The Gooch

in a food truck state of mind

The spins were gone, but I still felt dizzy. Loud and messy memories from the night before flashed through my pounding head. My eyelids felt puffy as I pulled them apart to see the last bites of a hot dog, covered in mac ‘n’ cheese and chili, beside me in bed.

Waking up dreadfully hungover next to half-eaten food truck fare was not an infrequent occurrence when I was 19 years old.

The Gooch was a food truck that kept me alive through my tumultuous college experience, parked directly outside the bar most lenient with fake IDs (RIP The Sip), serving hot comfort food for low prices late into the night.

As I had no photographic evidence of The Gooch, I put out an open call on my socials—thank you, Jill!

A cup of mac ‘n’ cheese was $2. Chili Mac was $3. The famous Gooch, a hot dog topped with mac ‘n’ cheese and chili, was $5. Rarely did I have five whole dollars to my name on a Saturday night. I frequented the Mac Cup.

Food trucks are proof that you don’t need roots to build a little world around you. But that was not a reality I understood at 19.

The face of a girl who will bring a hot dog into bed.

College was a tough time for me. All my relationships were toxic. (I am not ignorant of the common denominator.) I had friends to drink with, smoke with, split a case with, but I didn’t have friends to talk to. I had few avenues for comfort.

Partying brought me comfort. Dancing brought me comfort. Getting so drunk that I didn’t care what I ate brought me comfort—enter, The Gooch.

I gave up trying to make connections in college. I was content with graduating, friendless and bloated, and becoming so immediately successful wherever I went that I would never look back.

I decided my life would start then.

Four years after graduation, I am still living with my family. It is my greatest source of shame.

But now my friends have whole lives around me; apartments they rent, homes they own, living rooms and kitchens they don’t share. They drop eye contact when I explain why I don’t have my own place.

All my friends have opened beautiful and successful restaurants, with grand front doors and welcoming dining rooms and regulars who know their names.

I am still a food truck, parked wherever someone will let me, staying only until my next shiny opportunity.

It doesn’t sound so bad when I say it like that. Because I love food trucks.

Food trucks are quick comfort, cheap enough to keep you fed, weird enough to surprise you, and crowded enough to make you feel part of something.

I lived in Brooklyn for a summer, sleeping in my buddy's living room, while I completed an internship.

86th and 5th, The Bottom Of Brooklyn.

I found the best falafel parked on a corner at the bottom of Bay Ridge. The men in the halal truck never charged me when I asked for extra falafel on my platter, and I always tipped an extra dollar. It was an unspoken little deal we had, it made me feel included in a well-loved neighborhood.

My boyfriend and I went to a food truck corral last Thursday. I got my first big lemonade. I had never been allowed one as a kid, and never wanted one as an adult. Ethan loves small pleasures. His zest for life is my favorite thing about him. He insisted.

Reminds me of a college bar that fresh-squeezed lemons for their vodka lemonade drinking challenge. Which I won once!

I spotted Meat + Mac bowls from a Kaleidoscope Cafe pop-up. Ethan, jealous of my pick, got the same thing, despite our agreement to order different dishes to share, so we wouldn’t blow our appetites.

Ethan and I went to the same college at the same time, but didn’t know each other then. (Invisible string, huh?) We talked about The Gooch, reminiscing on the paper cups of cheese and meat we devoured back then, post-bar. As hard as I try, I couldn’t recall the textures and tastes of The Gooch. Only that I loved it.

Kaleidoscope Cafe satisfied that enigmatic craving. My pulled pork sagged under its own juices, soaking into the mac ‘n’ cheese to my pleasure. The meat was squishier than the pasta shells, which squirted with bursts of gooey cheese at the first bite.

10/10. Thank you, Kaleidoscope Cafe! Their full barbecue restaurant is in Saratoga.

I was full before I finished, and he was full after finishing his and the rest of mine.

It was a great date night. Ethan and I were able to try food we wouldn’t have if we had sat at a restaurant. Walking around the food trucks allowed us to experiment. I loved the variety, the opportunity, the lack of commitment.

In college, The Gooch was something cheap and convenient, exactly where I needed it to be. In Brooklyn, the food truck made me feel a part of the community. Last Thursday, I was reminded of the great and plentiful opportunities I have ahead of me.

It’s almost time to move this food truck that is my life.

We want to move to South Carolina. (Or maybe Arizona? How about Boston? Have you ever been to Georgia?) We want to see the world, meet new people, and try new foods.

But sometimes I yearn for the atmosphere, the complete menu, and the convenient restrooms of a restaurant. I yearn for a home. I’ll have it one day. I’m just not ready. I am still in a food truck state of mind. There are so many places I want to park.

I have been made aware that it was never called The Gooch. Rather, Gooch’s. Add it to the list of misinterpretations I took for fact at 19 years old. Here’s another fallacy of my youth—life doesn’t start until you leave, and never look back.

This is life. Going to a food truck corral with the love of my life, that’s life. Living in Brooklyn for a summer, that’s life, too. Waking up dizzy and embarrassed beside a half-eaten hot dog was also life.

This pic should be in a newspaper. Thank you, Jill!

I love you from my head tomatoes,

Gareth