I am not terribly abreast on the street vendor movement in Seattle, so when Brett proposed to me that we check out the “Mobile Chowdown” on Friday, my interest was peaked. “Mobile Chowdown” was to be a convention of the most popular street vendors in the Seattle area including Marination, Skillet and Maximus Minimus (to name a few). These vendors would be convening on Saturday in a random Interbay parking lot between 11:30 and 3:30. Unbeknownst to me, this event was going to be quite the extravaganza.
Rousing at a whopping noon on Saturday, I was latently excited to partake of this experience and had absolutely no idea what to expect. Since we would effectively be eating lunch within what I was assuming to be 30 minutes, I skipped my indispensable morning coffee and set straight to primping for the public.
We lazily strolled to the car, piled in and made our way down 15th Avenue toward Interbay—a burgeoning neighborhood which is still predominantly industrial. A few blocks before the main turnoff, traffic came to a standstill and I was in denial that this could have anything to do with our plans. I was sorely mistaken. With traffic moving at a snail’s pace, Brett and I stared transfixed at the hullabaloo of what looked to be a throng of one thousand hungry people milling around a concrete parking lot. Interlopers sidled to their cars and sat on their hoods whilst eating procured street fare, dashing my hopes that perhaps a convenient spot would make itself available. Five blocks later, I turned into a derelict mill’s parking lot which was cut into the side of a hill. Having no alternative and my stomach beginning to growl, I parked the car at a perilous 45 degree angle sideways.
The prospect of a BBQ pork slider became increasingly more enticing to me as Brett and I began our pilgrimage toward the event. What I saw as I approached the Airstreams at once befuddled, confounded, and intrigued me: Children sat on the pavement mashing ice cream into their mouths; senior citizens sat in portable stadium seats and considered their hot dogs; and hipsters bartered their Kalbi Beef Tacos for a friend’s gourmet burger dressed with bacon jam. For being a dreary Seattle afternoon, this shoddy lot was surprisingly engulfed in positive energy.
Ready to begin the journey toward deliciousness, I wove in and out of the crowd, trying to find the end of the queue for Maximus Minimus. Instead, each vendor’s queue bled into the others, resulting in a convoluted mosh pit of humanity. The event turned out to be a guessing game and we all relied upon each other to fall into the proper (hopefully) place. In this instance, the blind were definitely leading the blind. Brett and I eventually assumed our position about a football field’s distance away from the endgame.
Twenty minutes passed and our headway was nominal. What was relatively comforting was that the line did continue to grow behind us, including people who were also hoping to partake of BBQ from the famed Maximus Minimus. For working stiffs like me, swinging by random downtown spots where these vendors perch themselves during my lunch hour is an unattainable luxury… so I had no choice but to wait.
Another fifteen minutes passed and I became the fork in our queue. Confused Russians wandered in behind me, dashing the hopes of the 50 or so potential patrons behind Brett, who was determined to remain in his spot. Brett proposed that perhaps we forfeit and leave to enjoy a pleasant brunch at Anita’s Creperie—but I was indignant. My mind toiled with thoughts that I could be at my Bikram practice right now or I could conquer the massive mound of ironing which awaited me. However, I refused to allow the past 35 minutes to be for naught.
Our wait became excruciating. As we slowly approached the Mecca, people would stroll by with their spoils in hand, the bouquet of delicious aromas wafting toward me. Those smug jerks, I thought to myself, no longer enjoying the adventure of this wait and the allure of what I was about to eat. Earlier on, I had scoffed at people who would procure hot dogs to munch on whilst they waited for their desired food. At this point, I was jealous and wished I had considered the same.
Jeers issued forth from the front of the Marination queue as the hoi polloi was told that the Kalbi beef tacos were no more. I had to laugh to myself that this was such a big deal. On the other side of the coin, if I were to reach my destination after 90 minutes only to be told that what I was intending to have was no longer available…no one would be safe. I was increasingly ornery and famished (the two go hand in hand) and felt like stomping my feet around like a toddler in protest.
As we neared the epicenter, we were accosted by hiply bespectacled politicians who were using this event as their election platform. When asked if we were Seattle voters by one of the aforementioned folks, I, too dismal to speak, allowed Brett to cleverly respond: we’re from out of town. Dodging this bullet I quickly caught another one in my chest….
We lazily strolled to the car, piled in and made our way down 15th Avenue toward Interbay—a burgeoning neighborhood which is still predominantly industrial. A few blocks before the main turnoff, traffic came to a standstill and I was in denial that this could have anything to do with our plans. I was sorely mistaken. With traffic moving at a snail’s pace, Brett and I stared transfixed at the hullabaloo of what looked to be a throng of one thousand hungry people milling around a concrete parking lot. Interlopers sidled to their cars and sat on their hoods whilst eating procured street fare, dashing my hopes that perhaps a convenient spot would make itself available. Five blocks later, I turned into a derelict mill’s parking lot which was cut into the side of a hill. Having no alternative and my stomach beginning to growl, I parked the car at a perilous 45 degree angle sideways.
The prospect of a BBQ pork slider became increasingly more enticing to me as Brett and I began our pilgrimage toward the event. What I saw as I approached the Airstreams at once befuddled, confounded, and intrigued me: Children sat on the pavement mashing ice cream into their mouths; senior citizens sat in portable stadium seats and considered their hot dogs; and hipsters bartered their Kalbi Beef Tacos for a friend’s gourmet burger dressed with bacon jam. For being a dreary Seattle afternoon, this shoddy lot was surprisingly engulfed in positive energy.
Ready to begin the journey toward deliciousness, I wove in and out of the crowd, trying to find the end of the queue for Maximus Minimus. Instead, each vendor’s queue bled into the others, resulting in a convoluted mosh pit of humanity. The event turned out to be a guessing game and we all relied upon each other to fall into the proper (hopefully) place. In this instance, the blind were definitely leading the blind. Brett and I eventually assumed our position about a football field’s distance away from the endgame.
Twenty minutes passed and our headway was nominal. What was relatively comforting was that the line did continue to grow behind us, including people who were also hoping to partake of BBQ from the famed Maximus Minimus. For working stiffs like me, swinging by random downtown spots where these vendors perch themselves during my lunch hour is an unattainable luxury… so I had no choice but to wait.
Another fifteen minutes passed and I became the fork in our queue. Confused Russians wandered in behind me, dashing the hopes of the 50 or so potential patrons behind Brett, who was determined to remain in his spot. Brett proposed that perhaps we forfeit and leave to enjoy a pleasant brunch at Anita’s Creperie—but I was indignant. My mind toiled with thoughts that I could be at my Bikram practice right now or I could conquer the massive mound of ironing which awaited me. However, I refused to allow the past 35 minutes to be for naught.
Our wait became excruciating. As we slowly approached the Mecca, people would stroll by with their spoils in hand, the bouquet of delicious aromas wafting toward me. Those smug jerks, I thought to myself, no longer enjoying the adventure of this wait and the allure of what I was about to eat. Earlier on, I had scoffed at people who would procure hot dogs to munch on whilst they waited for their desired food. At this point, I was jealous and wished I had considered the same.
Jeers issued forth from the front of the Marination queue as the hoi polloi was told that the Kalbi beef tacos were no more. I had to laugh to myself that this was such a big deal. On the other side of the coin, if I were to reach my destination after 90 minutes only to be told that what I was intending to have was no longer available…no one would be safe. I was increasingly ornery and famished (the two go hand in hand) and felt like stomping my feet around like a toddler in protest.
As we neared the epicenter, we were accosted by hiply bespectacled politicians who were using this event as their election platform. When asked if we were Seattle voters by one of the aforementioned folks, I, too dismal to speak, allowed Brett to cleverly respond: we’re from out of town. Dodging this bullet I quickly caught another one in my chest….
I happened to overhear and then saw with my own eyes that the generously portioned buns encasing Maximus Minimus BBQ had visibly shrunk from a five inch diameter to two inches. No matter, we would simply order two a piece instead of one. There must be some sort of discount, right? Sadly, there was not.
Eighty minutes passed and there were three people in front of us. I was inconsolably starving by this point. Finally, our time had come and I practically spat out my order: two Maximus sliders (Maximus is spicy, Minimus is sweet and tangy) with heat (to make it even spicier) and Beecher’s cheese on top, Minimus coleslaw, and a large side of fryer-fresh veggie chips. Pondering which home-made beverage to quaff, I was hoping for their Ginger Lemonade of which they were, of course, out. Instead, I settled for Hibiscus Nectar, which looked suspiciously sanguine. Brett ordered two Maximus sliders sans heat and cheese, with small sides of coleslaw and chips.
I realized quickly that just because we had placed our order did not mean we would be receiving our food straight away. We were handed cups with ice to procure our libations, which came from a tap sticking right out of the porcine shaped Airstream. Despite my initial reservations, the Hibiscus nectar was actually delicious! I may have found sewer water to be tasty at that point as well, such was my thirst. It was tart, wholesome and not too terribly sweet. Nursing my beverage as though it were a bottle, I practically ripped our food out of the vendor’s hands when he called our number. Unfortunately, napkins were not to be found anywhere, so after bundling up our bounty; we all but sprinted to the car.
Too dazed to tolerate the ten minute drive home, I suggested we enjoy lunch in our parked car. I was concerned as we approached the dubious lot that the vehicle would have either been towed or have tipped over and rolled to the bottom. Fortunately, it was safe. We negotiated our way cautiously inside, cracked the windows and dug in.
Eighty minutes passed and there were three people in front of us. I was inconsolably starving by this point. Finally, our time had come and I practically spat out my order: two Maximus sliders (Maximus is spicy, Minimus is sweet and tangy) with heat (to make it even spicier) and Beecher’s cheese on top, Minimus coleslaw, and a large side of fryer-fresh veggie chips. Pondering which home-made beverage to quaff, I was hoping for their Ginger Lemonade of which they were, of course, out. Instead, I settled for Hibiscus Nectar, which looked suspiciously sanguine. Brett ordered two Maximus sliders sans heat and cheese, with small sides of coleslaw and chips.
I realized quickly that just because we had placed our order did not mean we would be receiving our food straight away. We were handed cups with ice to procure our libations, which came from a tap sticking right out of the porcine shaped Airstream. Despite my initial reservations, the Hibiscus nectar was actually delicious! I may have found sewer water to be tasty at that point as well, such was my thirst. It was tart, wholesome and not too terribly sweet. Nursing my beverage as though it were a bottle, I practically ripped our food out of the vendor’s hands when he called our number. Unfortunately, napkins were not to be found anywhere, so after bundling up our bounty; we all but sprinted to the car.
Too dazed to tolerate the ten minute drive home, I suggested we enjoy lunch in our parked car. I was concerned as we approached the dubious lot that the vehicle would have either been towed or have tipped over and rolled to the bottom. Fortunately, it was safe. We negotiated our way cautiously inside, cracked the windows and dug in.
I truly believe at this point Daniel Boulud could have cooked a five course meal expressly for me and I would have been underwhelmed. I ravenously chewed the fibrous meat as pork oil dripped down my chin. The sandwich was tasty, this I cannot argue. But did it warrant waiting for an hour and a half? I'm not sure. The pork was juicy and delightful-- the bun rustic and hearty. What I was particularly fond of was the coleslaw, which contained cranberries and black sesame seeds. Most importantly, it wasn’t drowning in mayonnaise but rather was briskly tossed with a tangy (healthy) sauce. The veggie chips were delicious—obviously home-made because they were still a bit warm and soggy (in a good way). After being removed from the fryer, these potato, carrot, beet, and bean chips were seasoned to perfection with what could have only been shichimi.
I inhaled my food, barely stopping for a breath while Brett, ever immutable, considered each bite before declaring himself full half way through his first sandwich. By this time it was 2:30, and we had to head home to prepare for dinner at How to Cook a Wolf with his parents a few hours later. At this rate, it was going to be a long day of hedonism.
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