Catering on a food truck!
“Connie, can you make me a bean and cheese burrito?”
“Do you have some of that special salsa?”
“Could I have bacon, lettuce and tomato with mayo and avocado?”
Mom always gave them what they wanted.
My Mom was the cook on La Chiquita. The truck traveled to a certain place at a specific time since that was when a lot of our customers took their breaks. At every stop there was always a customer who wanted their tacos or burritos their way. There already was pre-made food available that was just 10 minutes old. But many customers would still say “Connie, can you make me this?”
They knew Mom wouldn’t charge them extra for these extra requests. And my Mom catered to the customers’ wishes, turning a simple food truck into a catering truck. She had an amazing ability that allowed her to fulfill these customized requests within the short windows of time at each stop before moving onto the next one.
That’s what kept them coming back. Mom’s customized private menu was just like having your own personal chef. Whatever you want, you got it! Something like this hardly exists today, except in your own kitchen.
But this also meant that Mom had to work so much harder to ready the food for each customer. And it wasn’t just a handful. There were so many regulars and so many “make it like this” or “make it like that” requests. But as long as she could do it, Mom did it. Maybe she was afraid of losing those customers? Who knows? But our customers were always certain that with Mom, you get what you want!
I grew up differently. During the weekdays we didn’t sit down as a family to eat dinner. That was very rare…simply because, at the end of each day, our parents would come home with the food that didn’t sell. When they got home, we would always have freshly made food to eat, whether it was a 5-star burrito or a sourdough bacon and egg sandwich.
We were incredibly lucky. We ate some good ass food. We were really blessed. This taco truck business always provided food for us. Imagine the gift; if we don’t sell it, we got to eat it. It was never lost or wasted. Don’t tell my parents, but sometimes we hoped and cheered for a ‘lil bit of food not to sell, just so they could bring it home for us to devour.