Food Truck Follies

My dear step-daughter Hanna called this evening. She called from the confines of a Toronto food truck.

She works in that food truck. She works in that food truck a year after graduating from York University with a Sociology degree.

Who says a Soc degree is a dead end?

Her boss Hoonan the Iranian runs a fleet of food trucks in Toronto. I think there's at least three in the fleet by now. Quite a lot of the time Hoonan's trucks require a tow to their destination.

I've always thought that makes them glorified hot-dog carts instead of "food trucks," but no matter.

The trucks all have very clever names.

The Rooster.

The Fig Leaf.

The Mustache.

Hoonan's employees just know them as Death Trap One, Death Trap Two, etc...

Today Hanna's truck apparently snagged a spot near Roy Thomson Hall.

It's almost 30 degrees Celsius outside; I shudder to think what the temperature is inside the food truck.

Hanna must be baked half to death!

But the reason she called wasn't because she's baked half to death. No, she called because she's worried about her Muslim assistant who is observing Ramadan. The poor kid doesn't even allow himself a drink of water during a ten hour shift in Death Trap One.

Hanna feels major guilt pangs for guzzling water in front of him all day long.

All I can say to Hanna is this; when you're trapped in a 45 C food truck for a ten hour shift during Ramadan, just be thankful you're a Jew and not a Muslim!


Thirty years ago we used to attend the Toronto Symphony on a semi-regular basis. We'd park under RTH and walk down the street to Meyer's Deli for a nice dinner.

I don't recall ever seeing a food truck in the neighbourhood.

Nooman the Iranian pops boffo idea for new fast food brand

So the other day my Jewish step-daughter gets a call from her employer, Nooman (no relation) the Iranian, who had a sudden inspiration re: the name for the latest decrepit food truck he has added to his fleet.

Nooman buys these old food trucks and they appear with frightening regularity at events large and small everywhere from the GTA to the Niagara region. Frightening because they are so decrepit that they are often towed to their daily assignments, which in my book would make them food trailers rather than food trucks.

Not that such a trifle would slow down Nooman and his burgeoning food-truck empire. The latest addition to his fleet is aimed at the fried chicken crowd. He's got a brainwave about how to brand it. We got the news in a phone call on the first day of Hanukkah, also known as "Christmas eve" to the other half of my family.

Welcome to "Chuck it Up," mobile fried chicken for the masses!

My kid was stunned. What the fuck? Can he be serious?

"Chuck it up," Nooman reiterates. "Is that brilliant or what? I copyright that! That is so brilliant!"

She hangs up the phone and tells us the story. We are overcome with gales of laughter. Hardee-har-har and hahahahaha....

How can Nooman be so retarded?

We're still mopping tears from our eyes when she suddenly exclaims "Oh my God!... chuck it up? I think he meant 'cluck' it up!"

Nooman is an ESL kinda guy and does most of his communication in Farsi. He's made a simple mistake; luckily we were able to head him off at the pass. He has in fact registered his new business as Cluck it Up.

Not Chuck it Up.

Close call...