This Minnesota Taco Truck Makes Walleye Tacos Locals Chase Early
In the Twin Cities, Neza Tacos has carved out a loyal following by reimagining what street food can be. The star of the menu, the crispy Walleye Fish Taco, turns a beloved Minnesota catch into a handheld masterpiece.
Golden and flaky, the fish rests in a warm tortilla topped with fresh slaw, bright sauce, and a squeeze of lime that cuts perfectly through the crunch. Crowds start forming around the truck long before dinner, drawn by the aroma and the easy rhythm of good food made with care.
I spent time tracing its stops, watching regulars greet the crew by name, and tasting that balance of lake and street. Here are twelve small tips that make the Neza Tacos experience even better.
Neza Tacos Truck At Home Depot Inver Grove
The parking lot hums like a hive around noon. Car doors slamming, forklifts beeping, the smell of grilled fish slipping through all that noise.
The NEZA Tacos truck glows white and orange beside the Home Depot sign, bright against gray asphalt. It feels improvised yet confident, like a food stage that appears just when you need it.
Inside the window, the grill pops in rhythm, tortillas turning in quick hands. The air tastes faintly of lime and smoke. I love that contrast: gritty backdrop, extraordinary food, no pretension.
Walleye Fish Taco With Chipotle Mayo And Cabbage
The first thing that lands is texture: warm tortilla, crisp cabbage, soft fish that flakes at the slightest nudge. Then the chipotle mayo sneaks in, smoky and creamy, the kind that clings to your fingers just long enough to remind you what you ate.
Minnesota’s love for walleye runs deep; turning it into a taco feels rebellious and inevitable at once. The truck’s owner calls it “the northern fish with a southern soul.”
You should get napkins first. This taco’s deliciousness doesn’t believe in staying tidy.
Avocado Slices Tucked Into The Tortilla
There’s a flash of green under the cabbage; thick avocado slices layered like soft shields. Their creaminess surprises you after the crunch, a cool hush that resets your taste buds. The avocado catches just enough salt to feel indulgent, not heavy.
The crowd shifts, leaning against car hoods, heads bent over paper boats, talking through mouthfuls. It’s a shared rhythm that makes strangers seem friendlier.
I always ask for extra avocado; it’s like a pause button in flavor form, slowing down the whole experience in the best way.
Order Window With Today’s Stop Sign
Your whole interaction happens through a simple square: a small window framed by stainless steel, handwritten notes, and a bright red stop sign reminding you where to pause.
It’s efficient but surprisingly friendly, voices clear, energy brisk. That sign has become part of the truck’s ritual, a kind of humor that regulars recognize instantly.
They’ve been setting up here since early 2020, rain or shine, and the line rarely slows. My tip is to stand left of the window for faster handoffs. It’s where most regulars queue.
Paper Boats Lined Up For A Lunch Rush
There’s something oddly satisfying about the line of empty paper boats waiting for tacos. They’re light, disposable, but look like they’re bracing for purpose. The paper catches bits of oil, small shadows of every order that passed before.
The lot grows louder around noon; conversations, car engines, the distant clang of carts. Through all that, the cooks keep sliding tacos into those boats like clockwork.
I always think of it as choreography: the hum, the heat, the steady rhythm of tacos meeting paper.
Squeeze Bottles Of Red And Green Salsa
They sit like twin beacons on the counter, one ruby, one emerald, each promising a different kind of thrill. When the sun hits the plastic, the colors glow almost too brightly to ignore.
A squeeze sends a burst of scent, tomato smoke, citrus, cilantro. The red leans roasted and bold; the green tastes grassy, electric, alive. The bottles pass between strangers without hesitation.
I always mix the two. Half daring, half caution. The blend somehow tastes like summer refusing to calm down.
Cash And Cards Accepted At The Window
Before you even think about salsa, you’ll see the “Cash and Cards Welcome” sign taped beside the menu. Practical, simple, but oddly reassuring when you’re balancing a phone, keys, and hunger.
You can tell they’ve learned the rhythm of their crowd: workers, families, people stopping mid-errand. That flexibility has roots in the early days of the truck, when word spread mostly by social media.
Convenience became part of its charm. But do keep your card ready; the faster you pay, the faster those tacos hit your hands.
Picnic Table Tray With Two Walleye Tacos
The picnic tables sit close enough to catch a bit of grill heat, paper napkins fluttering in the Minnesota wind. Someone nearby laughs, another unwraps foil, and there’s this shared moment of anticipation before the first bite.
The tacos look artful without trying, lightly charred tortillas, fish tucked neatly, colors popping like confetti. The texture contrast is instant satisfaction.
I always sit facing the parking lot, it’s half chaos, half charm. Eating great food surrounded by forklifts shouldn’t work, yet somehow it does.
Extra Lime Wedges For The Fish
The limes wait in a small stainless bowl, halves cut with precision, juice glinting in the sunlight. The scent hits before your fingers do; sharp and alive, like a green spark. One squeeze over the taco and everything brightens, the flavors snapping into focus.
It’s part of the unspoken ritual here: tacos, salsa, then lime. The regulars do it almost automatically.
I always go heavy on the citrus. That tang reminds me this is street food, meant to wake you up, not lull you.
Evening Sellout Note Posted On Instagram
A photo appears just before sunset: empty trays, a few lime rinds, and the caption “Sold out, thank you!” The glow from the truck lights feels like closure, a quiet after the rush. It’s strangely satisfying to see, even if you missed it.
That rhythm, morning prep, lunch frenzy, evening exhale, has become its heartbeat. It’s part of what keeps fans coming back.
I’ve learned to take that message as both a warning and a compliment. When food runs out, it means the day went right.