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I glanced up at the line of tickets tucked into the steel flashing above the grill. There were twelve of them now, in chronological order. I’d abandoned the magnet clips a few hours back. They took too long to set up, and every last second was precious.
“Lobster dumplings are running low, too,” I called back at him. “I have enough for about eight more orders.”
It was crazy; how fast things had accelerated over the course of the day. The pristine gravel lot that shone so prettily in the morning sun had gone from totally empty to jam-packed full of hungry workers at lunch, and families at dinner. There wasn’t even time to watch them enjoy my food. I was too busy cooking, cleaning, bringing out new product and putting out fires. Not literal fires, but small problems and issues that arose here and there. And as a food truck rookie, there were plenty of those.
“Chef!” Evan called with gusto. For some reason he got a real kick out of calling me that.
“Yes?”
“Looks like we’re kicking ass, chef,” he grinned.
I’d been a food truck operator for only a day, but I tended to agree with him. We’d been busy as hell all day. Maybe it was beginner’s luck, or maybe the crowds just wanted something different, but I seemed to be attracting more people than some of my more established co-competitors.
My truck was pristine and state-of-the-art, too. I had a gourmet ice-shaver, an ice cream maker, heat lamps, top of the line fridges, and all sorts of other expensive add-ons. By far though, the wood-fired pizza oven was the star of the show. I planned on bringing people back with uniquely different creations that they couldn’t get anywhere else, served on a crunchy, semolina-dusted, mesquite and hickory crust.
“Got the soda machine working again.”
I laughed at how accomplished Evan sounded. The man had pulled off insane missions in exotic countries behind enemy lines and under withering fire. But he was proud as hell for having fixed the coupling on the syrup cylinder.
“Take the grill for a second?”
The griddle was hot. The chili-infused oil sizzled, filling the truck with the aroma of spices. I handed the spatula to Evan, then bumped rumps as I twisted past him. We’d crashed into each other three dozen times already like this, and his hand had found its way to my ass in every one of those encounters.
Not that I was complaining one bit.
The first thing to realize about working a food truck was that space was limited. That, I was prepared for. I’d worked in tiny kitchens in the past, where space was at a premium and I could barely even move my elbows.
I wasn’t prepared for other things, however.
For one, the lighting was good, but not great. I marked out three places I could put up clip-on LED lights, giving me a better view of every nook, cranny, and corner. I also didn’t count on how uncomfortably steamy it was inside the truck. A few portable fans and maybe some better ventilation would help with that.
On the outside though, our flashy new truck lookedhot. The graphics on the wrap were amazing, with big splashes of color in the form of specialty dishes and foods, as well as excellent branding.
“RAVENOUS!”
All day long customers approached my window with their hands on their hips, repeating the non-specific, odd-sounding name. I’d named my business with a single, simple word. It was a word that everyone understood. A word that we’d all experienced, young and old.
I still saw room for improvement, however. As the sun went down I saw other trucks glowing from very cool outside lighting, strung strategically above menus to help facilitate ordering. Some had elaborate awnings that artistically put mine to shame. The dessert and taco trucks both rolled out artificial carpets in the ordering areas. Others branded the picnic areas closest to their berth, with menus, napkin holders, and even condiments that included their printed website as well as QR codes for easy scanning.
I wanted to implement these things as soon as possible. In a row of six or seven different food truck choices, these little changes would help me stand out.
But damn, there was so much todo. So much to remember…
“I… I think I’m burning this!”
Evan flipped something gooey over the grill that came apart halfway through. He panicked, dropped it on the floor, then swore a series of scathing curse words.
“You’re supposed tosearthe buffalo chicken mac-n’-cheese,” I told him, “not cook it. A quick few seconds on either side to develop caramelization, then plate it and send it off.”
He used what looked like half a roll of paper towels to clean up the mess, then saluted me from one knee. “Yes, chef!”
I rolled my eyes and blew him a kiss. “You’re getting seriously rewarded for this later,” I told him. “You know that, right?”
“Oh yeah?” a voice from behind me asked. “And what aboutme?”
Two arms slid around me momentarily, then shifted me to one side. Joshua took over the window. I sighed gratefully.
“I really owe the two of you,” I conceded. “BIG time.”
