November 7: El Camión

For lunch today, I decided against writing about the history of the Trump family in Seattle (spoiler: grandpa Frederich Drumpf obtained citizenship here and had a restaurant next to Fuel) and decided to go more upbeat. Monday Night Football is in five hours. Let's wander down Occidental and see what's to eat. Go Hawks.

Hmmm. Hot dog stand. Sausage stand. Hot dog stand. Past the Homeland Security trailer and the Weapons of Mass Destruction Civil Support Team 10 truck. Hey, there's a taco truck! Or, in my bad Spanish, El Camión de tacos!  #EveryCorner

I ordered the Plato Mexicano, described on the menu as chicken, tortillas, rice, beans, pico, grilled jalapeno, avocado, and lime. It took just a little longer to make than I expected, but the woman working the counter kept track of it (and me) and let me know it was still being worked on. After not too-long of a time, she handed me my food container and a Coke and pointed to the building behind the truck: "everything you need is in there." I headed that direction, but she called me back, realizing she'd forgotten to hand me my tortillas.

Into the space in back, it's cavernous, with the feeling of peeling paint, bare floors, in too much unfinished space. There's a few tables, a few booths, and a condiment table. There's only two other people in here, and it feels like eating alone. I'm sure as game time approaches, this place will fill up shoulder-to-shoulder. But on a regular drizzly non-game afternoon, I'd guess they don't even open the space.

I set my food down, grab a fork and napkins from the condiment table, and open the container. Steam wafts out, and it looks pretty good. I have a bite of the rice (mushy) and beans (good, with a little Mexican cheese sprinkled on top), and then go to wash it down with a swig of Coke. Oops.

There's no bottle opener on the condiment table, so I leave my food unattended and head back to the truck. The woman at the counter points me to the bottle opener below the window, and I head back to my food. I get back up to get a plastic knife, and then sit down for the final time to begin sawing through the chicken. Parts of it are almost the consistency of jerky. It's very dry and somewhat flavorless.

I open up the tortillas and peel the top one away. It sticks to the one below it and tears. It's still intact enough to make a bean-and-rice taco out of. It's also a little dry.

There's not much more to report. Saw off more chicken, make two more tacos, and be grateful I got a drink with it. It might be that they expected me to add sauces from the condiment table, which might have helped with the rice, but it wouldn't have made the chicken any less dry. Unless it was tiny and smothered in guacamole, the grilled jalapeno promised by the menu was nowhere to be seen.

All in all, however, it wasn't a terrible meal. Service was friendly, and the food filled me up quickly. If it's the only taco truck around, it's fine. But when there's a taco truck on every corner, walk a block to the next camión.

El Camión
1021 Occidental Ave. (permanent location)
Chicken, beans, rice, tortillas, Coke, $14.25