Camp Horror: Tacos on Sixth Street

When I got to Camp Taco, I didn’t know what to expect. It was my first night away from home, but luckily I had my friend Christie with me. We were both totally stoked for the start of summer camp, and it's finally here in October. 

It was 5:30 on a Sunday, but the camp was full of campers. The counselors were all super cool. We managed to get a bunk at the bar. And that’s when the head counselor Biff told us about the Ghoul of East Village. 

Last Summer, he went on a rampage, killing everyone in his path. No one knew who he was, but the camp was left abandoned ever since. Recently, it had been leased by a local businessman, but the plans to reopen kept being rescheduled until now. Rumor has it, the first group of counselors mysteriously vanished. 

That was so long ago we weren’t going to let it spoil our fun. Christie and I were ready to start our rad summer adventure. With what else, the white poblano cheese dip with housemade tortilla chips. The cheese dip was tasty but mostly unimpressive. It was one of many variations on simple white queso that most places do. Good, but not a showstopper. 

Suddenly, a breaking news report came on the television. A patient had escaped from the mental asylum down the street, Lost Forty for the Criminally Insane. The newscaster told us that we needed to be on high alert before the TV lost signal. Christie left to see what the problem was. 

That’s when a dark figure crept from behind. He towered over me and stared down with his cold dead eyes. He then said in a slow, mumbled voice, “here’s your food.” That’s when he placed a tray of the Quesabirria tacos I had ordered in front of me. Two slow-braised beef tacos with jack cheese and poblano pepper pico on corn tortillas served with a spicy chili-lime broth. These were my favorite, and I had wished there were more than two. The beef was perfectly smoky, and the broth was flavorful. After I finished, I dipped my tortilla chips in the broth which brought out the lime. 

After I realized Christie never came back, I decided to look for her. I tried to text her but wasn’t able to get a signal. Luckily there was a phone in the bathroom for some reason. I covered my hands with the bottom of my sleeve and held the receiver several inches from my face. There was no dial tone. Was it the escaped mental patient?

I went back to my bunk just in time for the Dessert Jamboree. I had ordered a strawberry hibiscus paleta and sopapillas. The paleta was very good. I liked the maraschino cherries hidden throughout. It hit the spot during this unseasonably hot October. 

The sopapillas are probably the closest thing to real sopapillas I have found in Arkansas so far. I am sure there are other places that I don’t know about yet. I may have to search soon if anyone has suggestions. They were soft with a drizzle of light honey and sprinkled with cinnamon sugar served with a vanilla bean paleta which was very complimentary. Great way to end the meal! 

When I looked up from my new Sweet Valley High book, that’s when I saw the Ghoul of East Village. He was a pale skeleton with a black pompadour and wearing a beaten-up leather jacket. When I looked down, he had just poured me a Working Glass Hero. 

In the end, the place is quirky and fun. They went all-in on the 80s retro vibe right down to the vintage beer can selection and light fixtures. Highly recommend people check out the latest from Yellow Rocket. I wish that they had a s’mores paleta to fit in the whole camp theme. Maybe they will do a seasonal dessert made with Lost Forty’s S’morest Queen Stout in the future.