I am a fan of the lunch trucks. You could even say I’m a diehard. Ever since I decided to neglect my meal plan freshman year and seek out more, ah, tasty food,
I’ve been drawn in by the aromas of the lunch trucks.
You may have noticed me at some point – I’m that kid who’s usually walking while shoving some truck-grub in my gaping maw, late to class because I was too intoxicated by the alluring scent of the meals-on-wheels to resist.
It took me long enough, but I’ve found my favorites: Mike’s Steaks on 13th Street, across from the Bell Tower, and the mustached guy in the little silver cart (which remains nameless) at the corner of the Tuttleman Learning Center, across from the Student Center.
Time and time again, these two have come through for me in the clutch, and with their reasonable prices, decent hours and overall friendliness, they are the two that rise head-and-shoulders above the rest. Also, the two carts make the best bacon, egg and cheese sandwiches the world has ever tasted.
Oh, what’s that? You don’t like bacon, egg and cheese sandwiches? You’re interested in other offerings? Too bad. This is my column and I’ll talk about bacon, egg and cheese all I want. Sometimes I switch it up with mushrooms, tomatoes or ham. Oh you don’t like that either? Tough luck. Get your own column.
Certain people I know are destined to retain their meal plans well into their 40s. OK, I get it, the chicken marsala at the cafeteria is pretty delectable, but that’s served only once a week.
What are you supposed to do the other six days? You could throw six days worth of chicken marsala into a Ziploc bag and smuggle it out of the cafeteria. That may work. After about a month of that, however, you’d probably get sick of it. At that point, it’s time to explore the wonderful world of lunch trucks.
After touring the campus, you should find a favorite or two. It’s certainly well worth it to lean more toward a particular truck. That way, you’ll become somewhat of a regular.
It’s a nice feeling. When I go up to my two carefully-selected trucks, I don’t really have to ask for what I want – unless I’m not in a bacon, egg and cheese mood. I don’t get quoted a price, and usually, because I’m a good customer, I get a little extra bacon or an extra slice of cheese.
The layman might not notice this extra slice of bacon, but to a connoisseur like myself, I not only notice the added bacon, but I am appreciative of its inclusion.
That extra slice is the final brushstroke on an epic masterpiece.
It’s like Michelangelo painting the Sistine Chapel ceiling and saying, “You know, I don’t really need to paint that extra cherub, but I think the clergy and congregation would really enjoy it.”
I actually feel that way. Sad, isn’t it?
However, don’t get too drawn into the lunch trucks, because soon enough, Christmas break will roll around and you’ll be stranded, left sad and lonely with no greasy goodness to fill your emptiness.
That’s how it’s been for me. I’ve done everything over Christmas break and summer to fill the void. I’ve tried to recreate it, but it’s an insurmountable task.
Like I said, they’re Michelangelo, and I’m merely a 7-year-old, trying to replicate the statue of David with Play-Doh.
I’ve been talking about this too long. Sorry to cut my obsessive diatribe on lunch trucks short, but I’m hungry. You know where I’ll be eating.
Mike Gleeson can be reached at email@example.com.