Taquería Campos has been on my radar since reading John Birdsall’s beautiful article in the Chronicle last summer. When I finally tracked down the tiny cottage with concrete floors in the Fruitvale, I sat down at a small table in the passageway, next to the takeout counter and listened to the Spanish spoken around me.
photo: Christina Mitchell
According to the article, Ana María Campos cooks and runs the restaurant and she was serving when I was there. She brought complimentary chips, salsa, refried beans and chicharones to snack on while looking at the menu. Taquería Campos is known for its caldos (soups), and there were seven on the menu, but I had my eye on one in particular.
Pozole, por favor! She offered me a choice of tortillas, tostadas or tacos. I thought about it for a split second, but how could I turn down a taco?
I speak Spanish and while it’s not necessary, it definitely made a difference. Everyone got good service, but it felt like I was treated almost like family.
photo: Christina Mitchell
A big steaming bowl of pozole arrived a few minutes later and I snapped some pictures. La señora said I should come back with a print and she’ll hang it on the wall. She was so warm and welcoming, it felt like I was a guest in her home.
My first spoonful caught me off guard and caused me to involuntarily murmur “oh my goodness.” The woman sitting at the next table overheard, laughed and agreed.
photo: Christina Mitchell
The broth was absolutely stunning. While the texture was thick, smooth and velvety, the flavor wasn’t exactly bold, but it was definitely self-confident. There was some tender pork in the bowl, but the star was definitely the hominy, which was wonderfully chewy and scented with the essence of summer corn. The pozole was delicious on its own, but a splash of homemade hot sauce, lime juice and some veggies made each spoonful slightly different.
La señora checked on me and when she realized I was losing my shit over this bowl of soup, she smiled with pride. Some new English-speaking customers arrived and asked her what they should order. She suggested a soup and asked me for a review, but I couldn’t put a coherent sentence together in either language at that moment, so I just raised two thumbs in the air over my head.
The tacos turned out to be dorados (golden or fried) and filled with ground beef, potato, carrot, tomatillo and vinegar. I happily munched on them between spoonfuls and realized I was falling in love with that bowl of goodness.
photo: Christina Mitchell
By the end of the meal, I was tearing up because I was so grateful for the experience. I blew a kiss to la señora, left the tiny cottage and the colors on Foothill Boulevard were somehow more vibrant. The sky was bluer, the air was fresher and I was in a trance. Let’s just say life is better knowing this pozole exists.
3659 Foothill Blvd, Oakland
510-261-4260
Christina Mitchell
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Great post and the photos are mouthwatering! I can totally see you losing your shit, especially after you told me about your experience in person.
That is funny, I had been carrying that particular section of the Chronicle around in my bag forever and just finally put it in the recycle bin! I must get a bowl of that soup and those tacos!
Yes, you must! And let me know what you think 🙂
Haha, thanks girl. I didn’t think the soup was very beautiful, but it sure was delicious!