Undead L.A. 1

by Sagliani, Devan

  At first they parked in front of nightclubs, giving away samples to bouncers. Soon food bloggers caught on to the novelty and began singing the praises of Kogi BBQ all over the web. That led to articles in LA Weekly, The New York Times, The Wall Street Journal, Newsweek, and more. Choi was branded as a chef messiah on the forefront of new flavors and styles. One journalist referred to him as a “post-Abstract Expressionist food artist” while another hailed him as the Banksy of the foodie scene, referencing his Dadaist tweets. His Twitter timeline grew so popular, in fact, he was offered a book deal from Random House.

  Soon more trucks were added, named by color code, and the start of an empire was now cemented. Beyond just inspiring the entire food truck craze across the nation, Choi also managed to quietly open several restaurants on the west side, including Chego and A-Frame. His food, like the man himself, was a wild interpretation of traditional and street – edible graffiti that resonated with the melting pot of Los Angeles and its thriving immigrant culture. The cuisine was a spoken word poem on the transcendence of racial boundaries and stereotypes, painted in the vivid flavors of the Caribbean, the Far East, and Latin America.

  I sat up nearly all night thinking about what he'd done and what it meant for a woman like me.

  “If he could do it,” I said, watching the sunrise out the kitchen window as I prepared chorizo for my father’s breakfast, “then so can I.”

  A plan was forming, the kind of plan I could only share with my blood. I set up a meeting with Manny later that day and laid it all out. I would need an investment to get rolling, and he knew the kind of people who could float us seed money. At first he took some convincing.

  “Think about it,” I ranted as he violently shook his head back and forth like he was trying to clear an Etch-A-Sketch with permanent grooves already carved into it. It was obvious he thought even the mere suggestion of asking White Fence for money to fund my new food truck was wildly inappropriate.

  “Out of the question!”

  “All this time they've been charging for rent or protection or whatever. They are on the wrong side of the law, which means they are always in danger. This is a chance for them to take some of those ill gotten gains and put them into something that could legally earn money.”

  “You don't understand, mi hermana,” he said, his head still lolling back and forth in disbelief. “They don't like taking risks.”

  “This isn't a risk,” I lied. “The Wall Street Journal has written articles about the profitability of their trucks. Besides, it presents a way for them to launder their dirty money into a legitimate business. I think this is exactly the kind of thing they're looking for. If you bring it to them, imagine how they will reward you.”

  That made him stop and think. A week later we had the funding.

  “I don't know what you told them,” I said, as Manny handed me the six-figure check, “but thank you, Manny. You won't regret it.”

  “I’d better not,” he said, sounding tired. “Because it's on both our asses if this thing fails.”

  “So what? Now you don't think I can do it?” Fire raged in my eyes at the suggestion that I wasn't going to be able to pull it off.

  “I vouched for you. Do you know what that means?”

  “I know what it means. I get it.”

  “You better. I need this to succeed as much as you do. Rosario is pregnant.”

  “What? My kid sister is pregnant and this is how I find out I'm going to be an aunt? Why wouldn't she tell me herself?”

  “She plans on telling you,” he argued, raising his hands up in front of him. “We just wanted to be sure it would take. We already lost one baby. We didn't want to get anyone’s hopes up until we knew it was for real.”

  “What? When did you lose a baby?”

  “Right before the wedding,” he said, not making eye contact anymore.

  “Does my father know?”

  “Fuck no,” Manny laughed. “What do you think I am? Loco? Que me mataría si supiera! He'd kill me if he knew that I touched his youngest daughter before we were married, much less knocked her up!”

  “Yeah,” I said darkly. “Gang affiliation or not, he would certainly try.”

  “He never has to know,” Manny calmly said. “Just like he never has to know about you going to the criminal underworld to finance your dreams. Trust is a two way street, Pilar. I trust you. I put my life and my family’s life on the line for you. Now it's time you learned to trust me back.”

  I felt guilt shoot through me, followed by a hot flash of anger. My face burned with all the things I wished I could say, but knew better.

  “I'm not going to fail,” I said at last, swallowing my pride. “We're not going to fail.”

  “I hope not,” he said with a shrug. “I like breathing. I've gotten used to it. One more thing…”

  “What?”

  “Try to act surprised when Rosario gives you the news.”

  *** *** ***

  Back in school I found I had a knack for sweets. Like I said before, I was always being placed in charge of the pastries and desserts, and with good reason. I could turn almost anything into a confectionery delight that would dazzle even the most jaded taste buds. It was a skill that was left over from the days I spent as a child baking with my abuelita, a skill that lay dormant all these years while I cut limes and onion and cilantro and battered the shrimp for the fryer. It came back with a vengeance when I decided to take my dreams out on the road.

  I named my first truck Sugar Rush. It was bigger than the one my father had toiled in his whole life, and I carried a whole lot more. In addition to a literal wall of sweets featuring every type of chocolate bar, gummy treat, lollipop, or sour fizzing powder you'd ever dream of buying at a candy emporium, I also trafficked in daily baked specials. My menu varied between red velvet cupcakes and rum-spiked S'mores to Pan de Maiz con Queso and Nutella-filled Conchas. I had six original flavors of ice cream that I served in fresh pressed waffle cones, cotton candy spun from scratch, and hot and fresh truffle oil kettle corn. I even offered varieties of specialty Mexican candies and homemade paletas – including mango con chile, my personal favorite as a little girl, in honor of my fathers' beloved Sayulita.

  I bought a fancy smartphone and set up a Twitter account for the truck that linked to Facebook. I began by hitting the usual spots from Glendale and Burbank to Downtown, then all of the hipster hangouts from Silver Lake to Abbot Kinney in Venice Beach. I parked my truck outside of every popular weed store I could find in between. In a city with over eight hundred legal and illegal medical marijuana dispensaries and no real competition in the munchies department, I began to flourish in no time at all. I hired cute Latina girls in tiny outfits to help out and soon we were drawing crowds. On the few occasions where we ran into trouble with the city, I eagerly bribed my way out. Manny and his friends helped out too, making sure that rival gangs left us alone. Once word got out that we were partners with White Fence no one wanted to mess with us, not even the asshole parking patrol guys. They even took care of a couple of stalkers who developed a fixation with me, forcing one to apologize and making another, well, let's just say disappear.

  After the success of the first truck came the idea to do more. Within less than a year I'd added several new 'roach coaches' to the mix. I took my first step away from the familiar world of sweets with a mix of old Thai flavors blended with Southern American barbeque. I called the truck Cruisin' Thai Fusion. We hired a local graffiti kid to sketch out the artwork, an East-meets-West theme we later applied to the truck. We launched our own site with logos. I snatched up a bright graduate I knew, a Japanese kid with a foodie background just coming out of culinary arts school named Tui, placing him in charge and offering him a percentage. Soon I had him serving up thinly sliced smoked brisket on oversized toasted garlic knot sliders with a basil and sundried tomato spread, crisply wokked veggie strings, topped with fiery hot Thai chilies. We also served a version with sweet pork belly and a remix of the traditional
sweet and sour chicken dish with fried hash sweet potatoes and eggplant. For sides I came up with Srachi shoestring fries with garlic slice toppings and fresh cut green onions. We also had a hot pepper bar right out in front of the truck. You could taste any pepper we carried for free, but if you wanted the remedy to the insatiable burning in your mouth, a kid's portion of ice-cold milk, you had to pay $5 for it. We ran out of milk almost every single day. Soon we were using up more than your average grade school cafeteria. After two weeks of requests we even added a chocolate variety.

  Once my Thai experiment was off the ground and running, I added a truck that sold deep-fried Mexican inspired cuisine with a modern twist, selling everything from chimichangas to flautas to churros and rich chocolate. We called the truck De Nada and equipped it with loud speakers that played a mix of Reggaeton, Dubstep, and Mexican rap, along with the occasional Narco-Ballad. It outsold my other trucks in the first two weeks it was up and running.

  To balance it all out we came up with the idea to make a truck that catered only to white people. We called it Comfort Food. We served chicken potpie, grilled cheese sandwiches with mashed potatoes and gravy, hot tomato soup, tater tots, and meatloaf. While not as popular as the other trucks, it did its fair share of business, enough to keep itself afloat.

  The last idea we'd come up with was called The Hydration Station. Manny and I both contributed equally to its creation, brainstorming new ideas one night while going over receipts. In addition to serving rich Westsiders expensive chilled bottled water and coconut juice drinks, we added a tonic and smoothie bar with our own proprietary blends. They were all made from natural, organic ingredients like kelp and almond milk and cocoa nibs and almonds. We blended in protein mixes that would enhance your natural calm for meditation or give you a burst of creativity or fire you up with all-natural energy. There were edible creams and lotions made out of mint and cucumber, water purifying bottles for women on the go, and yoga mats made from recyclables. We sold hypnotic suggestion CD's with New Age music mixed over it that would help you do everything from lose weight to stop smoking. We even brought out a local psychic to do palm readings by the truck while you waited. The truck proudly boasted on the side that it ran on eco fuel. Little did they know we simply drained the oil from De Nada every day into a strainer, then dumped it into the bio diesel engine of THS. While not the runaway success that either of us imagined it would be, The Hydration Station managed to pull in a steady stream of rich, older white women who quickly became regulars. Everything about the truck, from its soothing lime green exterior to its shaded mister station to its wall of literature on local meditation classes, compost centers, recycling fairs, and past life regression therapy counseling seemed to personally speak to them. And it earned us a positive reputation as a company who cared about the environment.

  Suddenly I wasn't just a shrewd saleswoman hopping on the food truck trend bandwagon and manipulating it for my own ends. I was spiritual and my business was my mission to cleanse the world, or at least that's what my new gal pals fed me. I loved every last minute of it! I'd never received so much attention in my life.

  Soon I was being featured on the local news as a hero, a woman thriving in an industry overrun by chauvinistic chefs who ruled the food truck world with an iron grip. I was a liberator and role model for young women everywhere trying to break the glass ceiling. I was held up as an example of what was possible through hard work and struggle. After that the calls came flooding in. CNN and FOX News wanted to do segments on me. PBS was interested in adding me to their 'Women on Top' series they were working on about female entrepreneurs. I was asked to speak at grade schools and take on graduates for placement from my alma mater, Le Cordon Bleu. Investors flocked to me talking about creating a line of frozen foods or opening a restaurant or turning the business into a franchise by setting up new trucks in cities like Portland and Washington D.C. The mayor of Los Angeles gave me the key to the city. The whole time he was shaking my hand, smiling while the cameras rolled, I wondered how he would feel if he knew all the funding came from organized crime.

  I knew I'd really made it when I was asked to be in the coveted VIP section of the Los Angeles City Fall Street Food Fair, also known to those select few it was offered to as the Winners Circle. The planners wanted Sugar Rush as well as two of my other trucks. I could decide which two best-represented Los Angeles. I had to read the letter over and over several times before I believed it was real. I even called the number listed on the masthead to be sure I wasn't being punked in an elaborate prank. It was all too much. I spent weeks pouring over every possible detail from prepping the trucks to hiring the right staff and security to creating new menu items for the event. I even talked Manny into advertising with free shirts and stickers.

  Getting down to the event on opening day was no easy task. They'd shut down several blocks of downtown Los Angeles to host the event like a block party. Admission was a whopping fifty dollars, but you still had to wait in line at each truck and pay for what you ordered. The flier for the event promised over fifty famous food trucks, including the one that served gourmet grilled cheese with real flakes of edible gold melted into it. I also saw that the event would feature Hawaiian ice, Banh Mi sandwiches, fried chicken, crepes, gyros, gourmet gazpacho, and everything in between. Don Chow, one of my favorite trucks that served Mexican and Asian fusion, would sit next to the Tornado Potato, a wildly popular truck that served a single fried potato wound around a skewer and sold for nearly eight dollars. They'd become a staple at events the LA Weekly hosted. You couldn't make it through the crowd without seeing a half-dozen people snacking on their edible spud art.

  There was even a knockoff of my beloved Sugar Rush invited to the party, since rolling sweet shacks were in such short supply in the city. I wasn't worried though. They didn't have a tenth of our selection or hot girls in skimpy outfits, and I knew that if they started cutting into our sales for the day that my benefactors would find a way to make them leave – willingly or otherwise. Business was war. I no longer fooled myself into thinking otherwise.

  Kogi BBQ would be there, of course, and there would also be a row at the edges of fast food themed food trucks. Not content to sit back and watch a bunch of brash young upstarts slice away at their profits, companies like Jack in the Box and Burger King had rolled out massive road warriors of their own. They used the vehicles more as roving billboards, hitting up concerts and events and handing out free samples of their food. In-N-Out Burger had been doing something similar for years, selling their coveted burgers and fries at a loss for a quarter apiece to remind consumers of their one of a kind taste. Consumers came looking for something exotic, something to tantalize their taste buds and make lunch or dinner exciting again. The fast food people knew they didn't stand a chance of selling the same old stuff. They just wanted to be invited to the party. After years of winning by overkill they were hiring young graduates with degrees in social marketing and communications, hoping to ride the new trends. Like aging parents trying to look cool to their kid’s friends, they mostly ended up succeeding in embarrassing themselves more than anything. They were never a real threat any more than the trucks were a threat to them. Seeing them at the festival just made me feel, well, kinda sad for some reason.

  In order to justify the hefty price of admission they'd racked up a list of local bands to perform just for the pleasure of seeing their name on the flier and having a built-in crowd. Once they'd filled those slots, they hired a few one-hit wonders to do three or four sets throughout the day. That night when the sun went down the Red Hot Chili Peppers were slated to play during a free laser light show.

  The news that one of L.A.'s most famous and beloved bands was performing had caught the attention of the radio stations, who began to promote the event nonstop and sent their own people to cover the event. Throngs of fans came early to pack the streets, making traffic nearly unbearable on the way in.

  To make matters worse there was a huge trial happening nearby in
the downtown courthouse. Some sports hero had been accused of murdering a big-breasted blonde porn star and the media had gone crazy. It was believed the jury would return a verdict later that day. Every news and entertainment reporter in town had a camp set up ready to capture it, eager to spin the verdict the minute it hit. The case had drawn international attention, especially after several celebrities were embroiled. It came to light during the defense’s testimony that she used to do high-end escorting on the side with half of the stars in Hollywood.

  I practically had to drive over a small mob while trying to get Sugar Rush past the courthouse as crowds of people swept up in the media sensationalism swarmed like locusts against the red light, eagerly awaiting word of their hero’s fate. And as if that wasn't enough the Grammy's were being held nearby later that night, which meant there were security sweeps already under way to prevent terrorism, resulting in blocked streets and further delays. There was also a marijuana-slash-tattoo convention being held down by the Staples Center, but I figured they would only help our cause.

  By the time I pulled in I was over two hours late. My other trucks were already up and ready for business. My Sugar Rush girls looked annoyed at having to wait for me, but quickly changed their tune when I put them to work setting up shop. When they were finished I rewarded them by letting them hand out samples and stickers, which meant they got to wander around and flirt with cute guys and see all the trucks. Manny laughed as he saw them go.