Ultimate London Nacho: El Camion, Soho
Sometimes, when you’re not looking, a cho comes up and knocks you sideways in the mouth. Then climbs into your mouth and starts a mexican fire of glory while sliding down your gullet on a bed of the Big Four (Cheese, Salsa, Soured Cream, Guac) mixed with some truly innovative extras. Like multicoloured chos. And lime. And two types of salsa.
It’s an embarrassing amount of splendour for £7. I can’t even get a bus for £7. OK, I can. But I can’t even BUY a bus for £7.
Add ground beef picadillo, chicken tinga (me neither), shredded pork carnitas (nope) or yucatin beef if you like but the vegetarian option kicks everyone’s arse right out of the park. And it’s not for sharing – you need to experience this as a main course, yourself; after me and my Nachoist acquaintances inserted out faces into a plate as a shared starter, we immediately cancelled the main course and just got another two of them.
“Hey, talk to me about bald chos!” I hear you plead, silently. The bastard thing was completely de-balded to the extent where, for one moment, I thought a fork would have to be employed (and so, as anyone has been following this recently dormant but now back-in-action cho blog will know, negating the whole point of chos as finger food) but you could just keep eating. They weren’t wet, nor had they wilted under the pressure of such heavenly layers; the multi-faceted cho plains (YES, PLURAL) were perfectly formed as if they’d been born that way. Like Lady Gaga. Or an onion.
People go to El Camion for the cocktails, but they leave with the chos. Have your mojito AFTER the Cho Experience; you could spill it. Or, worse, the sugary taste could overpower the tender balance of salsa verde, salsa normalé (shut it), soured cream, cheese, jalapeno, black bean, guacamole, jalapeno and that delicate squeeze of fresh lime. Or, even worse, you could get drunk and forget it every happened. Oh christ, the thought of that has made me all hot, and not in a fun way. I’m crying. I can’t stop crying.
Ultimate London Nacho? It’s a 5. If I could make it a 6, I would. And if I could hold it through the night, I would. This is the third time I’ve wanted to make love to London Chos (see Brockley Mess and Santos on Portobello Rd), and I certainly hope it won’t be the last.