The misery of missing your bus, usually by a mere twelve seconds, is a familiar form of pain that many of us have experienced at some point in life. Thus, few expect the sight of an idle bus when you’re not waiting for it. So you can imagine how we get mad when we see that churlish cousin of mass transit- the dessert truck- parked idly around the corner after we’ve spent our weekly budget during lunch break. To better prepare for that unexpected run-in with your favorite food on wheels, here is a short list (from the elusive to the obnoxious) that exemplify the best (and worst) food truck experience in New York City. (Stay tuned for London, Berlin, & more – we know you’re traveling this summer!)
Yes, it can be found–if one cares to pierce through the thorny maze of NYU students and faculty at Astor place, for whom the entire West Village Starbucks empire is somehow not enough. Is the product worth the experience? Who can say.
2. Treats Truck
Cheap and locatable–a utopian setting! But since it’s New York, everyone gets there before you do, no matter who you are, no matter what time of the day. ‘Where the fuck are the dollar cookies at?” is probably the most asked question in the city, short of “Is the L train fucked?“
My mind doesn’t let me believe that there is anyone still alive who can pay for a six-dollar ice cream cone. Therefore, this truck does not exist.
You hear its siren song at night, when you’ve just gotten home from work, and you wonder where it comes from and how it could have possibly thought that this hour is appropriate for making its nightly rounds. Yet such is the MO of the Mister Softee enterprise–always heard or seen, never experienced. Could it be a phantom? But no-a mirage is the materialization of immediate desire – the thing about the Mister Softee truck is that it’s always there when you don’t want it, boasting its impressive menu of antiquated cartoon character popsicles that hasn’t changed since you were six.
Though it may be the most accessible truck in the city, it is also the most paradoxical. This milkshake truck presents one with a delicate choice–chug down a milkshake and then enjoy Art for three hours while suffering from brain freeze, or spend your entire time in the museum obsessing about how good a milkshake is going to taste afterward. No patron of the arts likes to be so bluntly reminded that they prefer softserve to culture. Also, should one make the journey to the Met steps for milkshake alone, one runs the automatic risk of social disgrace. After all, Gossip Girl is probably watching.