I’m still plotting my next move with Elevator Girl and have consequently been in a bad mood all week, but still I couldn’t resist talking to this stranger: the guy in a lunch truck outside of work.
In case you’re not from L.A., gourmet lunch trucks are the new hot thing here. Not like the old fashioned turkey-sandwich-in-a-plastic-bag lunch truck of yesteryear, these trucks have things like Fifty Kinds of Chili, Rack of Lamb, Penne Pasta in a Vodka Cream Sauce, or Chipotle Lime Steak Sandwiches. (Side note, how did chipotle become the new hot pepper of choice? Did the Chipotle Growers Association spend a lot of money marketing their pepper? What ever happened to just plain old jalepenos? Bad marketing?)
Anyway, I stopped at the truck outside work yesterday because I couldn’t pass up an opportunity to try an “authentic” Philly cheese steak. I’m not from Philadelphia but I am from Pennsylvania so I’ve had authentic cheese steaks before.
This cheese steak was made with gouda. And you could get it with ribeye, chicken, sliced turkey, or lamb.
I said, “Can I get a regular cheese steak?”
The guy said, “What’s regular? Regular to you may be totally bizarre to me.”
I said, “Steak means beef and cheese means Provolone.”
So he said, “You must be from Philly. Don’t fuck with your cheese steaks, huh?”
I told him my story and he made me my cheese steak. But when I tasted it, I nearly gagged.
“What is this?!”
He said, “I wanted you to try the lamb and goat cheese.”
He completely ignored my order and gave me some bullshit Greek cheese steak.
“I do not want this.” I handed it back.
And then he just looked at me like I was an asshole and said, “Open your mind.” Literally. He literally said, “Open your mind.”
I was so steamed, I said, “How’s this for opening my mind? Fuck you!”
And I stormed off. I went to the mall and got a hamburger.