My friend Britt and I both love food. We have a history of overeating together. This story is…exactly that.
Both Britt and I love food trucks. I don’t know what it is exactly. But food trucks often have unique fare that just can’t be found in a brick and mortar. There’s also the thrill of the hunt, looking up where our favorite trucks are going to be and planning out which ones we’re going to go track down for lunch each day.
And then, there’s food truck rodeos.
A food truck rodeo is when a lot of trucks congregate in one space at one time. Sometimes it can be just four or five trucks, sometimes it can be nearly every truck from a 50-mile radius taking over the entire downtown area! There’s usually a horde of people, and the larger ones often feature live music and other attractions. It’s like a picnic the entire city is invited to! Always a good time.
Anyway, one evening Britt and I went to Durham to partake in a smaller rodeo, just 8 trucks. There were some really good ones there, so as we were deciding what food to get, I tossed out an idea: what if I ate something from every single food truck at the rodeo?
We laughed about it at first. It seemed a bit ridiculous. We went up to the first truck and ordered a small entree. We had our list of stuff we wanted to sample, so we hit about four trucks and got something from each one.
But all the trucks had something good looking! There was a graham cracker and grapefruit curd pudding from one truck (seared on top with a blowtorch!), mac ‘n’ cheese from another truck, sweet potato fries from a third. There was pulled chicken barbecue and turkey burger sliders (those are two separate things, although to be honest turkey sliders topped with pulled chicken barbecue sound pretty great!). Almost before I knew it, I had visited about six of the eight trucks.
The seventh truck provided a complication, since their whole theme was pig meat and I don’t eat pork. They also had homemade potato chips though, so I got an order of those (after making sure they weren’t fried in pork fat!).
Finally, the eighth truck. By this point, we were both hurting. It would be utterly foolish to put any more food in our mouths. It wasn’t smart, it wasn’t even enjoyable by that point.
But the eighth truck was serving ice cream. I have never yet said no to ice cream. I got a small milkshake.
We told the folks running the last truck (a husband-and-wife duo who served ice cream out of an old school bus! They now have their own brick and mortar and it’s just as amazing as their bus) that we had run the gauntlet, so to speak. They were suitably impressed!
A couple of years later I went to their brick and mortar store, and the guy recognized me and even remembered my name! He told me there’s no way he could forget the customer who ran the gauntlet that night.
The moral of the story is, don’t do this.