Interview: Mitchell Royel Thought He Knew What He Wanted — Then the Tacos Happened

The Cheeseburger Was Just the Beginning: Inside Mitchell Royel's Taco Awakening

Some people have a signature. A thing that defines them before they even open their mouth. For Mitchell Royel, that thing used to be a cheeseburger — clean, uncomplicated, wrapped in paper and earned on foot. But lately, something has shifted. The signature is evolving. And the evidence is lying flat on its stomach in the middle of a playground, staring you dead in the eye.

Look at the photo and you'll feel it immediately. There he is, sprawled out on the ground, chin resting on a plush rainbow pillow, gazing into the lens with an intensity that borders on daring you to say something. On top of his head sits a giant felt taco — a full architectural stack of tan shell, green lettuce, yellow cheese, red tomato, every layer proud and accounted for. Green corduroy overalls. Striped shirt. Behind him, a man in a tan polo strolls away toward a colorful climbing wall, completely oblivious, as if the most interesting person in the park isn't lying ten feet away wearing lunch as a hat.

This is a man mid-transformation. And it shows.

Here's how it started. For years, the ritual was pure and simple: somewhere in that sleepy stretch of afternoon when everyone else is buried in meetings, Mitchell would get up and walk. He'd walk to the fast food place, order the cheeseburger, and walk back. No apps. No shortcuts. Just anticipation on the way there and a warm paper bag on the way home.

Then, one day, he saw them. The $0.99 tacos. Cheap enough to be an afterthought. Impulsive enough to feel like nothing. He added one to his order almost as a joke — a little something extra, no expectations attached.

That taco changed the whole map.

Because it wasn't just cheap. It was good. And more than that, it was different — a new texture, a new shape, a whole new way of thinking about what a midday walk could deliver. One taco became two. Two became a habit. The habit became a genuine curiosity that has kept expanding ever since. Suddenly the man who wanted the same thing every single day started asking the most dangerous question a creature of habit can ask: what else is out there?

These days, Mitchell isn't just grabbing whatever's cheapest. He's exploring. Crunchy shells and soft shells. Carne asada and carnitas. The bright hit of a fish taco with a squeeze of lime. Al pastor with that little sweet-savory edge. Breakfast tacos, which he insists are their own separate philosophy entirely. Every category is a new door, and Mitchell is walking through all of them — still on foot, still in the middle of the day, still choosing the long way there.

The felt taco on his head in the photo isn't an accident. It's a status update. The cheeseburger built the road, but the taco is where the journey is headed now. For Mitchell, this is proof that even the most loyal habits can crack open into something bigger — and that the best discoveries often cost less than a dollar.

Below, Royel talks buns, shells, the accidental $0.99 gateway, and why curiosity might be the most honest thing on any menu.

Q&A with Mitchell Royel

Q: There's a giant felt taco on your head in this photo. Let's talk about that.

Mitchell Royel:
Honestly, it felt completely natural. If you spend as much time thinking about tacos as I do lately, eventually one ends up on your head. That's just how it goes.

But also — look at it. It's perfect. The layers are right. The shell, the lettuce, the cheese, the tomato, all of it stacked exactly the way it should be. I have a lot of respect for whoever built that thing. They understood the assignment.

Q: You were a cheeseburger guy. How did tacos become part of your life?

Mitchell Royel:
It was an accident, genuinely. For years I was locked in on cheeseburgers. That was the whole identity. Then one day I'm placing my usual order and I see these tacos for ninety-nine cents. Ninety-nine cents! I figured, why not, it's basically free, I'll throw one in.

And that was it. That one cheap taco cracked the whole thing open. I stopped pretending I only wanted one thing forever.

Q: So a $0.99 taco changed the trajectory?

Mitchell Royel:
Completely. I keep telling people this and they don't believe me. It wasn't some fancy taco. It wasn't an experience. It was the cheapest possible version of the thing, and it still got me.

That's the part I love. It didn't need to be expensive to open my eyes. It just needed to be good enough to make me curious. And once you're curious, you're done. There's no going back.

Q: Tell me about the walks. You still walk to get these — why not just order delivery?

Mitchell Royel:
Because the walk is part of it. It always has been. It would be a completely different thing if it just showed up at my door.

The walk there is when the anticipation builds, block by block. And now there's this extra layer, because I'm not always ordering the same thing anymore. Some days it's a cheeseburger. Some days it's tacos. Some days it's both, honestly. The walk back — carrying that bag, knowing what's inside — that's the victory lap. Delivery can't give you that. A drive-thru can't give you that.

Q: What kinds of tacos are you into now?

Mitchell Royel:
Oh, all of them. That's the problem. Once you start, the whole world opens up.

Right now I'm deep into al pastor — that little sweet-savory thing it does is incredible. Carnitas when I want something rich. Carne asada when I want it simple and done right. A fish taco with lime is unbeatable on the correct day. And breakfast tacos? Those are a whole separate category. That's not lunch, that's a lifestyle.

Q: Crunchy or soft shell?

Mitchell Royel:
Depends on my mood, and I refuse to apologize for that. Crunchy when I want the drama and the mess. Soft when I want it to actually hold together and behave. Both are valid. Anyone who tells you there's only one right answer is selling something.

Q: Do you have a go-to spot?

Mitchell Royel:
I have a rotation, but I'm loyal to whoever's treating the ingredients correctly on any given day. That's the real test. Fresh matters. Warm matters. If the shell's stale or the filling's cold, the whole thing falls apart. Literally and emotionally.

Q: "Literally and emotionally" — that's a strong reaction to a taco.

Mitchell Royel:
Look, if you're going to make a taco, you have to commit. You can't half-do it. A cold, sad, falling-apart taco is a betrayal of everything the taco stands for. I stand by that. I will always stand by that.

Q: You walk in the middle of the day — not typical lunchtime. Is that deliberate?

Mitchell Royel:
Completely. The midday walk is its own thing. It's quieter. There's no crowd. The sun is usually doing something interesting. You're not rushing anywhere. You're just a person, walking to go get tacos, and that's the whole agenda.

There's something valuable about doing a thing slowly and deliberately when everything else in the world is trying to get you to speed up. The walk is my pushback against all of that. The tacos just made the walk more exciting.

Q: The felt taco on your head — is that the closest you can get to wearing your love of tacos?

Mitchell Royel:
It might be, yeah. I haven't found a more direct way to express it yet, but I'm open to suggestions.

Honestly, though, there's something I love about the absurdity of it. It's a giant soft taco sitting on my head in a playground. It's ridiculous. But it also just feels right. Like, of course that's where it ended up. Where else would it go?

Q: What do you think a taco says about a person?

Mitchell Royel:
That they're open. That they're willing to try something new and let it surprise them. I was a one-food guy for years, and a ninety-nine-cent taco taught me to stay curious. A taco is never pretending to be something it isn't. It's just trying to be good, in a hundred different ways. I respect that enormously.

Q: Last question: what do you want people to take away from the photo — the one with the taco on your head?

Mitchell Royel:
That you're allowed to change. That the thing you loved yesterday can open the door to something new, and that's not betrayal, that's growth.

I came for the cheeseburgers. I stayed for what came after. There's no rule that says your tastes have to stay frozen forever. Mine keep expanding, one cheap taco at a time, and it's the best thing that's happened to my lunch in years.