rancho bravo tacos

Continuing with our cheaper eats around Seattle theme from last week, we now pay a visit to one of the many fine taco trucks which grace our fair city.  These precious mobile kitchens provide an invaluable service to any citizen who originally hails from a land south of the Siskiyous but has since expatriated to the Great Northwest (*guilty*).  The taste of home, or at least a closer approximation than anything you will ever, ever, EVER find at Azteca (for the love of all that is good, stay away).  Specifically, let us pay a visit to the beloved Rancho Bravo Tacos truck, which can be found stationed in the Winchell’s Donuts parking lot on 45^th in Wallingford (on the corner of Thackeray, just down from Dick’s).  It’s actually more of a shiny, silver trailer than a truck.  Just look for the canopy and the picnic table and the freaky Bullwinkle mascot.

And let’s get this out of the way first: Rancho Bravo is not Skillet.  Nothing is Skillet.  Skillet is the godhead.  But this city has an astonishing lack of street food vendors, so we have a duty to spread the love around as much as possible.  And of course, TWO TACOS FOR $2 PEOPLE.  The tacos are served in warm, soft, double-layered corn tortillas with lovely bright purple pickled radish, diced white onions, a touch of lime and a surprising assortment of meats to choose from.  These range from the usual carne asada or basic pollo to tongue or tripe (if you’re feeling particularly brave).  The fish tacos are undoubtedly my favorite though, and some of the best around period.  The taste of the smoky, grilled tilapia conjures happy memories of barbeques on the beach in Mexico.

And that’s the primary thing that Rancho Bravo has going for it, unique and genuine flavors.  Honestly, I can’t even figure out half of what’s going on in the vibrant array of homemade hot sauces on offer.  The bright orange sauce has a deep smoky flavor, the mustard-colored sauce has a thick consistency and a slow, steady burn.  My favorite is the bright green cilantro-based sauce, which is fresh and herbal and wonderful on those fish tacos.

But the main event at Rancho Bravo is the burritos.  For $4.25, the Rancho burrito is stuffed with either black or pinto beans, rice, diced tomato and onions, cilantro, and shredded Monterey Jack cheese.  Can I just say, hooray for black beans?  For 50 cents more, you can upgrade to the Bravo, which has sour cream and grilled onions.  I actually find simpler to be better in this case, especially when you’re dealing with incredibly rich and complex flavors like the pulled pork carnitas or the mole chicken (which is easily the best thing on the menu).  This is probably an appropriate time to mention that despite repeated attempts to talk myself into liking the al pastor at Rancho Bravo, I always wind up being disappointed.  It’s just too bland and greasy.  Al pastor is truly an endangered species in Seattle, and so I will take this opportunity to give another shout-out to La Carta de Oaxaca (spicy pork is spicy).

Rancho Bravo also serves gigantic torta sandwiches in hoagie rolls, and they have rice and bean bowls and quesadillas and homemade horchata.  The tamales are also made from scratch and sell out quickly and often (although they can be special ordered in large batches).  More importantly, Rancho Bravo recently opened a permanent drop-in kitchen in the old KFC on Capitol Hill across from Oddfellows on 10^th Ave.  They just draped a banner over the front window and called it Open.  It’s utterly surreal, but perfect for a late night bite after the bars close (open until 2:30 AM on weekends)!  Additionally, owner Freddy Rivas and everybody in his crew are welcoming and kind and multilingual.

Once upon a time, I thought the burrito was the perfect food.  Rancho Bravo reminds me why.

la carta de oaxaca

So I know I have previously registered my outrage regarding the abysmal Mexican food scene in the Puget Sound, but I think it’s time to explicate a bit further.  My consternation can be traced back to the very first thing I ate on my very first night in Seattle – a disturbingly bad burrito, a rank mess of refried beans and cotija cheese served “wet” (full disclosure: it was at a Jalisco’s.  Yes, I know.)  Still, I’ve had better burritos in Wisconsin.  Much to my dismay, I would soon learn that this bland Guadalajaran style of Mexican cooking was the predominant one of the area, and having just arrived from California, I wept for the future.  Where were the black beans?  The tacos al pastor?  The fiery salsas I craved?

It would take several years, but I finally found them, along with the single truly worthy Mexican joint in town – la Carta de Oaxaca.  This tiny, family-run restaurant on Ballard Avenue is exceptional, with more flavor and finesse than you’ll get from your neighborhood taco truck (the only other go-to for decent Mexican in town).  The interior is artfully adorned with local hero/photographer Spike Mafford’s iconic images from Oaxaca, lending a regional charm to the perpetually crowded cantina.  A large, smoky kitchen dominates half of the restaurant space, and a quaint, four person bar can be found in the back.  There is an impressive array of Mezcals and Tequilas available from Southern Mexico, but ever since superstar bartender Zach Harjo left to open his Spanish tapas mecca Ocho around the corner, I’d just as soon drink a Pacifico.

And it doesn’t really matter what you’re drinking, you’ll be too busy stuffing your face.  Literally every single dish on the menu is delicious, so unless you’re with a huge crew, you’re going to have to prioritize.  Easily the most beloved item at la Carta de Oaxaca is anything covered in the brilliant house mole’ negro.  I’m partial to the black mole’ tamales with either pork or chicken, steamed and served in a banana leaf which imparts a subtle sweetness to the hearty corn masa filling.  The mole’ sauce is also rich and sweet, with more emphasis on chocolate than peppers.  But we’re getting ahead of ourselves.  Begin with an order of chips and guacamole.  The housemade tortilla chips are hot and salty, and the creamy guacamole tastes like avocado paradise.  Do not skip the salsa bar.  This is easily the freshest pico de gallo in Seattle – chopped tomatoes and onions and jalapeño and cilantro combine to form an unstoppable salsa Voltron.  The salsa verde is equally compelling, with smoky tomatillos and lots of garlic.

The plates at la Carta de Oaxaca are best ordered in mass quantities and then shared family style.  Except for the tacos al pastor – you’ll want those all for yourself and then you’ll want to order more.  The sweet, barbequed pork is tangy and moist and served in lovely handmade corn tortillas.  Garnished with onions and cilantro and radishes, the heat slowly rises with each bite until you’re soon wiping your brow and singing the praises of a perfectly rendered hot sauce.  If you’re lucky, one of the Dominguez brothers might slip you a dried tepin pepper – if so, have a shot of Mezcal on hand and prepare to meet the deity of your choosing.

I could go on and on about those tacos, but I should probably give a quick shout out to the vegetarian options on the menu.  The yellow curry mushroom empanadas are definitely worth a visit, a unique dish unlike anything I’ve tasted anywhere else.  The enchiladas will not disappoint either, with a gorgeous red chile sauce and oaxaqueno cheese and a goddamned fried egg served on top.  Remarkably, even the side dishes at la Carta de Oaxaca are better than most of the average Mexican food in town.  A side of black beans or simple Mexican-style rice will find you marveling at the difference in quality that some simple spices can add to a recipe.

If you’ve never been to la Carta de Oaxaca, and you have any interest in Mexican food whatsoever, you owe it to yourself to head over there immediately.  Just look for the massive throng of people milling around Ballard Avenue waiting for a table.  Did I mention the wait?  People typically start lining up before the doors even open.  These people are wise.  They have heard about the tacos al pastor.

ocho

After months of anticipation, I finally made it over to the corner of 24th and Market in Ballard last week with the sole purpose of consuming tapas.  If I lived in the neighborhood, Ocho would easily be my new favorite hangout.  I was completely spellbound by the cozy candlelit space, the incredible spirits and the stellar bites of Spanish bar food.  This has everything to do with the absurdly charming Zach Harjo (formerly the bartender at La Carta de Oaxaca around the corner) and his girlfriend Gelsey Hanson, who are the owners of Ocho and quite possibly the nicest people in Seattle.

Additionally, Mr. Harjo has some pretty vaunted mixology chops.  Ocho bills itself as “Home of the 10 Dollar Margarita”, so how could I pass that up?  Made with El Tesoro Añejo tequila (aged 2 to 3 years in oak barrels) and freshly squeezed lime juice, it certainly was a tasty margarita – no bitterness, mellow with big floral agave notes (but was it worth $10?  I’ll let the tequila connoisseurs duke that one out).  The Sangria Roja is even better, and tastes nothing like what passes for sangria in most of the places I’ve seen in the States.  Harjo wanted to recreate the sangria he discovered while traveling through Spain, so this meant a cocktail with lots of brandy, just a little bit of red wine for flavor and a dry sherry called amontillado muddled with strained crushed fruit and then shaken.  Bright and strong with a hint of almonds, I think I’ve found my new summer drink.  I also enjoyed the Hemingway inspired Death in the Afternoon, a terrific cap to the evening which featured Harjo’s homemade “absinthe” (la hora verde) mixed with cava rose and served in a champagne flute.  Pungent and herbal and unequivocally lovely.

(Thanks, Spike!)

And what of the tapas?  The chalkboard on the wall reveals an endless list of tiny bites ranging from $1.50 for a white anchovy skewer with roasted red pepper, fried artichokes and a dollop of aioli (yum, gulp, gone) to $6.00 for clams with smoked ham in a tomato paprika broth (which I found to be tragically overcooked and chewy).  My favorite bite(s) of the evening were the Setas de Jerez – sherried mushrooms piled on top of olive oil toast, with a mound of gorgeous arugula shredded on top.  Buttery and sweet, with a slow burning spiciness.  I devoured it and ordered two more.  The most successful dish I sampled was an ensalada de pulpo – chunks of warm octopus with beans, pickled onion, preserved lemon and slow cooked garlic.  The octopus was grilled up beautifully, not chewy in the least, with a tasty charred flavor and an oily texture.  The entire plate was fragrant and heartwarming and paired deliciously with the Death in the Afternoon.

We had gathered a large crew for the trip to Ocho, so there were many tapas plates passed around throughout the evening.  A charcuterie plate with Lomo dry-cured pork loin, Mahon cheese and sliced honey crisp apple was a crowd pleaser.  A dish of spicy fried potatoes was determined to be not terribly spicy (or memorable).  A bite of tortilla española (a densely layered frittata with egg, potato and onion served on a toothpick) was considered very strange.  By the time we were finished, I had eaten to contentment, and was sad to pass on the paella (earlier in the evening, I had been granted a sample from Zach’s impromptu “lunch” that the kitchen had whipped up – “one of the perks, I guess”.)  I did somehow manage a final bite of the already famous pan con chocolate – a piece of toast with spicy chocolate ganache, chopped almonds, truffle oil and flor de sal.  It was crispy and creamy and tasted like Europe.

I should probably mention that Ocho is a very tiny, very intimate, very crowded space.  The bar seats nine, and there are a handful of tables and that’s it.  By the time we left, the place was packed.  Get there early or prepare to wait.  My favorite part of the evening was the final bill, which read “FOOD FOOD FOOD FOOD FOOD LIQUOR LIQUOR LIQUOR LIQUOR…” Sounds about right to me.