My latest foray with a food truck came at the end of a long day wandering around the Denver County Fair. It wasn't exactly a large gathering of food trucks-- five or six were corralled around the Southeast patio of the National Western Complex-- but it was packed with people like me--hungry after staring at so many delicious-looking chickens and goats and oh-so-glad to not have to eat at one of the Stock Show lunch counters or choke down another giant, dry turkey leg.
Biker Jim's upscale version of his original food cart. It is a very literal name (which I enjoy immensely) though it might err on the too-literal side of things. It might be more appealing as "Off the Streets, Cleaned Thoroughly, Cooked and Then Into Your Mouth". Or maybe a different preposition would have cleared things up more: "From" The Streets? "Near" the Streets? I'm not sure why he didn't emblazon a large "Biker Jim" across the front, as that name in itself is synonymous with great Denver street food for anyone who has spent any time in Denver.
freedom fries are what uber-patriots called French fries after France did something in the W-Bush-era global reign of terror that uber-patriots didn't like (I think it was not blindly supporting the unilateral invasion of a Middle Eastern country for no legitimate reason or something like that). Maybe it was a purposeful shot of irony (which goes well with any fried food) to name the truck after the original French (Belgian) name of Pomme Frites, and then the first menu item after good ol' fashioned French-hating Americans.
The last bit of blog-worthy irony of the night was that the last food truck to open its higher-than-thou window to the masses of the County Fair folks was one serving "Caveman Food". Of course cavemen food, or the paleolithic diet, argues that we should eat as our pre-historic hunter and gatherer anscestors did. Gathering and hunting, of course, is much easier these days with a truck and a gun, so I'm not sure exactly what the delay was about, unless all the chopping and prep work was done with stones and spears.
The best part of the truck-eating experience for our family now are the trucks themselves. Our boys love--and I mean love--trucks. Despite a relatively gender-neutral upbringing, they gravitate towards large, motorized vehicles like a moth and its porch light on a dark summer night. Maybe that is the appeal of the food truck. Don't we all (at least many of my male readers) have more toddler in us than we would like to admit?