El Camion, Portobello
Places don’t need to be glamorous or expensive (or even clean) to serve good food. So many places have reworked old favourites, deconstructed and then reconstructed straightforward dishes. But sometimes simple is best. El Camion hasn’t removed itself far from authentic Mexican street food and we settled ourselves in the bright interior, with its eclectic knickknacks on the walls, open plan kitchen and the Johnny Cash music playing on the speakers.
I don’t think the waiter would have minded if I’d helped myself to a beer from one of the crates staked up against the window, but I ordered one from the fridge and we shared a portion of guacamole served in a silver foil box, generous but under seasoned so we added a picante sauce from the selection we had in an old wooden cigar box on the table. There is a bike horn over the kitchen that beeps when your food is ready and it signalled the arrival of our burritos (one chicken, one slow cooked pork). The burritos were floury and soft around the fillings: the chicken had a lovely chargrilled barbequed taste and the charcoaly flavour was nice against the sludge of the black bean sauce and the pork was delicious and moist.
I liked the disorganisation of the colourful restaurant, that the mood was improved by the Rasta who sat himself outside on the window ledge behind me with his old black boom box. I liked that the good value food was fast and warm. My friend complained the next day that she thought she had a funny tummy, but I think it was because of the jalapeño peppers she was eating like peanuts rather than the food from El Camion.
As we left we spotted Paloma Faith sitting at a table outside. I asked if I could talk to her for a moment but she was unreceptive to my advances. Though I can appreciate that I wouldn’t have wanted someone interrupting my supper either, I am definitely going to delete her from my ipod. If you are trying to be inconspicuous, then don’t wear a coat as glittery as an Olympic ice skater’s…