Food Trucks

by Heather Shouse

  El Gallito (3800 E Olympic Blvd., Los Angeles)

  There are a dozen Gallitos in this local chain, but this is the only one with a taco truck parked outside, the ultimate proof that food served out of a truck can completely surpass the same food made in a brick-and-mortar kitchen. For many of the truck’s patrons, the draw is the outdoor patio anchored by a central bar and a stage that hosts live bands on weekends (banda bands, no less; louder, wilder, and more dastardly youth-oriented than a reserved mariachi). But for those who think with their stomachs, it’s the lure of the goat that brings them to this truck. Birria de chivo is the specialty here, and the traditional Jaliscan goat stew lives up to its reputation, the shredded meat as tender as a ripe tomato, with a heady perfume of smoky roasted chiles mingling with toasted cloves and fresh oregano. Fold a few forkfuls into a warm tortilla, sprinkle on chopped white onions and cilantro, give it a good squeeze of lime, then dip the end into the cup of consommé alongside, being careful not to lose the mother lode in the broth. Now repeat.

  La Isla Bonita (4th St. and Rose Ave., Venice)

  Venice Beach is known for a few things, among them meatheads with more muscles than brain cells and fortune-tellers whose crystal balls are as weathered as their shtick. But a legend among lunchers is tucked a couple of blocks away from the beach: Antonio Gonzalez’s twenty-five-year-old “Beautiful Island” taco truck, hand-painted with an aquatic theme that could earn it a cameo in The Little Mermaid. The décor is a good clue as to the specialty, and Antonio’s success supporting eight kids with his truck is a testament to the quality. With plenty of turnover, the seafood that stars on tostadas and in cocktails is bought fresh each morning, always disappearing by the 4 p.m. closing time to ensure the same routine the next day. Sea bass works on a slightly different schedule, marinating in salt and lime juice for twenty-four hours before meeting up with tomatoes, onions, and cilantro for the ceviche tostada. Bigger appetites reach for giant Styrofoam cups of the campechana, a seafood cocktail with the chilled tomato flavor of gazpacho, the tangy heat of serrano chiles and lime juice, and a medley of shrimp, sea bass, octopus, crabmeat, and imitation abalone (standard throughout L.A., as the real stuff is incredibly expensive). Most of the lunch crowd lingers around the truck, apparently anticipating the need for round two, but even those who grab and go never quite make it to the beach without stopping for a few bites.

  Mariscos 4 Vientos #3 (3014 E Olympic Blvd., Los Angeles)

  There’s such a festive vibe around this seafood truck that you’d think you stumbled onto a birthday party. Actually, everyone is just excited to find ocean-side classics on a street with no ocean in sight. Up first are the delicious tacos de camarón: plump shrimp tucked into a tortilla and fried into a crispy pouch, then doused with a garlicky red salsa, elevating the crunchy taco to excellence. Save room, though, because the shrimp get put to yet another use in tostadas de aguachile, a take on ceviche that relies on both the heat of chiles and the acid of lime juice to “cook” otherwise raw shrimp. Here, the large, split shrimp are impeccably fresh and briny, tossed in their tangy marinade with slivers of red onion, then piled onto an avocado-lined tostada. About the only way the meal can get better is if you become enough of a regular that you can do what the genius next to me did: hand a six-pack of Corona to the guy in the truck and have it handed back as micheladas, beer spiked with limey hot sauce, each bottle garnished with a fresh shrimp.

  Mariscos Jalisco (3040 E Olympic Blvd., Los Angeles)

  There’s nothing like a little healthy competition to inspire greatness. Only a block away from Mariscos 4 Vientos #3 you’ll find this similar truck offering a nearly identical menu to a nearly identical legion of regulars. Deciding between the two is a problem we would all be so lucky to have, and the solution is to frequent them both. The man behind the stoves here is Martin Ramirez, a native of the Jalisco city San Juan de los Lagos and something of a local legend when it comes to trucks specializing in these crispy shrimp tacos (Martin calls them tacos dorados de camarón, golden shrimp tacos). Apparently, Martin worked for a number of other trucks in L.A., including Mariscos 4 Vientos #3, and he claims that once they learned his recipe they let him go. He says that they still don’t have the touch, something he employs via a delicate seasoning of the shrimp (an altered recipe from the original that he now keeps under wraps) and a chunky red salsa flecked with chopped cilantro and plenty of raw onion.

  El Matador (1174 N Western Ave., Los Angeles)

  Parked just off the freeway under a glowing street lamp in an auto shop lot is the twenty-five-year-old Bullfighter truck, run by a family from Mexico City whose chipotle and chile de arbol salsas are so popular that they can get away with charging extra for a little cup of the stuff. Buy a bucket, as these two salsas rojas will haunt you when you get home, lingering in your mind as the perfect match for that bag of chips in the cupboard. Back at the truck, use the juicy al pastor taco as the palette for the salsas; the hunks of flavorful pork have just the right tang, and those slightly charred edges mingle perfectly with bits of nearly liquefied fat. Keep in mind this is a nighttime operation—the only reason to show up early is to get your oil changed.

  Ricos Tejuinos (2940 E Olympic Blvd., Los Angeles)

  Okay, so the specialty of Ricos Tejuinos isn’t made on site, the legalities of the operation are questionable, and you’re only likely to find it parked here Fridays through Sundays until around 4 p.m. But believe me when I tell you there’s something special being sold out of the bed of this 1966 white Ford pickup truck, easy to spot thanks to a giant rainbow patio umbrella jutting out of the back. The old man sitting in a lawn chair propped up in the truck bed might not want to give you his name, but he does want to sell you tejuino, a specialty of Jalisco that straddles the line between drink and dessert. This corn concoction is made by boiling masa with brown sugar and then letting the mixture ferment, which gives the tart drink a slightly funky edge, revved up by a generous dose of rock salt and a scoop of lime nieve, a sorbetlike sweet whose name means “snow.” Eating one as a follow-up to a couple dozen shrimp at the nearby mariscos trucks on a hot day, you could just about convince yourself you were on vacation.

  El Super Taco (4474 Whittier Blvd., Los Angeles)

  In small letters across the front of this unassuming white truck you’ll see one word: pescuezos. Literally translated, it means “necks.” More important, it refers to chicken necks, coated in salty lemon-spritzed batter and fried to a crisp, then tucked into a soft, warm corn tortilla and doused with a bright red chile de arbol salsa. Jose Albizo started selling these pescuezos the first week he opened his truck in 2000, parked exactly where it sits today, mainly because the area had plenty of recent immigrants who, like him, came from Mexico City. If you’re new to the neck, take a cue from the regulars lingering around cleaning the bones like lions, and remember that these delicacies are more about the crispy skin than any (nonexistent) meat, and that you will have to use your fingers and get a little messy. Get a few crunchy bites in and alternate with a bit of tortilla—try and get everything in one bite and you might just break a tooth.

  Tacos Arturos (400 S Fair Oaks Ave., Pasadena)

  If someone sends you looking for the El Gallito truck and you find this one in its place, don’t be alarmed: you’re in the right place. Mechanical problems seem to have put El Gallito under, but the same owner and staff bought the Arturos truck so that the show could go on (although as fast as these things can change, if you wind up seeing the El Gallito truck instead, you’re still in the right place). The draw here is tacos made with carne asada, simply seasoned, nicely tender skirt steak with lightly charred edges and plenty of juice. But somewhat more exciting than the taco itself is the massive spread of stuff to pile onto it: a brilliant salsa roja with heat from arbol chiles and tartness from tomatillo, stewed pinto beans, caramelized onions, and blackened jalapeños, all lined up along a railing on the front of the truck like an all-you-can-fit-into-a-tortilla buffet.

  Tacos
El Korita (Rowan Ave. at Olympic Blvd., Los Angeles)

  When you spot a hand-cranked tortilla machine inside a taco truck, that’s a good sign that someone is paying attention to quality, and at this East L.A. mainstay, the tight focus on the little things adds up to an all-around solid experience. Now, some might say that a burrito is the gringo way to go, but one look at the massive spread of primo toppings running nearly the length of the truck and it’s clear that a little taco tortilla isn’t going to go very far. Choose the good-and-greasy al pastor and you’ll be handed a thirteen-inch flour tortilla crowned with a mound of glistening, achiote-streaked pork, open-faced and ready for you to dress. Pile on grilled onions, a delicious charred tomatillo salsa, pico de gallo made with nopales (cactus paddles), and the lime-green avocado-based salsa synonymous with taco trucks; only El Korita’s stands out as a chunky version with a good kick of heat. Once your masterpiece is complete, hand it back through the window and let the pros roll it up nice and neat so you don’t lose a drop.

  ( SIDE DISH )

  If you know what’s good for you, you’ll focus on working through the thousands of traditional taco trucks that cement L.A.’s reputation as the American capital of Mexican food. Still, the lure of the newfangled trucks is too great to ignore. And there are a few of these Twitter-embracing newcomers worth tracking down. For those who typically satisfy their breakfast cravings at a greasy diner, Buttermilk changes the game. The brainchild of Gidget-cute twentysomething Gigi Pascual, Buttermilk serves the most important meal of the day morning, noon, and night. The menu is thorough and creative, from silver-dollar red velvet pancakes to Hawaiian breakfast sliders, soy sauce–scrambled eggs tucked into a Hawaiian roll with caramelized onions and Portuguese sausage. Still, it’s the classic combo of fried chicken and a syrup-soaked waffle that brings the late-night crowds to their knees.

  A French take on fried chicken, the herbes de Provence–scented bird that celeb chef Ludo Lefebvre hawks out of his Ludo Bites truck causes almost as much frenzy in L.A. as … well, anything Ludo does. The culinary darling known for pop-up restaurants and competing on Top Chef Masters rolled out a state-of-the-art rig in summer 2010, focusing solely on chicken. Juicy, crispy, salty, herbaceous chicken.

  Sumant Pardal may not be as recognizable as Ludo, but this veteran of West Coast Indian restaurants (he’s opened a dozen in the thirty years he’s been in America) is a character all the same. Catch him at his India Jones Chow Truck on a bad day and you might get a grumpy Sumant, complaining to anyone who will listen about L.A.’s food truck regulations. Regardless of Sumant’s mood, try the Frankie, an Indian street food classic. Flaky roti is tossed onto a hot griddle, brushed with beaten egg, flipped, brushed with egg again, then flipped until it’s essentially an egg-encrusted roti. Go simple with paneer for the filling or more aggressive with cumin-flecked lamb; both are rolled up inside the egg-coated roti with onions, cilantro, and tamarind chutney.

  For Southern Indian with a hippie vibe, Dosa Truck feeds the need. Brooklyn transplant Leena Deneroff rolls her truck into one of the spots in her rotation (primarily in slick-hip Silverlake) and immediately gets to work adorning the truck façade with brightly colored Hindu objects, including a tiny Ganesh figure in the window to greet customers. Spirituality aside, the ginger limeade and garam masala–spiced fries are transcendent on their own, and the dosas are good, smaller versions of the South Indian lentil and rice crepe.

  Just as deft at bringing an ethnic staple to the masses is Nom Nom, a cute truck with a cute name started by a cute trio of friends who met at UCLA’s Hapa Club, a meet-up group for Asian and Pacific Islanders of mixed heritage. For newbies, a helpful sign offers Banh Mi 101 via a visual breakdown of the classic Vietnamese sandwich. Traditional fillings range from lemongrass chicken to sweet and sticky barbecue pork, but there’s also a tofu option—this is L.A. after all.

  But before you go thinking the whole town’s gone soft (or is it crunchy?), enter the Grill ’Em All guys. Taking their name from Metallica’s epic debut album Kill ’Em All, this heavy-metal hamburger truck gained national recognition for taking home the title in the Food Network’s first season of The Great Food Truck Race. The show’s finale pitted Grill ’Em All against fellow Angelenos Nom Nom, but the burger barons won out. Diehards who’ve been following the truck long before the TV show swear by the Waste ’Em All burger, a juicy grilled patty smothered in a mess of beer-soaked onions and softened Hatch green chiles, crowned with pepper jack to crank up the heat.

  Not surprisingly, these trucks are constantly on the move. To find them, track their tweets:

  @buttermilktruck

  @ludotruck

  @indiajonesct

  @dosatruck

  @nomnomtruck

  @grillemalltruck

  Enjoy the new breed of trucks roaming L.A.

  Antojitos Mi Abuelita

  FIND IT: 6135 Vineland Ave., North Hollywood, California

  Hortenzia Hernandez stands just a bit taller than the counter of her kitchen workspace, raising her elbow high in the air each time she brings the stone pestle in her hand down into a mortar, grinding the toasted chiles, sesame seeds, peanuts, and chocolate into a thick paste so dark red it’s nearly black. After she smashes in ripe plantains, the base for her mole negro is complete, so she turns her attention to the mole verde. After tossing pumpkin seeds into a pan on the stovetop to toast, she plucks the leaves from a mess of parsley and cilantro stems, adds them to a mountain of radish greens and spinach, and then starts to peel back the husks of the tomatillos sitting in a pile like little presents waiting to be unwrapped. Hortenzia is Oaxacan, and this routine is not unlike the one her mother, her grandmother, and countless Oaxacan women before them have methodically moved through in the dark hours before sunrise since this culinary tradition began. But while her ancestors had the comfort of home kitchens for their weekly mole ritual, Hortenzia does her work in a truck, making some of Mexico’s slowest foods mobile.

  In her early sixties, Hortenzia really doesn’t have to work anymore. Her husband Luis makes a living from the sign shop he runs in North Hollywood, and her daughter Olga owns a party supply store next door that does a solid business in piñatas and balloons. But Hortenzia doesn’t like her family to eat fast food for lunch, so shortly after their businesses opened a few years ago, she started showing up at the shops around noon with homemade specialties in tow. Occasionally she brought crunchy, blistered tortillas about a foot around called tlayudas, slathered with refried beans and topped with Oaxacan string cheese, shredded lettuce, and sometimes strips of cecina, a salted, dried pork tenderloin. Other times lunch consisted of pambazos, sandwiches that layer refried beans, chorizo, and crumbly queso fresco onto hearty bread that’s been dipped in guajillo chile sauce until the split roll is soaked through and stained crimson, then toasted to crisp up the edges. The tripe stew menudo was another specialty in Hortenzia’s rotation, and quarter chickens doused in moles started showing up on weekends. Inevitably, all of this home cooking caused a stir, especially among Olga’s husband and his friends, who started hanging out around the little strip mall, clamoring for Hortenzia’s food. Hortenzia embraced her following with a little capitalism, setting up a table on the sidewalk where she began selling the Oaxacan and Mexico City specialties she lugged from her home kitchen. Soon, her supply couldn’t keep up with demand, and Hortenzia wanted to go legit with a full-fledged truck, permit and all. Her son stepped up to finance the project, and in the summer of 2008 a gleaming kitchen on wheels showed up in the parking lot; the little sidewalk table was worked into the covered seating area set up for diners.

  Antojitos Mi Abuelita was the name bestowed upon the truck by Hortenzia’s children, mi abuelita being an affectionate phrase for “my little grandmother” and the antojitos referring to the snacky foods on the menu like the tlayudas, pambazos, quesadillas, and flat griddled ovals of masa known as huaraches. Although Hortenzia is originally from Oaxaca, she and her family moved to Los Angeles from Mex
ico City in the late ’90s, and fellow transplants from both of her hometowns have sniffed her out as one of their own, showing up at the truck to suss out the specialties. Business has steadily grown, with Fridays through Sundays resembling the bustling but laidback feel of a block party. Traditional Mexican folk music is piped out of a small stereo, and families eye the tables for a place to sit while a constant stream of plates heaped with tender chicken drenched in mole and steaming bowls of menudo are handed through the truck window. Hortenzia’s daughter Olga and a family friend now work the truck as well (with Olga popping into the party shop to ring up the occasional order), and the hours have expanded from 9 a.m. to midnight on weekends and 11 a.m. to midnight during the week.

  Her work on the moles behind her, Hortenzia stands over a cooler propped up on a table, scooping out sweet snowlike nieve in flavors like pitaya (dragon fruit) and leche quemada (burnt milk). She explains in Spanish that while the hours are long, she enjoys the work and the idea of passing down the recipes to her daughter, plus with her family all in one spot and the house nearby for rests, the fifteen-hour days don’t take as much of a toll. “The customers say, ‘Oh, it’s so good, thank you so much,’ and it’s worth it,” Hortenzia says. “A man even came one time and he offered me money for my salsa recipe, but I said no. He said, ‘It’s so special, what do you put in it?’ and I said ‘Nothing. I just make things my way.’ ”

  Kogi