Breakfast in Bridgetown

Now UPDATED with pictures of the special at Big Ass Sandwiches.

I am contributing to a food carts book, and this morning I took another run through the introduction, which I am responsible for writing. I am losing track of whether that thing is any damn good or not, but it did feel good to hammer it down to size and work in some editor comments. So I was on a high late this morning.

The “assignment” for the day was to meet Drew Burdick, our amazing photographer, at a couple of carts — the idea being that I eat and describe the food, while he takes pictures of the food and the people who are making it. So I invited my friend Mindie, and we met Drew at Big Ass Sandwiches at 11 a.m.

We got the Breakfast Sandwich, which is two or three fried eggs with sausage or (in our case) bacon in them, on a grilled ciabatta roll, with half a pound of french fries — on the sandwich. I was starving, and I had to (A) watch Lisa and Brian make these things, then (B) stand there holding this steaming football of goodness while Drew took about 4,327 pictures of it. By the time I got to dig in, I was about to chew on his camera, I was so hungry.

Well, that sandwich is just a beast. I mean it, it’s like it’s trying to kill you. It’s also roughly the size of Mindie’s head. And it’s not the biggest thing they have! There’s a Gut Bomb for $7: the usual meat-and-fries Big Ass Sandwich, but with double the meat and double the bechamel cheese sauce. And even THAT isn’t the freakiest thing they have. Apparently you can request specials, and if they go for it, they’ll name the thing for you. Well, we got to see a guy — and it kills me I forgot his name — eat his own special for the first time. It’s called the Pop n Lock Con Puerco. That would be a BAS with two bacon-wrapped, cream-cheese-filled, rolled in corn flakes and DEEP FRIED JALAPENO POPPERS — on the sandwich. (Here’s a picture) Lisa, as she handed it to him (and as Drew took his picture with it) basically told him it was going to kill him.

I couldn’t stay and watch — not only because I was more than full from half of a breakfast sandwich, but because I couldn’t stand to see a man die at the hands of his own sandwich creation. There’s something Frankensteinian about that.

Besides, we had another food cart to visit — The Frying Scotsman. Yes, after knocking back  all that meat, egg, bread and tater, we had a date with fish and chips! But first Mindie, a native Chicagoan, almost made me crash my car on NW 22nd by screaming “Chicago hot dogs! Chicago hot dogs!” There’s a tiny little cart called The Fried Onion, where two New Yorkers serve Chicago-style hot dogs. (it;s a long story) Naturally, we had to have one of those, and it was darn fine. They didn’t serve Vienna Beef dogs, which disappointed Mindie a little, but their Chicago Red Hots were a good replacement, and the inclusion of celery salt brought it all together for her. She was a happy girl.

Next, it was down the street to the fish and chips cart, which is set back in a little garage next to a framing shop and art gallery. The guy there is a Scotsman, and he’s cooked in Africa and on oil explorations, then married a Portlander, moved here, and opened his cart to try to get momentum for a restaurant. He’s got halibut, haddock, snapper, mahi mahi, cod, and the requisite dry sense of humor. Apparently he was out of haddock for the day, but didn’t mark that on the menu, so when someone said “I’ll have the haddock,” he just said, “No you won’t.”

Drew was in the cart taking pictures and asking questions, and I was sitting there, talking to Mindie, and eating a chocolate chip cookie the hot dog people had given her. (We had food momentum at this point) I was thinking that Drew was pretty much doing my job in there, but there was a food coma settling over me — and this was before I knocked back a butter-soft piece of fried halibut and a dozen or so fries with HP Sauce on them.

At that point, I really was done — except that Mindie was making noises about the yogurt shop up the street. I assumed she meant something about tomorrow, but oh no, she had talked herself into some nonsense about bacteria in your stomach helping with digestion … whatever. I’d follow Mindie almost anywhere, and almost anybody for frozen yogurt, so off we waddled down NW 23rd to Bluet Organic Yogurt. Five ounces of honey-flavored yogurt with raspberries later, I was actually weaving down the sidewalk.

I went to Mindie’s office to get some postcards for her success coaching business, and it took me a few minutes to talk myself out of her chair. Now I’m sitting at my desk with my belt and pants button undone. I think I gained seven pounds between 11 and 2 today. I don’t need to eat again until Thursday. But hey, it’s all about my art, right? There must be research. My readers demand it.

And Mindie just sent me this email:

that was SO fun…

thanks again for the invite.

I’m in food coma……..

Exactly.