As Brock and I enjoyed our "weekly" salon des bon mots at Spruce, he remarked, "I can't believe no one's racing over here to join us. If we were at Zeitgeist, we'd be inundated."
"I know." My eyes rolled. "It's like they'd rather use a port-o-potty in front of everyone. I'm so uncomfortable there."
Brock agreed. "Seriously. I'm not into the taco out of a Toyota."
He'd made an excellent point. The newest trend in my neighborhood is fashion forward street food. The tamale lady is one thing, with her cooler dragged along the sidewalk from sunrise (where she parks at GhettoGas) to the wee hours into local bars, where I once drunkenly partook of her wares. But now, folks, people who probably loathe our snobby salon des bon mots by the way, line up for the creme brulee cart and a gentleman at a BART station with an "amuse bouche" trolley.
I think this is fantastic, I really do. And God bless anyone who can pay their bills by doing what they love. I'm not wild about a guy with a Radio Flyer and a blow torch making my dairy-based treats, but to each his own. I just think it's interesting that people are standing in line to get a Umbrian charcuterie plate from someone wearing two different shoes.
This could be my risidual guilt for driving to the honkey part of town, sitting on a fabulous dead cow, ordering $5 water and declaring the crystal votive holders "charmingly rustic" instead of soaking in the sustainable, local, small buisness taco out of a Toyota. I feel a little shame in my inability to get excited about a hippie with a hibachi.
But we can still be friends, right? I won't make you sample the most divine duck liver mousse in a licensed and up-to-code fancy restaurant if you don't make me try the vegan meatloaf or Chilean civiche from the back of someone bicycle...*This photo I'm stealing from the very awesome 40 Going On 28, who's almost sold me. Almost.*