One of the challenges of visiting your children once they are off to school is that you have to adapt to their schedule – which is chaotic, involved, and long. It means that you never get anything done on time.
Tulane’s homecoming weekend is also parent’s weekend and there are a lot of activities and entertainments planned to occupy parents while their spawn are busy studying or whatnot. I looked these over and marked the ones that looked interesting. We didn’t do any of them.
There was a trip planned for all the parents to go to Joey K’s – a fairly well-known traditional New Orleans eatery on Magazine Street. I thought it would be fun to sit down and commiserate with some adults in the same condition as we are, but it was not to be.
Much, much later, however, Candy and I found ourselves seeking sustenance and casting about for ideas. She wanted Rice and Beans, so we decided on Joey K’s. We took the Saint Charles Streetcar down to about sixth street and walked to Magazine, passing the little cluster of shotgun houses that I like on the way. Walking in this part of New Orleans is always a treat, even in the dark.
We didn’t have to wait for a table and the food was delicious. Hearty, traditional, New Orleans style home cooking. Candy had her red beans and rice and I went with a bowl of Gumbo and the Creole Jambalaya. I have had a soft spot for Jambalaya ever since I worked a train derailment in Livingston, about twenty years ago. A large group of us were out there working for a long time and they hired a local man, Jambalaya Joe to do the cooking.
But the gumbo was the star. Gumbo isn’t really a single dish – everybody does it different.
Joey K’s does it just right.
The late night crowd gathers outside Joey K's on Magazine Street in New Orleans.
But it left me with a powerful hankering. I wanted some real chicken and waffles. I wanted some of Big Mama’s Chicken and Waffles.
I had been driving by the spot – a long abandoned drive through burger joint on a shady corner of the diciest intersection in my section of the city – but I had never actually stopped by. Now it was about time.
Big Mama's Chicken and Waffles. Does anybody know what this building used to be? It was a drive-through burger joint in the ancient past - but I don't know which one. I'd love to know.
I had to drive past the place and do a U-turn at an apartment complex to get into the drive-through. As I went through the intersection, the smell hit me. The wonderful smell of fryers and soul food. It floated through the neighborhood like a greasy cloud of deliciousness. The miasma of saturated fat was enough to give you coronary artery disease before you ever pulled up to the barred ordering window… but who wants to live forever?
I leaned out my window and looked the menu over. They don’t have an intercom so I drove to the window to speak directly to a live human being and ordered a “three piece regular, with waffle.”
There are several things that separate a place like Big Mama’s from the vast conspiracy of corporate franchise clone grease-heaving locations.
The prices on the board include tax. It said five-fifty, it cost five-fifty.
Your order comes in a plain brown paper sack. This adds a subtle flavor, in addition to the visual appeal of grease soaking through brown paper.
Heavy black iron bars welded on the drive-through and walk-up windows.
A confused history of decorations. The crumbling tower overhead boasted two old clocks, hands long gone missing. A big banner proclaimed, “Under New Management – Same Great Taste.”
Cash only.
Friendly, human service by people that give a damn.
They even serve Kool-Aid.
I paid my cash and collected my brown paper bag. There were two little metal tables on site, perched over a muddy drop down to a stagnant creek hidden back in a thick stand of trees, but I had some errands to run so off I went, eventually gulping my meal down in another parking lot.
You know something is good when it is delivered in a plain brown wrapper.
There is something terribly primitive about eating fried chicken in a car.
The food was great. The chicken spicy, but not too much. The waffle was big, soft, and waffle-y. They drop little tubs of Country Crock and Chef’s Quality Breakfast Syrup into the bag. There’s no way to keep from getting a little sweet syrup on the chicken… and that’s a good thing. If you don’t know any better, you might be a bit confused by the combination of Chicken and Waffles. Get over it. Waffles and Fried Chicken go together like grits and greens.
Big Mamas Chicken and Waffles. Three pieces chicken with waffle.
I had been eating all day, but I had also been walking a lot, so I was developing an appetite. Not too hungry, but I wanted something… and there are still food trucks I haven’t tried.
The Yum Yum Food Truck spends most of its time in Fort Worth, so I wanted to be sure to try it while it was handy. I took a look at the menu… Tacos… perfect!
Yum Yum Food Truck in the Dallas Arts District.
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Notice all the sauces in little plastic cups. It makes me hungry thinking about it.
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The menu. Simple, but a lot of choices. I didn’t try the hamburgers, but I’ll bet they are good. Look at the sauces… Habanero, Chipotle, Red Chile, Green Chile…
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Chipotle Brisket with cheese and Green Chile/Tomatillo Salsa. It was delicious – as good a taco as you are going to get. The meat was tender spicy and juicy.
Oh, and it was food truck heaven in the Dallas Arts District! I was hungry and the trucks were arranged all up and down Flora Street. So much food and so little time.
Mae West said, “When choosing between two evils, I always like to try the one I’ve never tried before.” That always seemed to be good advice to me. So in choosing between six food trucks, I decided to eat one I’ve never tried before (by the end of the day, I had tried three).
The Nammi Food Truck down in the Dallas Arts District
There were plenty of customers hanging around, but the food came quick.
They had some sauces in squeeze bottles down in the ice in the front compartment – spicy mayo, cucumber (I think), and Sriracha. I filled ramekins with cucumber and rooster sauce.
Banh Mi from the Nammi Food Truck. Giant sandwich with rooster sauce and ... some other sauce.
The sandwich was huge and stuffed with stuff. One woman at another table was gesturing at her sandwich and yelling, “It’s bigger than my arm!” My only complaint was that I didn’t open the paper carefully enough and too much stuff fell out. It was really good. I want to go get another.
A couple sat next to me eating their Banh Mi. The sandwiches are on the messy side. Some of the good stuff spills out and falls on the ground.
Luckily the cleaning crew is right there to hop on things right away and fly away with the leftovers.
It was a long beautiful afternoon down in the Dallas Arts District. It was the first Saturday in the Art in October thingy and I had been hanging around for a while, visiting the museums, taking some photographs (I have my Nikon back from the shop and it seems to be working better than ever) and scarfing down some food truck food. I was sitting right off the sidewalk finishing off a pair of chipotle bar-b-que tacos when a couple women with children dressed in white t-shirts that said, “Trailercakes,” on them came by passing out menus.
“We’re down another block,” they said, “come on down and try our cupcakes.” Their menu looked impressive – I’ve never been a huge cupcake fan – but my idea of a cupcake was a stale cylinder of dry cake slathered with some oversweet food-colored goop passed to you at some underfunded church luncheon. These Trailercakes looked like treats of an entirely different sort.
I had seen the silvery glint of an Airstream trailer down in front of the Meyerson Symphony Center. At first I thought of getting some dessert for myself, then decided to hoof by there on the way home and get something for Candy.
So once I was ready to head homeward I walked over to the Meyerson. The main thrust of the festivities and the rest of the food trucks were all down Flora Street towards the Nasher. I hope some folks were able to wander down to the other end – it’s a nice spot, actually.
The Trailercakes Airstream “Bubbles” sitting down in a grove of bald cypress trees in front of the Meyerson. From this picture, you would think it was camped out in a rural park somewhere.
Bubbles!
Customers looking at the selection of cupcakes while the bubbles float by.
Working on an order.
One of the things I like about the whole food truck thing is the interaction between the chefs and the customers (me). I bought six mini-cupcakes to take home and we talked about what to get. They asked about peanut butter and jelly cupcakes. I hesitated and they said that was their specialty. They gave me one to try and I gobbled it down.
It was pretty darn good. So I had them include one.
Here’s what I walked away with. Clockwise, from the top, ending with the peanut butter one in the center:
I had to ride home on a crowded DART train with this in my lap. It was full of kids coming back from the Texas State Fair. They all eyed that tray of cupcakes the whole way – I’m lucky I wasn’t attacked.
I felt like another food truck, so checking the schedules, I found that Ruthie’s Rolling Cafe was serving lunch down at a flea market at Southside on Lamar – so off I went.
Southside is an odd sort of place. It is a modern urban development constructed out of an old massive Sears Warehouse just south of Downtown Dallas. Like a lot of new developments here, it is teetering on the edge of a critical mass – people, money, entertainment, shopping. So far, so good. I’d like to live there if I could afford it.
I had seen Ruthie’s before, it was next to the SsahmBBQ truck down in the arts district when I had some Kimchee Fries. The Ruthie’s truck looked inviting, even though I chose the Korean BBQ tacos for the evening. I was glad to finally get to check the chow out.
The truck was parked on the street right up against the red brick of the old warehouse.
There was a big crowd waiting in line. A lot of folks were down there for the flea market and the truck was an irresistible draw. They were already running low on raw materials – no chicken, Turkey, or cheddar cheese.
To make things go quicker, the line passed down a pad and some markers, so you could fill out your choice while you waited. It all looked good. The Secret Slob Sauce looked irresistible – plus they were passing around a plastic ramekin of the stuff along with a bit of chips… so you could check it out.
The wait went quickly, the sandwich was delicious.
Folks waiting in line… some with flea market crap they had bought. Everybody was friendly and chatting. They were playing classic oldies rock – the young guy taking orders asked me if I liked Boston (“More than a Feeling” was blaring out of the speakers). He said he had seen Boston and Styx not too long ago and it was, “The best concert I had ever seen.” I told him I thought I’d seen Boston and Styx in nineteen seventy eight – more than thirty years ago. Now that I think about it… it was Styx with Rick Derringer, Steve Miller and Frampton that I actually saw.
Jesus, that was a long time ago.
The big question with a food truck is where do you chomp down your grub? The Southside Building had recessed windows along the sidewalk where you could sit and scarf. All very fun.
It was Friday and I finished up working late. I had no plans, but I wanted to find something to do, anything. But the sun was getting ready to set so I didn’t have time to find my bicycle and go for a ride. Checking online to see if there was a Food Truck somewhere, I discovered that Gandolfo’s New York Deli Dallas truck was pulling in to some apartment complex just north of Downtown Dallas. I had never eaten from that truck so I decided to make it a go.
Instead of going home and changing, I simply hopped the DART train next to my work and went downtown, using my phone GPS to find my way around. I wanted some fresh cash so I hunted around for an ATM – and discovered from the Internet search comments there was only one ATM from my bank in downtown Dallas that wasn’t inside a giant skyscraper. It was a tough walk through the canyons between the glass towers. The bank branch was a drive-through, and I patiently waited on foot behind some guy in a convertible and in front of a couple in a BMW to get my cash.
Then I hoofed it north out of downtown and found the apartments. The Food Truck was inside the complex – but I walked past the security guard, asking him, “Hey are those sandwiches from the truck any good?” – he said yes and let me through.
Gandolfo's New York Deli Food Truck
I had already looked at their menu online and decided to get a Knuckle Sandwich. There’s something odd about walking up to a stranger and telling him, “I want a Knuckle Sandwich.”
While I was waiting, some woman drove up and asked, “Hey, what’s up with this?” I explained it was a food truck, and this one was a Deli on wheels, that their sandwiches looked really good. “Oh, yeah, I’ll give it a try,” she said and turned into the parking garage.
When my order was ready the guy threw some plastic eating utensils into my bag and said, “You need a fork with this one.”
Gandolfo's food truck inside the apartment complex.
Now my problem was finding a place to sit down and eat the damn thing. The apartment complex had some little nooks with benches or tables, but I don’t live there, felt a little uncomfortable, and wanted to find someplace else. Once I hit the streets, walking back toward the train platforms, I remembered that downtown Dallas is not a very pedestrian friendly place. It is a city of heavy traffic, massive buildings, and underground malls – the surface is not inviting to mere humans. As I walked I could see a few hapless confused tourists out on the sidewalks looking for something to do. Once the sun sets and the security goes up – it’s pretty damn barren down there.
I did remember the fountains around the bottom of I. M. Pei’s giant glass prism of Fountain Place. There is a cool programmable fountain set in an artificial grove of bald cypress trees that I’ve always liked.That spot, the massive building cantilevered out overhead, water running in burbling, professionally designed paths, and the complex patterned programming of the fountain jets foaming up out of the holes in the granite, lit at night by careful variable fiber optics – has always represented the best of the big city to me. A planned, programmed respite from the hustle and bustle.
It was a good sweaty walk from where I was, but I decided to hoof it anyway.
Once I reached my goal I discovered a velvet rope up across the entrance with a sign that said, “Closed, Private Wedding.” There wasn’t anybody inside yet and I was sorely tempted to hop in anyway, but thought better of it. I know it technically isn’t a “public space” but all I wanted was to sit down for a minute and eat my sandwich in peace. I hope their marriage ends in tears.
So I walked around the building and found a bench along the sidewalk, sat down and ate my sandwich. It was pretty darn good – and the guy was right, I needed the fork to get it all.
My knuckle sandwich. It was very good and I had to use a fork to get all of it.
There wasn’t much left to do, so I rode the train back out to my car. Nighttime falls quickly and public transportation in the dark fills up with a varied and motley lot. It would be good people watching, except that you are watching people that, along with you, have been trapped and sealed up in a hurtling giant cramped metal tube propelled by overhead cables of high-voltage current. After a while, you look around at the homeless crackheads, the sullen alcoholics, the innervated drunks, the clots of gang bangers trying to keep their pants up, lost souls on the way to a party, any party, anywhere, bottom rung workers trying to keep their dignity and eyes open on the way home after a long, long day… you look around and think, hey, I’m here too.
On Sundays I try to make up some lunches to pack up so I can take them to work the next week, something I can nuke, and save a smidgen of money over eating lunch out. Inspired by the Kimchee Fries I had from the SsahmBBQ Food Truck I decided to do something with Kimchi. Instead of fries, I thought I’d have them with Tofu and Udon noodles (I love the big, pfat udon).
Low on raw materials, I headed out to Saigon Mall, the Asian grocery store (and more) near our house. I go there a lot – though not as often as I’d like. It’s like taking a little exotic vacation for the cost of a meal, smoothie, or a bag of groceries.
Saigon Mall, about a half-mile from my house. This used to be the neighborhood Target store.
I was low on Udon, so I bought a package. Saigon Mall has two entire aisles plus a refrigerated section dedicated to noodles in all their varied glory. I’ve tried several brands, and decided that I like the Hoshi Maru Udon the best.
When you buy noodles from Saigon Mall the receipt always says “Alimentary Paste” on it. I thought that was some sort of mistranslation until I did a tiny bit of research where I discovered that this was something our government, in all its wisdom, required.
Asian noodles Notes: Until recently, the U.S. government required a noodle to contain flour, water, and eggs to be rightly called a noodle. Since most Asian noodles aren’t made with eggs, this left them without much of an identity. The FDA permitted names like “alimentary paste” and “imitation noodles,” but Asian noodle producers–from the birthplace of the noodle no less–could not use the n-word. The government finally relented, and we can now use the name “Asian noodles.”
The Hosi Maru Udon package has the words “Elementary Pasta” written on it. I’m not sure if that is a derivative of “alimentary paste” or not. Luckily I’ve never seen it transposed as “Elementary Paste” – that sounds like what we all ate in third grade.
They had ready-made Kimchi in refrigerated glass bottles. The small quart size said “Kimchi” on it… the big gallons said “MocKimchi.” I don’t know if there is a difference, but as far as I could see the stuff in the jar looked identical. I’m not quite up to buying the gallon size jar of fermented cabbage yet, so I stuck with the quart.
The Kimchi is in the refrigerated case, right next to the jellyfish section.
The store has a mind-boggling selection of sauces. I chose an inexpensive soy sauce pretty much at random and bought a big bottle of Sriracha brand Rooster sauce. A package of firm tofu… and I had my raw ingredients.
Udon Noodles, Sriracha Sauce, quart jar of Kimchi, Soy Sauce, and Tofu
I sautéed slices of the tofu in a pan until they were a little brown, then cooked some soy sauce with them until it reduced. Meanwhile, I boiled up a mess of udon.
I opened the jar of Kimchi and watched the spicy, fermented cabbage bubble and burp (I guess this is how you know it’s good kimchi) before I dumped it out.
When all this was done, I divided it all up into four meals, then squirted Sriracha over the noodles for flavor and kick.
Kimchi, Noodles with Sriracha, and Tofu
They are packaged apart, but I’ll eat it all together, mixed in a bowl. A pretty good lunch, actually.
Now, there is one problem. All you purists will look at this and say, “You’ve got Japanese Udon, Korean Kimchi, hot sauce that’s a mixture of Thai, Vietnamese, and Chinese flavors though it’s made in America and manipulated for Western Tastes. You don’t know what the hell you are doing… mixing all these foods together like that. That is not how these ingredients are supposed to be prepared and served. You are showing your ignorance and disrespect for the culinary cultures of a billion people and look like an idiot for doing so.”
And that is all true. I don’t know what I’m doing and I am an idiot. Thinking about this for a while, I realized there is only one possible riposte to this criticism, “I like it, if you have a problem, you can go fuck yourself.”
I now have a new obsession. The recent trend of gourmet food trucks is… well, I like it. I like the idea of quality eats in a portable location. I like the culture that is growing around the things. I like the idea that the Internet and smart phones are what are making the gourmet food truck movement possible – you can watch the twitter stream of your favorite trucks and find out when they are near you.
It’s pretty damn cool, if you ask me. This is truly the best of all possible worlds.
Last Friday, I enjoyed some Korean Bar-B-Q fusion down in the Arts District. On Saturday, around lunch time, I felt a mite peckish, so I went on-line and found a food truck, The City Street Grill, would be near the Galleria, in the parking lot of a jewelry store, until 2:30. That’s a good location for me – I could go grab some lunch, then head up the tollway to Frisco and get some writing in at the college library up there.
I checked the truck’s menu… Chicken and Waffles! That’s the ticket.
The City Street Grille at a jewelry store near the Galleria, right by the Tollway.
The place was wicked hard to find. I drove right by it once. I have an innate fear of jewelry stores (a good survival instinct in these modern times) but I gathered up my courage and marched up to the truck. I can see the future in this. It’s actually a friendly situation – talking to the folks in the truck, other customers.
A customer waiting for his food.
The food was great. Fresh, aromatic waffle, succulent fried chicken, made right in front of me, easy to eat.
Bill Chance 