Well, that didn’t work.

Apparently, my prose is indeed, not bottomless either. If it were, perhaps I would have posted once in the last 7 months. Actually, let me be totally honest about my silence. I had plenty to say. But we’ve been so freakin’ busy that there was little time to do things like, hang out with my family or go to the grocery store (not that I cook anymore). So, blogging had to take a back seat. Waaaaay back.

Not that there haven’t been a few moments where I was shamed by my absence. While we were hiring staff last summer, an applicant showed up at our truck in the middle of the rush. While enumerating her many skills over the din of our controlled chaos, she mentioned that she writes and blogs, which would be very helpful to us as our “last blog post was more than two months ago.” Yeah yeah yeah. That would be very helpful if I actually allowed someone else to write our blog. But I don’t. Our blog is written by me. But not lately.

Then awhile back, we had a new customer at TruckStop. He outed himself as a newbie and told us it was the blog that brought him to our truck (I have a reader! Woo!). I giggled and said something really clever, like, “Really? Cool! I haven’t posted in months!” To which he responded, “Yes, I know” in a way that made me realize that I was kind of blowing it. So, I went home and wrote a post I was hell bent on posting asap. And this is the piece. And yet, I never posted it. WTF?!

Now I am captive on a 5 hour flight that actually has wi-fi. Even better, my usual cross country guilty pleasure Bravo addiction isn’t happening. I’m really not all that picky. If I can’t watch 5 hours of Heidi, Tom and Padma or Tyra, I will tough it out with mental illness or millionaires. But even I have my standards. And I may be from the Garden State but I pride myself on having never seen the housewives and I am not about to start now.

But now that I am reading what I wrote here, I think I know why I didn’t put it up right away. For one, it didn’t have any hyper-links, which I have since remedied. But the real reason is because it’s about Yelp. And how I have a love-hate relationshipwith Yelp.

Is it my imagination or do most businesses have this rating on Yelp?

To be fair, I think Yelp is a brilliant idea.  Allow people to review local businesses, uncensored. When I travel, I use Yelp all of the time to help me find restaurants, local sights and shops, etc. In fact, I used to post reviews, before we started the truck. But I am a creature of another era. I am fairly polite (no, really, I am) I would never, ever be rude when it comes to someone else’s work. In fact, I wrote very few 1-and 2-star reviews because I prefer to take my complaints directly to the people in charge. Which is what business owners want you to do – give them a chance to earn your business. I understand that some people are conflict-adverse. Hell, I am married to someone who would never send a meal back in a restaurant. But he would also NOT go home and write a snarky Yelp review because he didn’t advocate for himself at said restaurant. Why? Because he is also polite. And he understands the destructive power of the written word.

Case in point: this post. I mean here I am going on and on about Yelp and the majority of our reviews are great! Yes, there are some not great reviews where customers just didn’t like our food. And that’s fine. We don’t expect everyone to love us. And we do want constructive feedback about our business. But you can be constructive without being mean. The mean reviews are like little mind worms; they get inside your brain and eat away at your confidence until you want to just give it all up and stop making Cubans altogether. I know I am not the only one who feels this way.

There are a few things about Yelp that drive some people crazy. There are Yelp haters all over the internets. Not all that long ago, there was this whole brouhaha about Yelp advertising. And then there is that wacky filtered review alogorithm (why is it always the positive ones that get filtered???) However, it’s the uncensored aspect of Yelp that I find so troubling. It gives people with an axe to grind a really sharp stone. It is incredible what some people will write. Here are a few of my favorites from around the country:

“Seriously now, what’s the deal with everyone loving this place? Everytime I drive by it’s a long line. My boyfriend will leave the house to go get some ________ (3 minute drive) and it takes him an hour. He comes back with food items that are barely recognizable underneath a mountain of brown sludge that I’m told is ‘chili’.”

“It is hard to see how anyone besides parents of bratty kids and pedophiles would enjoy eating in this place.”

“I warn you, do not eat at ______ people it’s not sanitary. I ate here and I ended getting diarrhea afterwords in two separate occasions. I repeat, eat here at your own risk.”

This one is my favorite not because it is rude but because the comments are so ludicrous and hilarious and straight out of a hipster comedy. Only, it’s really straight out of a 2-star Yelp review.

“Our head waiter was very good…however when it came to some of the dishes he seemed to not know the answer one too many time. I am not talking about specific ingredients or wine pairings, but simple questions like where the butter came from or how many counts in the espresso.”

That people are rude on-line is not breaking news. A local parenting blog had to create this, after a particularly virulent attack by internet trolls. People will event attack grieving parents. So, I don’t know why I am so surprised when someone posts something nasty. I guess it just comes back to the fact that I would never do that. Since we started the truck, I don’t post reviews anymore. In the past, the only times I ever wrote a negative review was if I could not get my complaints rectified. But I kept those bad reviews factual and was never, ever uncivil.

Oh, sure, everyone tells us to ignore anything negative. But I can’t. In fact, I respond to every one, apologizing, asking for a second chance. But it’s rare that a negative reviewer ever replies back. That removes some of the anonymity (and the safety that comes with it) somehow. And let’s be honest – when I am checking out any user-review site to determine if I want to try a new business, I always (ALWAYS people) read the negative reviews. Admit it, you do too, right? So, why wouldn’t a potential customer of ours?

Don’t get me wrong. Yelp is incredibly invaluable to us. We’ve gotten tons of catering jobs because we have consistently good Yelp reviews. We’re always thrilled when we get a new good review. But it’s the personal face-to-face feedback we get at the truck that makes us buoyant. People frequently come back to the truck to tell us how much they love our food. We hear “best.sandwich.ever!” all the time. Those folks make all of our efforts worth it. While we encourage them to Yelp about their experience with us, very few do.

Sigh.

On the other hand, we get daily positive tweets and Facebook posts. Love that and the customers who interact with us! In fact, the loyalty of our customers is kind of mind blowing. It’s the highlight of my day reading and responding to everyone. But tweets and posts are ephemeral. Yelp reviews last forever.

One of the nice things about blogging is that it’s a little like therapy. I talk. You listen. I resolve some issues. Writing this, I realized that Yelp meets at the intersection of two of my weaknesses: positive feedback whore and hater of, well, haters. I think now that I have come to terms with this, I can make peace with Yelp. Because some of my favorite people are Elite Yelpers.

How about you? Love Yelp? Hate it? Use it? Lose it?

But tonight I need some shut-eye (so no ranting) and your help. You may already know this but there is suddenly a fantastic place in Oakland for food trucks and carts to park. Thanks to this fabulous woman, who secured the location and put together a preliminary schedule (see below), we began vending there TODAY! So excited to be feeding our Oakland fans!

I volunteered to come up with a name for this lovely patch of brick-laid land smack dab on the corner of 21st and Webster. Once I have that, I can put up a Facebook page with the schedule. I have been working’ my brain all day trying to come up with something catchy, hip and meaningful. I got nothin.’

So I thought I would turn it over to you, given how creativeI know you all are. Suggest a name. If the group likes it, lunch is on me!

so.freakin'.true

Oh, and here’s the schedule so far:

Tuesday – alternating Ebbett’s Good to Go and Nick’s Wheely Good Breakfast

Wednesday – Streatery

Thursday – alternating fiveten burger and Vesta Flatbread

Friday – According to sources close to OMFG, Friday will feature Fist of Flour Pizza Co., El Taco Bike and Guerrilla Grub.

Bring your hunger. And post your ideas below. Ready? Go!

So, we’ve decided to take a huge leap and, gulp, hire a truck manager to take Big Blue to evening and weekend events so that you can get your Cuban fix for dinner and um, weekends, too.

Want to join our crew? Tell us why in the comments. And start looking for our beautiful truck at an event near you soon.

Looking for someone like him but not like him at all, really.

I used to be a teacher so I feel like I have the street cred to say this: our school is an amazing place, raising these totally self-aware, communicative, bi-lingual, sensitive, tolerant, curious, responsible, engaged, global-minded children. Kids who really will grow up to be the kind of leaders we want taking care of us and the planet when we’re all geezers.

With that in mind, we would like to ask you to take a minute to help us show the Emeryville City Council that the residents and workers of Emeryville are in support of having our little school make Emeryville its home.

Please email Emeryville City Council members saying by Wednesday, May 18th at the latest. Here’s what you can say:

Please vote for the Escuela Bilingüe Internacional (EBI) school proposal.

Sample message points for your email could include:

• I live/work in Emeryville, and I support the plan to bring EBI (Escuela Bilingüe Internacional) and its students to a new location in Emeryville on San Pablo Avenue.
• Please do not delay the school’s opening. On May 19, 2011, please support EBI and the City Planning Commission’s unanimous approval of EBI’s conditional use permit by denying the appeal. Any delay will prevent remodeling construction, meaning our school will not be able to open in time for the Fall semester.
• This language-immersion school offers unique programs for children for preschool through 8th grade. EBI values such as inclusiveness, global citizenship, and cultural respect are shared by its Emeryville neighbors.
• After school classes and cultural events at EBI will benefit the entire community. EBI will be a good neighbor; the school is widely recognized as a good neighbor in its current location.
• The site currently hosts an existing church and its classrooms, plus a social service agency’s offices.Traffic will not increase significantly because the site’s parking lot has already been approved for 29 townhomes which would be replaced by the school proposal, and primary access is through an industrial street. The school will occupy the existing building gradually, with additional City approvals required to complete the expansion.
• Increasing educational opportunities for children in Emeryville is a good thing!

Call your City Council at (510) 596-4376, or email them (or do both) at:

·ndavis@ci.emeryville.ca.us

·jwest@emeryville.org

·ratkin@ci.emeryville.ca.us

·kbrinkman@ci.emeryville.ca.us

·kbukowski@ci.emeryville.ca.us

If you do send an e-mail and want to let us know, you can always Bcc us at info@ebbettsgoodtogo.com. But you can keep it anonymous too.

A huge THANKS in advance!

Don't they look like they're going to save the world some day?

If you’ll recall, I wasn’t at Eat Real last year so it has this mythical quality. Add to this that we basically debuted at the foodie festival after a few weeks serving in Emeryville. AND that I am a planner. And someone who uses special occasions and events to mark her mental calendar and, well, you can see why it’s frequently on my mind.

Here’s something I need to say that sort of disrupts the flow of this post but needs to be said anyway: The Eat Real people are awesome and have been incredibly supportive of our business! We <3 them. You should totally be at Eat Real this year AND tell everyone you know in LA to go to Eat Real LA. Stop by and say hi and get a Cuban while you’re at the Oakland event.

Anyway, the thing I’ve been obsessing about for Eat Real lately is t-shirts. There are trucks whose staff all wear matching shirts. Like some others, we’re more of the fancy apron type (although after 9 months of the same aprons, they’re not looking all that pretty anymore). But I really want shirts for Eat Real. I’ve been thinking about what I would want on it. Our logo seems obvious. And we could throw on our “Admit it. You need a sandwich.” tagline. Seems like a done deal.

Then Suzanne bought me a Prather Ranch t-shirt. Have you seen it? Suddenly, I knew logo and tagline weren’t going to be enough.

So, I’ve been wracking my brain. And then it hit me. Audience participation.

This should come as no surprise to you, really. Just watch me perk up when there’s a customer to talk to. And those tip jars? I really do want to know what everyone thinks about the quiz of the week. In fact, my previous lives have been all about getting an audience involved. Or being in front of an audience. Or both. I’ve been a public speaker, workshop leader, staff trainer and classroom teacher, to name a few. Does that resume scream “audience participation junkie” or what?

I'm such a sucker for Godzilla

So, here’s where you join the fun. We are going to have a t-shirt contest. No no no, not that kind of contest. We want you to help us create our new t-shirts. To do so, you’ll need to write a haiku about our Cuban or any one of your favorite Ebbett’s Good to Go sandwich. Post it in the comments below or e-mail it to us at info@ebbettsgoodtogo.com. We’ll pick our favorite and use it to make t-shirts for us and our staff. What will you get for your amazing creativity? Well, in addition to a big splashy shout out on this blog, our Facebook page and our Twitter feed, we will make you a t-shirt of your haiku as well. And we’ll treat you to a sandwich and beverage of your choice. Now bad for 17 syllables of work.

Remember, a haiku is 17 syllables – a line of 5, then a line of 7, then a line of 5. And while there are plenty of examples on the internets of haikus, I’ve included two I wrote for inspiration. Because we all know the Cuban was my undoing.

Succulent pork treat
Twenty years an herbivore
Wiped out with first bite

Juicy pork goodness
A veggie for years, I can
no longer resist

Your turn. Go!

Which leads me to today’s post (of which I urge you to read slowly ‘cuz who the hell knows when blogging will beat sleeping again).

I had a conversation with another food truck owner the other day. It went something like this:

Me: So, what special events are you doing this spring and summer?

Him: All of them! I want to work as much as possible.

Me: Suz and I have the opposite business model as you. We don’t want to work at all.

Which isn’t really true.

Ok, well, if might be a little true.

Actually, there’s a lot of truth there.

Don’t get me wrong, we LOOOOVE our business and mostly everything that comes with it, our customers, especially. Even on days when all we seem to do is dead lift 50 lbs. boxes of meat or pull 100s of pounds of pork, or squeeze so much chipotle mayo on to sweet deli rolls that we get shooting pains up our arms, we’re still having more fun running our truck than any other job we’ve ever had. In fact, once our bodies adjusted to the physical demands of this job and I stopped lighting myself on fire (four times now folks), the “labor” has really become the easy part.

I can’t speak for Suzanne (although I think she would agree with me) but for me, the most difficult aspect of owning this business isn’t the business at all. It’s having a family.

When we first started, we got really caught up in the local food truck enthusiasm. You see, people in the SF Bay Area love food trucks and apparently can not live without them for lunch, dinner, happy hour, late night, festivals, private parties, fundraisers, fairs, flea markets, pretty much any excuse-to-eat event you can think of. There we were, the new truck, following all of the trucks’s twitter feeds and reading about where everyone is parking and what events they are working. And I swear it was like being in high school when all of the sudden you find yourself in with the “In Crowd” and they’re all dressing the same way and listening to the same music and going to the same parties and taking the same drugs and you want to do all that too because you’re part of this group now and that’s what this group does so you feel this over-whelming drive to keep up with this new group of friends but the reality is: You just can’t. Blame it on your parents, or your stamina, or your strong sense of individuality or some other aspect of your personality. And you kind of freak out a little bit and hold your breath waiting to see what happens when you start skipping some parties or saying “No thanks” when the drugs come around. You smile bravely, waiting for that hottie who was flirting with you to get clued in to how you’re not really keeping up. And you cry a little (or a lot) and feel like a loser and tell your parents you hate them and wallow in deep self-loathing. And then it happens. Well, more accurately, nothing happens. Nothing changes. You’re still in the group. People still like you. And you realize that you can skip some of the parties and not fall off the face of the Earth.

Wait. How did we get on the subject of my high school experience? I thought we were talking about our food truck. Hang on a second, I need to re-read what I’ve written.

Oh. My.

Ahem.

Anyway…the metaphor works, sort of. Only in this case, it’s not our parents or stamina that are limiting us, it’s our families.

Suzanne and I are our kids’ primary caregivers. Our spouses have jobs that require them to travel. A lot. And neither of us have family here that can step in should we need someone to, say, hang with the kids so we can work happy hour a couple of times/month. As a result, we are constantly turning people down or referring other trucks. Add to this all of the “parent work” that has to be done by someone: laundry, grocery shopping, school lunches (unlike some of you, our kids don’t want Cubans for lunch everyday), homework help, chauffeuring to activities, school volunteer obligations, dinner (we do eat a lot of sandwiches now), clothing and shoe shopping (growing like weeds), camp registration (in February, for cuss sake!), doctor and dentist appointments, after school activity registration, play dates, family trip planning, story time…it never ends. And then there’s the care and feeding of our marriages (which we won’t get into here since our spouses might be reading this).

Of course, the other side of this is that we want to be with our kids as much as we can. This is why we decided to open a food truck in the first place, right? So we could work while they kids were in school and still be able to pick them up at school. (Did you hear that? All the food truck operators just started laughing maniacally as if on cue). Since they are in school and in after-school activities every day, we only have the evenings and weekends to spend any “quality time” with them. Same with our spouses. And that’s why we are pretty much a “lunch only” operation, with the exception of the occasional special or private event or Antiques Faire.

I totally want to hang out with you. But I am trying to keep it all in balance.

And most of the time we’re o.k. with this business model. But there are moments of anxiety, especially when it comes to our customers. Think back to the last time you made a new BFF (that’s “best friend forever” for those of you born before 1990). It’s like falling in love. You want to spend every possible minute with them, have adventures with them, go to their favorite places. You hang on their every word and find yourself counting the hours until you see each other again. And you never, ever want to do anything that will bum your new friend out. Well, that’s pretty much how we feel about our customers. So, it kills us when someone asks us to come to their neighborhood, fundraiser, or event and we have to say, “Sorry but we can’t.”
How about you? How is your work-life balance? Any suggestions for us? Leave ‘em in the comments – I’ve got a bedtime story to read.

I love this story (in large part because I adore Leo) and thought I would be able to use it and then neatly transition to the larger point of this post (as if any of my posts have points), but it’s 6:00 in the morning and the caffeine hasn’t quite kicked in yet. So, let me try another anecdote.

The other day, while on the truck, I mentioned to a customer (maybe it was you!) that I am a vegetarian to which Suzanne responded with a very loud and somewhat derisive snort. When I looked at her with wide-eyed innocence, she finally confronted me, “Don’t you think you have to stop calling yourself a vegetarian now?” I scanned the truck for a hidden camera, sure that this was the beginning of an intervention…

A little history here: As I mentioned, I stopped eating meat many many years ago. My reasons were fairly simple – I was politically active in college and couldn’t ignore the impact of cattle raising on world hunger. And I was distressed by how detached the American diet and Americans, in general, were from their food source (hello Michael Pollen – I was your disciple waaay before you started writing about food). I never stopped eating meat because I didn’t like the way it tasted. In fact, I loved meat when I quit. But I wasn’t about to hit the woods with a shotgun, in search of my evening meal (besides, I look terrible in orange, unless it’s this orange). And I was fairly certain I couldn’t fit a cow in my concrete backyard, no to mention there was likely some backyard livestock ordinance. So, my only other choice was to stop.

As a vegetarian, I went through many iterations, including a stint as a macrobiotic and an extended vegan period. Then for years and years, I was your standard “eats anything that doesn’t have a face” veggie. This was fine until I got pregnant. No, I didn’t immediately start craving burgers, like some of my friends did. But I did want some fish. So, I started eating salmon and well, that quickly devolved into a rather hearty fish habit, which did not end with the birth of my child. Yes, I know, fish are not vegetables and so technically, that was the end of me being a vegetarian. But I continued to use that label because, well, it was easier than explaining that I don’t eat chickens, cows, sheep, pigs, rodents, reptiles, or any shellfish (allergic).

And this was fine and no one questioned me, until we started the truck. The whole time we were in the planning phase, I kept thinking that Suzanne would handle all of the meat recipes and I would do the veggie recipes. This wasn’t really flawed thinking because during our recipe testing phase, that’s exactly what we did. It never occurred to me that once we were in business, I would not only have to serve meat, but also prep it, cook it and yes, taste it so that I knew if it was delicious. And new recipe testing? Let’s just say that we fiddle with ingredients until we get it right. Which means many many many bites of tester sandwiches.

This could all be called an occupational necessity if that was all it was. But there was a period there when I was “testing” our pork more than necessary. Or sampling our tri-tip sandwich beyond the tasting phase. And then there was that errant piece of bacon around the morning campfire at Big Sur. Hence, Suzanne’s challenge to my vegetarian label. And my recognition that bacon is a gateway meat (see, now that I’m caffeinated, I can link back to my intro gracefully). And a friggin’ delicious one at that.

Despite this slide down the slippery slope, I still think of myself as vegetarian, and mostly behave that way, when I am not on the truck or in our catering kitchen. At restaurants, I never look at the meat entrees, I don’t cook meat at home and still can’t imagine every actually eating an entire, say, Cuban sandwich. But at work, my vegetarianism is a bit more, um, fluid. A chef (and vegetarian) who works in our kitchen recently told me how he gets through all of the meat-tasting he has to do: he tastes, chews and then spits it out. Never even occurred to me. And still doesn’t.

When I first moved to California, I was shocked that none of the other people I was meeting were vegetarians. It’s the Bay Area, after all. But someone explained to me that meat is “en vogue” and while I found this hard to believe, it explained the dearth of really good vegetarian restaurants. It also explains why our veggie Banh Mi sales are around 10% of our overall sales. In our social circle, being vegetarian put me and my husband in this little club with very few members. And with Leo’s exodus, the club might just be the two of us. Or just my husband, ahem.

I should mention here that Suzanne is secretly (although it’s no secret to me) thrilled that I am eating meat. She once gave a little cheer when, a few years ago, I accidentally at some pork carnitas. So, of course, I blame all of this on her.

Ironically, I am finishing up this post while listening to Jonathan Safran Foer interviewed for City Arts & Lecture. Which could be an incredible boon for our vegetarian customers. But I don’t recommend you listen to it if you are planning to get your Cuban fix this week. That would be an interesting match-up though – ridiculously delicious roasted pork sandwich vs. Safran Foer’s thoughts about eating animals.

So, omnivores, at what point do YOU think I need to stop identifying myself as a vegetarian? And vegetarians, have you ever found yourself eating meat and thought, “WTF?” like I have?

Oh come on! It's not this bad.

Shortly after EatReal, someone asked me what our plans were “after the truck.” Being the sharp knife that I am, I replied, “Well, we’ll clean everything up and then I’ve got to run to the market before I pick up my kid and then drive home so I can cook dinner (just admit now how jealous you are of my glamorous life).”

“No, I mean, will you guys expand to more than one truck or will you open a bricks and mortar place or what?”

Wait, we’ve been open six weeks and you want to know what we plan to do next? I love this question. Americans are so ADHD.

Ummmm…we’ll probably get a massage.

Both Suzanne and I knew having the truck would be a lot of physical labor (considering my last job involved sitting on my ass all day, pretty much anything else would seem strenuous). But we were not in the least bit intimidated by the thought of hauling and lifting the things we need to outfit our truck or make our sandwiches. Or of being on our feet for extended periods of time. While it’s true, some may consider us women of a certain age, we’re also in really good shape. Suzanne is a distance runner with never-ending endurance. And I prefer punishing physical workouts, especially ones involving lifting ridiculous amounts of weight. Nonetheless, lately, my first thought in the morning and last thought before I pass out at night is “I need a massage.”

Not only do I need a massage but I think I might also need a bodyguard. Literally. ‘Cuz, I think our truck is trying to kill me.

Yes, I’ve cut myself a gazillion times in the past 5 weeks. That’s not the issue. Nor am I talking about all of the other nicks and scrapes on my hands. I am so thin-skinned that pretty much any friction tears off a few layers of skin. This is especially troubling when I am juicing lemons and limes. But not deadly.

I did, however, start to grow suspicious that my life might be in danger when I slipped off the back of the truck, not once, but twice in one day, despite my rubber soled shoes. I assured anyone who would listen that I don’t have life insurance so offing me would be a waste of time.

And then, the truck lit me on fire. Well, technically, just my face. Has your face ever been on fire? “Terrifying” just barely scratches the surface. Here’s what happened: I turned on the propane and then waited a few minutes so that there was enough gas in the lines to light the pilots. I squatted down so the grill pilots were at eye-level because they are a good seven inches under the grill, slid the fire sticks into position and lit them. Immediately a ball of fire shot out from under the grill and flashed over and around my head. I screamed, dropped the lighter and began beating myself around the head, trying to put out the raging inferno I imagined burned there. When Suz returned to the truck, I was in a ball on the floor screaming, “I’m on fire!”

I wasn’t on fire (anymore). But in that brief moment after one of the scariest things to happen to me in a loooooong time, I confirmed my worst fears about being utterly shallow. I asked “Do I have any eyebrows left?” Yes, I know what my walk-up music should be. When Suzanne confirmed that I still had my eyebrows and that my eyelashes would grow back, I picked myself up and staggered up the street to the Emeryville Fire Department, looking for some paramedic TLC, ahem. I found some beautiful firemen working out in their gym and they gave me incredible care, which included some magic burn gel, guaranteeing the skin around my eyes wouldn’t blister, causing me to look like I was on the receiving end of a micro-dermabrasion gone horribly wrong. I hella heart the Emeryville Fire Department.

Despite how scary the fireball exploding from the grill was, the optimist in me couldn’t call the event an entire loss. I mean, I did get to live out a version of my fireman fantasy (sans studly uniforms and incinerated lingerie). Oh, and if case you were wondering, EMRs don’t do eyelash extensions.

But I digress (as usual) because I was talking about how the truck is trying to kill me. To be fair, I should’ve checked that the grill was off before I tried to light it. It wasn’t. This caused a lot of propane to build up during the time that I turned on the propane and the time I actually lit the pilots. But we always turn the grill off, don’t we? Which just confirms that the truck is gunning for me.

And not just me, either. Last week, in the middle of lunch, Suzanne pretty much cut the tip of her finger off. I won’t go into the gory details because it involved dripping copious amounts of blood into the trash can and then me and Chella getting all woozy from the sight of it. Suzanne? She’s fine. She’s a friggin’ warrior. Warriors don’t let mere flesh wounds stop them. But she did stop cooking immediately because, well, it’s impossible to maintain our strict health standards if you are dripping blood everywhere. She banished herself to the first aid kit, applied a tourniquet and a pair of rubber gloves and spent the remainder of lunch taking orders and making change.

My theory about the truck and its predilection to cause us bodily harm is this: the truck is inhabited by a poltergeist. She fell in love with the guy who owned the truck before us and then was heart broken that he left the truck (and her) alone and abandoned in a parking lot for 5 years. She’s got an axe to grind and well, we have the truck now. I keep expecting a clown to reach out of the freezer and grab me.

So, we just need to treat her with loving-kindness and hope she’ll come around. Because the alternative is downright creepy. In the meantime though? I’m upping my life insurance. And googling exorcists.

Drive away from the light...

Anyway, back to the flight. It’s appropriate that I am flying Virgin. Because this post is all about first times. Like the Eat Real festival, we have had so many first times in the last 3 weeks. And like other first times, ahem, there’s been some underwhelming disappointments, hilariously awkward bumbling, and some totally sweet moments.

Our first day open, we tried to park the truck on a busy street around 9:00. We decided to use my car to save a parking spot but of course, our truck is muuuuuuch longer than my car. So, when someone parks in front of me, there goes our space. I asked her if she would mind moving, and even though I think she did mind, she moved. And while she was moving her car, another car pulled into her spot. After that person also moved her car, we had to parallel park the truck. This went fine until we got a street sign (No Truck Parking, ironically) caught in our awning. No amount of pulling forward or backward would free it. Did you know a street sign will make a loud noise when it is gets stuck and then unstuck and then stuck and then unstuck? Neither did I. Apparently, neither did the people in the office, who were looking out the window at us. Did you also have any idea that a cemented-into-the-ground street sign will not move even a centimeter no matter how much you or a good samaritan pedestrian pull on it? I also didn’t know that street signs have different thicknesses. I think I know which thickness the City of Emeryville purchased.  (Bloggers note: When searching for an image to use for the above anecdote, I searched under “stuck in the mud.” Countless images of scantily clad women with cars stuck up to their tires in the mud turned up. WTF? What is that all about?)

This was also the first time we were parking anywhere other than a parking lot. As you probably know, streets are contoured so that when it rains, the water runs into the gutters. This slight grade had a magical effect on our truck. The fridges wouldn’t stay closed, the steam table and cold prep table wouldn’t stay open, bread was sliding off the cutting board, our cookies migrated toward the front of the cookie sheet (and each other), and so many more fun surprises.

We had a great couple of opening days. And then….(cricket cricket). This was on the heels of our realization that we had no place to park on Thursdays in Emeryville. Never mind that it was only our third day and no one really knew who were. It was still anti-climactic.

Then there was the day we ran out of watercress but still had plenty of short ribs (and hungry customers). Since we were literally 2 blocks from our kitchen, I ran back to get more cress. In front of a bunch of guys waiting patiently for their sandwiches. Wearing cowboy boots and a shirt my daughter would object to as having too much, um, “seepage.” Oy.

Yesterday, I had an experience I can honestly say was a first in my 22 years as a vegetarian. I told Suzanne I would pull the pork (guffaw) and grabbed some tongs. She took one look at the tool in my hand (snicker) and told me there was too much meat and not enough time; I’d need to get my hands dirty (hee hee). I found that I am pretty good at pulling the pork though (and that joke will never ever get old).

Well, now I’ve devolved into adolescent humor and innuendo which is always a sign that it’s time for me to wrap things up. So, here it is, the sweetness: You – our customers. See, we knew our sandwiches were good and that people would respond positively but nothing prepared us for your energy, enthusiasm and encouragement. Or the afterglow of your reviews. That some of our customers are even reading our blog is, well, kind of shocking to me. One guy recently remarked that he knew Suzanne’s name because I use it all over the blog but he didn’t know mine ‘cuz I never introduce myself. While I thought of all of these snappy responses about how I like to be mysterious, keep a “no-strings” kind of attitude, the reality is this: I never expected anyone to read our blog, besides my mom and a handful of friends, and well, they already know my name. Having some of you call out the blog in your reviews? A definite first. I think I might cry now.

We’ve had a fairly charmed beginning, as some of you know. We found this one-of-a-kind truck that has a nicer kitchen than the one in my house. We bought it from a guy who is letting us pay him off, over time, with no interest. Our truck renovation was on-time and pretty much flawless. We had the wood lovingly restored by a friend who made our truck absolutely gorgeous (contact us if you want his info – he’s a woodworking genius). An endlessly talented friend designed our first and second logo, photographed all of our food and is creating our website. The owner of our kitchen space is totally fired up about our business, is putting in a designated electrical outlet for our truck and has basically adopted us. The biggest frustration we had was having to wait one week to hear back from the local police station to get our final inspection. We’ve had a lot of wind in our sails.

Well today, we found ourselves windbound. This shouldn’t be a surprise. When I set this blog up, I chose “frustrations” as one of our categories. With the exception of that little problem with our name, I’ve not had to use the “f” tag. Until now. We had this plan to get our feet wet in Emeryville and vend there a few times a week through September. Didn’t seem like a bad plan at the time. Well, have you been to Emeryville lately? There are lots of trucks! And there are limited places to park. Between keeping the legal distance from the bricks and mortar restaurants, respecting the existing truck “schedule,” and avoiding the Thursday Farm Market altogether, there’s not that many options left. Sure, we could ignore the ordinance and pull up across the street from, say, a cafe that sell sandwiches. But we don’t want to engender bad feelings from the business community that already feels under siege. We could cop a “hey we parked in this spot before you arrived so now you have to find some other place” attitude. But having a food truck is already hard – why make it more difficult by having the other truck owners hate us from Day 1? We could park by the Farm Market and benefit from (or poach, depending on who you ask) their customer base. But most of the food vendors are local restaurants and, well, they’re the ones who call the police when they think you’ve parked too close to their establishment. Throw into this mix all of the friggin’ red you-can’t-park-here zones and well…We spent all of yesterday trying to secure a place to park on Friday after we realized that Thursday just wasn’t going to happen.

Yeah, that pretty much sums it up.

Sigh.

What I really want is to park somewhere over near Watergate Towers. Have you been over there? It’s like a food wasteland. There’s a chain restaurant that I won’t impugn but I would cross the highway rather than eat there. And there’s a deli and a market. For this huge office complex. If we could just get invited to park over there once a week, we’d be over the moon.

In fact, we would like to find a bunch of private properties where we can park our groovy blue truck.

So, friends, do you know anyone at a local company with a PARKING LOT that might like to give their employees access to our ridiculously delicious sandwiches? Any contacts you have would save us some steps, giving us more time in the kitchen. We’d happily entertain any location. You can either post below or e-mail us at info@ebbettsgoodtogo.com

We’ll name a sandwich after anyone whose lead helps us find a successful new location.