Hey there, step right up! Don’t be shy! Allow me to introduce the hottest concept in mobile street cuisine: my new food sedan!
It’s way better than a food truck.
It might be hard for you to believe, but I’ve got every griddle cake you could possibly want in here: flapjacks, waffles, pancakes, crepes, as well as my own personal creations: flapcrepes and panffles! All served from this innovative, environmentally friendly 2002 Ford Taurus I’ve whimsically named “Flatjacks,” because my car is short and has no wheels. I also tried to invent a menu item called a “flatjack,” but it didn’t sit well with one of my taste-testers and her very nice team of doctors at the emergency room.
Would you like a sample? Trust me, it will leave your mouth watering for more of my expensive water.
Sure, I may be a little cramped inside this gold-tone beauty, and I can’t seem to keep my electric griddles level (hey, you try jerry-rigging a countertop onto remarkably cushy bench seating), but you will love my wedge-shaped pancakes. They have a crispy side and a mushy side, perfect for whichever way you like it. And I insist on providing pure maple syrup, not that corn-based abomination peddled by Aunt Jemima. It’s only four ounces, but it’s four ounces of pure Vermont Grade B.
Here, have a coupon. It’s good for one free souvenir cup of water, minus the cost of the water ($12.99, plus tax).
One bite of my amazing fare and you’ll never want to go back to one of those stupid food trucks that litter our city’s loading zones. Honestly, I don’t know why anyone would choose to eat from a decommissioned DHL van in the first place. I mean, I get the appeal: so much room for custom graphics. But would you ever eat at a restaurant that provided the amenities of a food truck? Of course not, because I went into $73,000 of debt trying make that work.
It was a great idea: all the seating was on retaining walls, the servers were disgustingly sweaty, and the aroma of carbon dioxide played nicely against piped-in car horns. Anytime you wanted to order a different type of food, you just got up and went to one of three very tiny restaurants down the street — just like the real food truck experience! You could come back, of course, but there was no guarantee that someone wouldn’t have taken your retaining wall.
I had high hopes for that place, but I guess I didn’t realize how much people truly love open-air curb falafels.
But I do know that you will love my food sedan, this time. My initial experiment foundered pretty quickly when I couldn’t meet the payments on the Tesla. But one more bankruptcy later (another bad idea: food F150), and I have a rock-solid business plan built on great food, low-cost spray-paint, and carnal relations with a Food Network reality-show producer. I’ve got a prime location at the Old Farmer’s Market satellite park-and-walk, and I’m easy to spot with all the swarming gnats. Only a few dozen people have mistaken me for an eccentric real estate agent or independent exterminator.
The best part is, unlike a food truck, I am not engaged in any money-laundering.
So what will it be? The Crepejack? Perfect! Here’s your pre-greased tinfoil. Do you need any more toilet-quality napkins?
Thanks for stopping by! Please spread the word! Tell your friends not to be put off by the sight of me crawling around on all fours and occasionally brushing a skillet with the business end of my very relaxed-fit jeans. Let your neighbors know that there’s not a lot of headroom for theatrically flipping a flapffle, but that I plan on installing a non-stick ceiling soon. Rest assured, my peculiar yeasty smell will eventually dissipate once I can afford an apartment, or when I’m able to get a nicer toddler’s mattress for the trunk. Your coworkers will love it!
And if they don’t, I have a great idea involving a windowless panel van and Uber.