuckers put a spell on you.
Located at 90th and Fort, Voodoo Taco is the most convenient place to stop if you feel like unleashing a chain of chile farts as you meander about the Humane Society. Previously occupied by Matt’s Grill (whatever the fuck that was) and then Salgado’s, the space has been completely renovated in an effort to create a fast-casual, yet upscale environment. It looks a bit like a biker bar and a barbecue joint had a baby, and then dipped it in Tung Oil.
“We want to take the vibes of Austin and Portland, and find a way to naturally blend those with the Omaha scene,” explained Voodoo’s owner in a riveting interview with OmahaNews.com. Translation: Portland has Voodoo Doughnuts. Austin has good tacos. And, both cities are notoriously hip. If I combine these ideas, Omahans will think they’re eating somewhere super cool.
Our city does have its charm, but North 90th Street isn’t exactly the epicenter of “the Omaha scene” – unless, of course, your idea of a cultural hotspot is the parking lot between a Meineke Car Care and a Pizza Hut. Let’s face it: no matter how different your restaurant is, bringing “the vibes of Austin and Portland” to West Omaha is an utterly stupid and unattainable goal.
You’ll notice the prominence of Voodoo Taco’s logo, the pinpricked head of a voodoo doll encompassed by flames. It’s the perfect way to let patrons know what they’re in for. Because, after a meal at Voodoo, not only will your asshole feel like it’s en fuego, but you’ll want to stab yourself with needles when you consider how much you just spent on mediocre tacos.
Voodoo decided that it would brilliantly set itself apart by serving tacos filled with oddball ingredients, like alligator, short ribs and salmon. The tacos aren’t bad. But, they aren’t that great, either. For one thing, they’re just tacos. And, it doesn’t take a culinary wizard to make a taco. Here’s how it works: Place a tortilla on a plate. Then, stack shit on top of it. If you gave one the ingredients, there’s a good chance a monkey could do it.
Most of Voodoo’s tacos include a protein typically not found in Mexican food, cheese, lettuce or cabbage, and some sort of spicy sauce/colon cleanser. Try the Smoked Brisket taco or the Fried Chicken taco, which is basically a deconstructed McDonalds Snack Wrap. Voodoo also has breakfast tacos, so you can spend the entire morning blowing up your office bathroom and dropping stink bombs in the supplies closet.
But, here’s the kicker: even if you think a taco is the tastiest, most tempting thing on terrestrial land, be prepared to spend an arm and a dick at Voodoo. The tacos are moderately small, come a la carte, and cost upwards of five dollars apiece. You won’t be getting complimentary chips and salsa, tater tots or even rice and beans. Though, you’re welcome to pay an additional five bucks for Voodoo’s special guacamole, which is hardly impressive and looks like Kermit the Frog’s diarrhea.
Yes, Voodoo features “gourmet tacos,” which justifies the big prices and tiny amounts of food. Of course, if a taco were truly “gourmet,” the tortilla would be hand-made by Oprah; then filled with Quail eggs and caviar. (Apparently, you can put the word “gourmet” in front of anything, and every mouth-breather for miles will think he’s living high on the hog.) So, unless you eat less than a lizard, expect to shell out almost $20 for a basically unfulfilling lunch.
Is Voodoo worth a visit? It’s up to you. But, should you choose to venture out, just remember: Voodoo will make you doo-doo the way that you do so well. (Make ya wanna ShPoop. ShPoop – a – doop. ShPoop – a – doop – a – doop – a – doop)