Jean T.
Google
I married into Mexican culture. I am perfectly fluent in Spanish, including Mexican slang and everyday parlance, and I’ve spent enough time around real taquerías—street-side, late-night, family-run, no-frills—to know exactly what tacos represent culturally.
I’ve been to both El Camino locations in Ottawa, and I can acknowledge the time, money, and effort that were clearly invested into them. That said, I despise this chain with a passion.
If you’re going to build an entire restaurant concept around one of Mexico’s most iconic and democratic dishes, you have a responsibility to at least try to preserve the spirit that gave rise to it.
Tacos are not presumptuous. They are not snobby.
Yet that is exactly the energy El Camino oozes.
Taquerías exist on a spectrum: from late-night street corners with plastic stools, to humble neighborhood spots where families and friends gather, eat standing up, laugh loudly, and share food without ceremony. What they all have in common is accessibility, warmth, and authenticity. Tacos are food for everyone.
El Camino takes that deeply communal, unpretentious food and wraps it in an attitude that feels performative, self-satisfied, and disconnected from its roots. The result isn’t “elevated”—it’s stripped of context and soul.
This isn’t about being traditional for tradition’s sake. Mexican cuisine evolves constantly. But evolution without respect becomes caricature. When the atmosphere, presentation, and overall vibe contradict the very essence of the dish you’re claiming to celebrate, something is fundamentally broken.
El Camino feels less like a love letter to tacos and more like a branding exercise that missed the point entirely.
If you’re looking for tacos as a cultural experience, as food meant to bring people together rather than impress them, this isn’t it.