Vegan Plant Based Street Tacos

The wedding is in three weeks. Miguel Jr. and Jenny are getting married on November 18th and the world is supposed to stop for weddings, but the world did not stop for Maria and it will not stop for a wedding, and I am trying to hold both things in my body at the same time — the joy of my son getting married and the grief of my island in ruins. They live side by side in me now, the joy and the grief, like two tenants in the same apartment, sharing walls, hearing each other through the plaster.

I am making the Puerto Rican portion of the reception food myself. Karen — Jenny mother — is handling the American side: chicken marsala, roasted vegetables, bread rolls. I am handling the real food: pernil, arroz con gandules, tostones, flan. Two menus, two mothers, one wedding. This is America, mi amor. This is the beautiful awkward compromise of two cultures merging over a buffet table, and I am making sure my side of the table is impeccable because the pernil represents not just my family but my island, and my island needs representing right now more than ever.

I have started the prep. The pernil shoulder is ordered from Don Felix at the bodega — the biggest one he can find, twenty-two pounds. The sofrito is made. The gandules are soaked. I have a timeline written on a piece of paper taped to my refrigerator that accounts for every hour of cooking from Thursday night through Saturday morning. Eduardo looked at the timeline and said, Carmen, this looks like a military operation. I said, Eduardo, it IS a military operation. Food for a hundred and fifty people does not happen by accident. It happens by a woman with a plan and a sharp knife and an absolute refusal to fail.

Mami called from Bayamon. She said she is not coming to the wedding. She cannot fly. She is too frail, the house needs her, Ana needs her. I cried. I did not want to cry because crying about Mami not coming to the wedding feels selfish when Mami has no roof, but the tears came anyway because some tears are not selfish, they are just sad, and the sadness of your mother missing your firstborn wedding is the kind of sad that does not apologize for itself.

Made pasteles tonight. A small batch — just twelve. For the practice. For the hands. For the feeling of banana leaf between my fingers and masa under my palms and the knowledge that these pasteles are Abuela Consuelo pasteles and Mami pasteles and my pasteles, and even if Mami cannot be at the wedding, the food will carry her there. The food always carries her. That is what food does. It carries the people who cannot come.

The pasteles are Abuela Consuelo’s recipe — not something I can hand you through a screen without sitting you down at my kitchen table for three hours first — but I wanted to leave you with something from my kitchen that captures even a fraction of that same spirit: simple, plant-rooted, built with your hands, Latin to the bone. On the nights between the big cooking, when I am tired from grief and logistics and the weight of all of it, I make these street tacos. They are fast. They are bright. They remind me that feeding people is always, always an act of love, no matter the occasion or the size of the pot.

Prep Time: 15 min | Cook Time: 20 min | Total Time: 35 min | Servings: 4 (2–3 tacos per person)

Ingredients

12 small corn tortillas (6-inch)
2 cans (20 oz each) young green jackfruit in water or brine, drained and rinsed
2 tablespoons olive oil
1 teaspoon chili powder
1 teaspoon ground cumin
1/2 teaspoon smoked paprika
1/2 teaspoon garlic powder
1/4 teaspoon onion powder
1/4 teaspoon cayenne pepper (optional, adjust to taste)
Salt and black pepper to taste
3 tablespoons fresh lime juice, divided
1/2 cup salsa verde or your favorite salsa
1/2 white onion, finely diced
1/2 cup fresh cilantro leaves, roughly chopped
1 avocado, sliced
1 cup shredded purple cabbage
Lime wedges, for serving
Hot sauce, for serving (optional)

Instructions

Prepare the jackfruit. Drain and rinse the jackfruit thoroughly. Using your hands or two forks, shred the jackfruit pieces, discarding any tough core sections. Pat dry with paper towels to remove as much moisture as possible — this helps the jackfruit brown rather than steam in the pan.
Season and cook the filling. Heat olive oil in a large skillet over medium-high heat. Add the shredded jackfruit in an even layer and let it cook undisturbed for 3–4 minutes until it begins to crisp on the bottom. Sprinkle in the chili powder, cumin, smoked paprika, garlic powder, onion powder, cayenne (if using), salt, and pepper. Toss to coat and continue cooking, stirring occasionally, for another 8–10 minutes until the jackfruit is golden and slightly crispy at the edges. Add 2 tablespoons of the lime juice, stir, and cook for 1 more minute. Remove from heat.
Warm the tortillas. Heat a dry cast-iron skillet or comal over medium heat. Warm each corn tortilla for about 30 seconds per side until pliable and lightly charred in spots. Stack in a clean kitchen towel to keep warm. Alternatively, char them directly over a gas burner flame for 15–20 seconds per side using tongs.
Assemble the tacos. Double up the tortillas for each taco for sturdiness. Layer each with a generous spoonful of the seasoned jackfruit, a pinch of shredded purple cabbage, a few slices of avocado, diced white onion, and fresh cilantro.
Finish and serve. Spoon salsa verde over each taco and drizzle with the remaining 1 tablespoon of lime juice. Serve immediately with lime wedges and hot sauce on the side. These are best eaten right away while the jackfruit is still warm and the tortillas are tender.

Nutrition (per serving)

Vegan Plant Based Street Tacos — The Latin Kitchen Carries What Words Cannot