The brand
Ketaco comes from a simple and fairly stubborn idea: that fast food can have judgement without stopping being fast, or affordable, or convenient.
How we got here
Kebab in Spain got stuck in one idea: cheap, fast, late at night. None of that is wrong, but it shut down the conversation about the product itself. Nobody talks about the marinade, the bread, or how long the protein has been sitting under heat. Ketaco exists to change what gets discussed.
Two formats. Nothing else. Kebab and French taco. A short menu executes better, photographs better and is remembered better. Every dish that is not on the menu is a dish that is not slowing down your order at nine on a Friday night.
Five sauces, numbered one to five. That is the brand's entire structure: you do not have to read descriptions or recognise exotic ingredients. You say a number and we both know how your food is going to taste. That is the part people remember, and the reason they order the same thing again.
Everything is finished in front of you: the plancha, the toasting of the bread, the sealing of the taco. This is not theatre. It is proof. A counter where you can watch your food being made does not need to argue that it was made to order.
The name
There is no more to it, and that is exactly the point. The name tells you what we sell before you walk in, and the mark — a K folded the way a wrap folds — works the same on a paper stamp, on a shopfront and in a sixteen-pixel avatar.
The system
The five sauces are the brand's memory structure. One to five. At the counter, on the site, on delivery and on the packaging. A customer who has ordered a three once knows how to order forever.
Yoghurt, roasted garlic and lemon. Creamy and round. Heat 1.
Jalapeño, coriander and lime. Sharp and alive. Heat 2.
Pimentón de la Vera and mild chipotle. Smoky. Heat 3.
Roasted tomato, ñora pepper and chile de árbol. Direct. Heat 4.
Habanero and activated charcoal. Arrives late, stays long. Heat 5. Limited edition.
Commitments
We are not going to tell you we are Spain's best kebab brand before we have proved it counter by counter. We are going to tell you exactly what to expect every time you walk in.
I ordered a three because the guy at the counter said it was the middle ground. I ate it standing in the street and came back the next day for another. The toasted bread is what makes the difference.
I have been eating kebab in Spain for twenty years and it is nearly always the same: meat that has been turning for hours. Here it goes on the plancha when you order. You taste it in the first bite.
I am vegetarian and I am used to the meat-free option being an afterthought. Verde Crujiente is not a consolation prize, it is a proper dish. The falafel actually crunches.
I ordered the five out of bravado. Fuego Negro does not hit you at once, it climbs. Two minutes later I was sweating and ordering an ayran. Zero regrets.
I had no idea what a French taco was and now I cannot live without one. The fries go inside. Inside. I am docking one star purely for the Friday queue.
Four of us from work go every Thursday. We order the Caja Cuadrilla, argue about the sauce, and the three always ends up winning. Best moment of the week.