I call it “my food truck.” People tease me, saying “You have a food truck?” I call it mine because I feel like I was the first person I knew to go. I can’t remember my first time, I think I made my friend Hannah meet me. We sat on the curb to eat. I always get the same thing. The beautiful woman who takes my order knows this. She gave me a menu one time to encourage me to try something new, but I haven’t yet.
I tell everyone about my food truck. Or at least, when the subject of good food comes up, I mention it. They’re about to open a brick and mortar restaurant in the strip next to the UPS store on Vann Drive right down from where they park their bright red truck. I hope they’ll still have their bright red truck.
I usually eye flirt with the cook. I find him extremely handsome and I think he thinks I’m pretty cute (or maybe I’m just full of myself).
I tried not to eye flirt too much when I went the other night. I got out of my car and walked shyly up to the window. I walked up as the only girl. There was one man to my front left, one man to my back left and one man next to the window where I needed to order. I asked for the Jalisko Bowl. She said, “Trying something new today?”
It is new, I guess. I normally get the Borukas bowl. I got it the first time because it matches the name of their truck, “Takos Borukas.” The Borukas bowl is rice, cheese, shawarma (which is just a fancy name for chicken that’s roasted on a revolving spit) and three warm tortillas, whereas the Jalisko Bowl has onions, bell peppers and mushrooms. I’m usually not a huge fan of mushrooms, but for some reason when they’re tossed in with chicken and cheese and rice, I’m really okay with it. I have yet to try their tacos, even though they’re less than three dollars and mine is almost ten dollars.
The only thing that is new about the Jalisko Bowl is the mushrooms and vegetables, and Lord knows I need more of those in my diet. I glance at the cook, who glances at me, and we share our usual little flirtatious moment. There is another guy working too. I don’t think I’ve seen him before. Then of course there’s the guy with the big round black glasses who looks like he should be a writer or historian or something.
I’m over by the curb. The guy who was standing by the window has since left. The guy that was to my front left is still standing there. I keep catching him looking at me. Soon though, there is another lady who’s stepped up to the glow of the truck. She has shoulder-length grey hair, a jacket to match, jeans and black flats. She’s grinning with her eyes as she smokes her cigarette in a classy fashion. She seems confident, happy to be alive. Another guy has appeared in front of me. I don’t remember seeing him arrive. He’s doing a little jig. I’m not sure if it’s because he’s cold or if he’s just excited about the food he is about to receive. Then there’s the guy who walked up in his camouflage jacket and camouflage Crocs, looked at the menu and went back to his automobile.
There’s another guy who’s walked up to the window and ordered and has since been walking his dog around the parking lot. He seems a bit nervous, but when he walks back up to pick up his food, Madam Grinning-Eyes asks if she could pet his dog. He nods “yes,” and she bends down. The dog is shaking his whole body in excitement. I wonder what it would be like if humans moved their whole bodies when they were excited.
The cook goes over to the spit, sharpens his butcher knife and shaves off some of the shawarma. I know it’s for me. The finishing touch to my meal.
The fire cooking the meat looks warm. I want to put my hands by it. I glance at the open sign swinging above the pick-up window as the four of them inside the truck move about trying to fulfill everyone’s orders.
Mine is ready.
“You don’t get sauce, right?” she asks me.
I nod yes and say thank you. As I turn to leave, my body tenses in excitement. There’s something about good, warm, freshly made food that just sends a surge of energy through me. I stand by my car door to send a text message. The smell from the food wafts into my nostrils, and I look up at the sky and smile. I guess that was my prayer of thanks.
I hop in my car and head to Starbucks to meet a friend and eat the morsels that are occupying the black plastic bag in my passenger seat. I know it’s about to be a good time. And it is.
You should try it.
Takos Borukas
319 Vann Drive
Jackson, TN 38305
