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.

eating centralia

There is a food mecca located in the unlikely town of Centralia WA, approximately halfway between Seattle and Portland — an oasis known as La Tarasca.  Nearly everyone who has made the pilgrimage universally praises this family-owned and operated, Michoacán restaurant for its authentic homestyle cooking.  I wish I was one of those people.  “But this is true Mexican soul food!”, you will undoubtedly object, horrified.  I say, this is just another fairly obvious indication that I have no soul.

Heading south on I-5, take Exit 82 and hang a left under the highway.  After several miles, you’ll eventually come to the end of town and see what appears to be an old-school Dairy Queen painted neon orange.  You made it!  Prepare to be disappointed!  It’s actually not as bad as all that.  The restaurant is quaint, and the waitstaff are ridiculously friendly.  You can tell they love what they’re doing and what they’ve created, and multiple times during my visit I overheard the manager proclaim: “My mother received 5 Forks in the Olympian for her mole recipe!”  And indeed, the mole is unique – a base mix of dried pasilla chile pepper with 26 herbs and spices.  Served over chicken breast and leg, the rich sauce is very smoky, with minimal chocolate notes and almost zero heat.

And I guess that’s my main complaint.  The beloved home cooking at La Tarasca is supremely mild, bordering on bland.  And that’s just not terribly interesting to my palate.  On a previous visit, I had ordered the chile rellenos – again with the ubiquitous mild pasilla pepper, roasted and stuffed with cotija, then dipped in egg batter and fried.  It was soggy and boring, with very little to keep my attention after a couple of bites.  This time would be different!, I convinced myself after again hearing the rants and raves from some fellow food enthusiasts.  I’m no longer a vegetarian, I love pig and look, carnitas is a house specialty!  Tender slow-cooked pork served with homemade tortillas and tomato salsa – what could go wrong?  Well, technically nothing.  The pork was tender, the tortillas were warm.  There was spanish rice and traditional refried beans.  I nursed a Pacifico… ate another bite of pork… waited for the epiphany.  It never came.  It was a plate of simple, well-cooked food, nothing more.

I guess I shouldn’t always expect fireworks, but I’m just not drawn to docile cuisine.  Give me jalapeños and habaneros and tepins any day of the week.  In all fairness, there was one dish that did pique my interest – a complimentary bowl of pickled carrots that was placed on the table when we first sat down.  Instead of the usual chips and salsa, these carrots were crisp and tangy, swimming in a brine of onions and bay leaves.  They were genuinely unique, and only managed to amplify my initial expectations.

I wasn’t necessarily unsastified when I left, but you can probably detect my ambivalence.  Does essentially good food lose something without that spark of creative genius?  Is that what I’m actually seeking?  There were still plenty of miles ahead for me to contemplate these questions.