On the corner of a busy intersection stands Tacos Pepe, its exterior instantly transporting you to the roadside diners of Route 66. With its bold colors, and unpolished charm, the place looks as though it’s been lifted straight from the American Southwest. I had long promised myself I would visit—partly because I knew the owner, Peter, personally—and finally, that day had come.
The moment I stepped inside, I was enveloped by the warmth of sizzling meat and the faint, smoky aroma of spices. The space is small, adorned with posters and license plates that whisper stories of faraway highways. It’s the kind of setting where you half expect to hear the rumble of a passing Harley outside the window.
When faced with the menu, I asked Peter what to order. He grinned knowingly: “Start with the tacos.” And so I did.
The tacos arrived, steaming and fragrant, wrapped in tortillas that were clearly handmade—not the flat, lifeless store-bought kind, but soft, pliant, and full of character. One bite was enough to convince me: the balance of fresh vegetables, seasoned meat, and gentle spice was spot on. It reminded me of the tacos I had once devoured in the dusty towns of Arizona, every mouthful alive with memory. Honestly, I don’t think I’ve ever had a better taco in Japan.
Riding that wave of nostalgia, I ordered a burrito as well. Large enough to spill over the edges of the plate, it was tightly packed with rice, beans, meat, and molten cheese. As I cut into it, steam rose in a fragrant cloud, and the first bite carried me right back to California taquerías—rich, hearty, and unapologetically authentic. It wasn’t just food; it was a passport to another time and place.
And then came the final flourish: a glass-bottled Coca-Cola. Beads of condensation clung to the cold glass as I pried off the cap, the familiar hiss echoing like a starting pistol. Paired with tacos and a burrito, that Coke wasn’t just a drink—it was the last piece of a perfect picture, the kind of simple joy that makes you pause and think, This is exactly where I want to be.
Of course, there is one caveat. Peter runs the entire place by himself. It’s a true one-man operation, which means that when the restaurant is busy, the wait for food can stretch out. But honestly, that slowness feels appropriate. After all, roadside diners on the American highways weren’t built for speed—they were built for travelers to rest, wait, and enjoy.
When I finally stepped back out onto the street, the intersection lights had cycled once more from red to green. Yet something had changed. In my mind, I was no longer standing on a Japanese street corner, but still lingering on Route 66, Coke in hand, taco in the other.
Overall Tacos Pepe is far more than just another taco joint. It’s an escape, a bridge between cultures, and a reminder that the spirit of travel can live inside a single tortilla. For anyone craving authenticity—or anyone simply seeking a taste of the road—it’s a place you’ll find yourself coming back to, again and again.
ランキングと口コミで探せるグルメサイト
グルメキュレーションサイト
毎日の外食が楽しくなるグルメ情報
（後半に英語をつけています）
交差点に立ち、信号が青に変わる瞬間ふと目に入る店構え。それが「タコスぺぺ」だ。まるでアメリカのRoute 66沿いにひっそりと佇むロードサイドダイナーのような外観。赤の看板、そして小さな窓越しに見えるキッチンの炎。そのすべてが、心を遠い異国のハイウェイへと誘う。
店主のPeterとは以前から面識があり、「いつか行く」と心に決めていた約束を、ようやく果たす日が来た。扉を押して中に足を踏み入れた瞬間、わずか数坪の空間が放つ熱気とスパイスの香りに包まれる。壁にはアメリカンカルチャーを想起させるポスターやナンバープレートが掛けられ、テーブルの質感までもが異国情緒を漂わせていた。
注文を迷う。メニューを前にしても、初訪問なら何を選ぶべきか。そこでPeterに素直に尋ねると、彼は少し笑って「まずはタコスだよ」と答えた。その響きに従い、オーソドックスなタコスを注文する。
やがて運ばれてきたタコスを手に取ると、まず皮の存在感に驚かされる。既製品ではなく、Peterが手で伸ばした生地。もちっとした弾力と香ばしさが指先に伝わり、その瞬間からもう、ただの食事ではなく「旅の記憶」が蘇る。ひと口かじれば、野菜の瑞々しさ、肉の旨味、スパイスの刺激が混じり合い、まるでアリゾナの乾いた風が口の中を吹き抜けるようだ。日本で食べるタコスとしては、いや、過去に食べたどのタコスと比べても、これほど「リアル」に近いものはないと確信する。
勢いに乗ってブリトーも頼んでみた。手のひらからはみ出すほどのボリューム。ナイフを入れると、ぎゅっと詰まった具材が顔を覗かせ、チーズの熱がふわりと立ち昇る。食べ進めるごとに、かつて筆者がアメリカで出会ったブリトーの記憶が蘇る。味も見た目も酷似し、再現度の高さに舌を巻いた。遠く離れた日本の交差点の片隅で、アメリカの記憶に浸れるとは、なんという幸福だろう。
そして極めつけは瓶コーラだ。キンキンに冷やされたガラス瓶の表面に薄い水滴が浮かび、栓を抜いた瞬間の軽快な音が耳に響く。口に含めば、タコスやブリトーのスパイスをすべて包み込み、甘美に流し込んでくれる。瓶コーラとタコス、そしてブリトー。この三位一体の組み合わせに勝るものはないと、誰が言い切れるだろうか。
ただし注意すべき点が一つある。Peterは一人で店を切り盛りしている。いわゆる「ワンオペ」だ。そのため、混雑時はどうしても提供に時間がかかる。だが、その時間すら悪くない。アメリカのロードサイドで、旅人が気長に料理を待つ光景を思えば、むしろ雰囲気を完成させるエッセンスのひとつに思える。
食べ終えて外に出ると、交差点の信号は先ほどと同じく赤から青へと変わっていた。だが、心の中には確かに旅の余韻が残っている。タコスぺぺはただのタコス屋ではない。日本の都市にありながら、食べる者をアメリカの空へと連れ出す、時空を越えた小さなロードサイドダイナーなのだ。
総評
本場さながらの味と雰囲気を兼ね備えた「タコスぺぺ」は、タコスを知る者も、これから出会う者も虜にする。瓶コーラを片手にタコスを頬張れば、そこはもう日本ではない。次の再訪を心から確信させてくれる一軒である。
On the corner of a busy intersection stands Tacos Pepe, its exterior instantly transporting you to the roadside diners of Route 66. With its bold colors, and unpolished charm, the place looks as though it’s been lifted straight from the American Southwest. I had long promised myself I would visit—partly because I knew the owner, Peter, personally—and finally, that day had come.
The moment I stepped inside, I was enveloped by the warmth of sizzling meat and the faint, smoky aroma of spices. The space is small, adorned with posters and license plates that whisper stories of faraway highways. It’s the kind of setting where you half expect to hear the rumble of a passing Harley outside the window.
When faced with the menu, I asked Peter what to order. He grinned knowingly: “Start with the tacos.” And so I did.
The tacos arrived, steaming and fragrant, wrapped in tortillas that were clearly handmade—not the flat, lifeless store-bought kind, but soft, pliant, and full of character. One bite was enough to convince me: the balance of fresh vegetables, seasoned meat, and gentle spice was spot on. It reminded me of the tacos I had once devoured in the dusty towns of Arizona, every mouthful alive with memory. Honestly, I don’t think I’ve ever had a better taco in Japan.
Riding that wave of nostalgia, I ordered a burrito as well. Large enough to spill over the edges of the plate, it was tightly packed with rice, beans, meat, and molten cheese. As I cut into it, steam rose in a fragrant cloud, and the first bite carried me right back to California taquerías—rich, hearty, and unapologetically authentic. It wasn’t just food; it was a passport to another time and place.
And then came the final flourish: a glass-bottled Coca-Cola. Beads of condensation clung to the cold glass as I pried off the cap, the familiar hiss echoing like a starting pistol. Paired with tacos and a burrito, that Coke wasn’t just a drink—it was the last piece of a perfect picture, the kind of simple joy that makes you pause and think, This is exactly where I want to be.
Of course, there is one caveat. Peter runs the entire place by himself. It’s a true one-man operation, which means that when the restaurant is busy, the wait for food can stretch out. But honestly, that slowness feels appropriate. After all, roadside diners on the American highways weren’t built for speed—they were built for travelers to rest, wait, and enjoy.
When I finally stepped back out onto the street, the intersection lights had cycled once more from red to green. Yet something had changed. In my mind, I was no longer standing on a Japanese street corner, but still lingering on Route 66, Coke in hand, taco in the other.
Overall
Tacos Pepe is far more than just another taco joint. It’s an escape, a bridge between cultures, and a reminder that the spirit of travel can live inside a single tortilla. For anyone craving authenticity—or anyone simply seeking a taste of the road—it’s a place you’ll find yourself coming back to, again and again.