Here's something you might be interested in.
Ask a Hipster — Advice you didn't know you needed
Big Screen — Movie commentary
Blurt — Music's inside track
Booze News — San Diego spirits
Classical Music — Immortal beauty
Classifieds — Free and easy
Cover Stories — Front-page features
Drinks All Around — Bartenders' drink recipes
Excerpts — Literary and spiritual excerpts
Feast! — Food & drink reviews
Feature Stories — Local news & stories
Fishing Report — What’s getting hooked from ship and shore
From the Archives — Spotlight on the past
Golden Dreams — Talk of the town
The Gonzo Report — Making the musical scene, or at least reporting from it
Letters — Our inbox
Movies@Home — Local movie buffs share favorites
Movie Reviews — Our critics' picks and pans
Musician Interviews — Up close with local artists
Neighborhood News from Stringers — Hyperlocal news
News Ticker — News & politics
Obermeyer — San Diego politics illustrated
Outdoors — Weekly changes in flora and fauna
Overheard in San Diego — Eavesdropping illustrated
Poetry — The old and the new
Reader Travel — Travel section built by travelers
Reading — The hunt for intellectuals
Roam-O-Rama — SoCal's best hiking/biking trails
San Diego Beer — Inside San Diego suds
SD on the QT — Almost factual news
Sheep and Goats — Places of worship
Special Issues — The best of
Street Style — San Diego streets have style
Surf Diego — Real stories from those braving the waves
Theater — On stage in San Diego this week
Tin Fork — Silver spoon alternative
Under the Radar — Matt Potter's undercover work
Unforgettable — Long-ago San Diego
Unreal Estate — San Diego's priciest pads
Your Week — Daily event picks
Popular street food finds a permanent home, for the moment
Don Pepe literally moves his tamale cart into a new storefront
A few minutes later, a take-away feast.
It's not likely Don Pepe loaded up his first tamale cart thinking his name would echo through San Diego lore as a street food legend. Then, it's equally unlikely his pursuit of the American dream would stay within the confines of liquor store and laundromat parking lots. Still, upon visiting his new, all-tamales all-the-time storefront location, I do have to wonder whether the Don has an end game in mind.
Subtlety is not Don Pepe's way.
If you've lived in San Diego longer than five years, at least one person has recommended "the best tamales in town…", and told you where to find a Don Pepe cart – if not by name, then at least by general vicinity. And if you've happened upon any iteration of "Delicious Tamales Pepe," you know how delightfully greasy and spicy the assorted fillings taste, and how beautifully moist the masa remains within each cornhusk and aluminum wrapper.
I've got nothing against food carts. Walking out of a bar or ballgame, I rarely care whether it’s a tamale, taco or bacon-wrapped hot-dog – I'm going to grab one and, if I don't leave the area immediately, probably another. However, I rarely leave the house planning a street cart excursion.
Pineapple-mango juice — too dulce, unless it's washing down a spicy tamal.
But when I saw the giant "Tamales" painted above a University Avenue storefront, I was intrigued. When I saw the neon sign declaring them "Tamales d'Pepe," I knew I'd have to pay a visit. I mean, he's given this new location a very French spelling, so how could it not be a step up from his long-celebrated cart fare?
Well, it's more of a step in. Turns out, parked inside the storefront is simply a big street cart.
There are some decorations — primarily fruit used in making the pineapple-mango drink steeping on ice in a giant jar atop the cart. But there're no frills, and not even a place to sit unless you're waiting for the number 7 bus at the stop out front. There are also at least four different phone numbers listed around the shop, in case you want to arrange for catering. But mostly, there are tamales.
Foil-wrapped masa gold on a cart inside a shop, and a few extra phone numbers to go around.
Thing is, making a tamale is actually somewhat labor intensive, so it's natural Don Pepe would need a space to prepare them — the carts merely serve as incubators, really. So, in the back of the shop is where the magic happens. Up front just makes for a convenient spot to hawk pork, beef, chicken, spinach, coconut, and chile tamales at two bucks a pop. And it turns out I've hopped in my car just to pick up some street food and bring it home. And there's not even a convenient place to park.
Obviously, I could do — and have done — much worse than to head home with a ten dollar lunch feast (including drink). And though I know, intellectually, tamales alone are not enough to build a restaurant around, I'd kinda hoped the Don was ready to invest in an actual restaurant, to build around the myth, and maybe create a permanent and lasting fixture around his brand. Given how that brand's name, number and address keeps changing, it might be too much to hope that Pepe has anything in mind other than finding cheap little niches for his tamales all over town. After all, it seems to work.
Here's something you might be interested in.
Popular street food finds a permanent home, for the moment
Don Pepe literally moves his tamale cart into a new storefront
Popular street food finds a permanent home, for the moment
Don Pepe literally moves his tamale cart into a new storefront
A few minutes later, a take-away feast.
It's not likely Don Pepe loaded up his first tamale cart thinking his name would echo through San Diego lore as a street food legend. Then, it's equally unlikely his pursuit of the American dream would stay within the confines of liquor store and laundromat parking lots. Still, upon visiting his new, all-tamales all-the-time storefront location, I do have to wonder whether the Don has an end game in mind.
Subtlety is not Don Pepe's way.
If you've lived in San Diego longer than five years, at least one person has recommended "the best tamales in town…", and told you where to find a Don Pepe cart – if not by name, then at least by general vicinity. And if you've happened upon any iteration of "Delicious Tamales Pepe," you know how delightfully greasy and spicy the assorted fillings taste, and how beautifully moist the masa remains within each cornhusk and aluminum wrapper.
I've got nothing against food carts. Walking out of a bar or ballgame, I rarely care whether it’s a tamale, taco or bacon-wrapped hot-dog – I'm going to grab one and, if I don't leave the area immediately, probably another. However, I rarely leave the house planning a street cart excursion.
Pineapple-mango juice — too dulce, unless it's washing down a spicy tamal.
But when I saw the giant "Tamales" painted above a University Avenue storefront, I was intrigued. When I saw the neon sign declaring them "Tamales d'Pepe," I knew I'd have to pay a visit. I mean, he's given this new location a very French spelling, so how could it not be a step up from his long-celebrated cart fare?
Well, it's more of a step in. Turns out, parked inside the storefront is simply a big street cart.
There are some decorations — primarily fruit used in making the pineapple-mango drink steeping on ice in a giant jar atop the cart. But there're no frills, and not even a place to sit unless you're waiting for the number 7 bus at the stop out front. There are also at least four different phone numbers listed around the shop, in case you want to arrange for catering. But mostly, there are tamales.
Foil-wrapped masa gold on a cart inside a shop, and a few extra phone numbers to go around.
Thing is, making a tamale is actually somewhat labor intensive, so it's natural Don Pepe would need a space to prepare them — the carts merely serve as incubators, really. So, in the back of the shop is where the magic happens. Up front just makes for a convenient spot to hawk pork, beef, chicken, spinach, coconut, and chile tamales at two bucks a pop. And it turns out I've hopped in my car just to pick up some street food and bring it home. And there's not even a convenient place to park.
Obviously, I could do — and have done — much worse than to head home with a ten dollar lunch feast (including drink). And though I know, intellectually, tamales alone are not enough to build a restaurant around, I'd kinda hoped the Don was ready to invest in an actual restaurant, to build around the myth, and maybe create a permanent and lasting fixture around his brand. Given how that brand's name, number and address keeps changing, it might be too much to hope that Pepe has anything in mind other than finding cheap little niches for his tamales all over town. After all, it seems to work.
Comments