The Food Truck Revolution (And Why Harold's Wrong)

Harold Benchley III has written, elsewhere on this very page, that food trucks are "a menace." He objects to the standing. He objects to the crowds. He objects to eating from cardboard. Harold has many objections.

Harold is wrong.

What Harold Doesn't Understand

The food truck is the great equalizer of the culinary world. It strips away everything except the food itself. No chandeliers. No tablecloths. No waiters asking about your wine preference. Just a cook, a window, and a plate.

And that plate? That plate can be extraordinary.

The best meal I had last summer on Nantucket—and I eat professionally, so this means something—came from a truck. Grilled fish tacos with mango salsa and a cilantro-lime crema that I'm still dreaming about. Eaten standing up, with a plastic fork, watching the sunset over the harbor.

Harold's best meal last summer? I'd wager it was the same scallops he's been ordering since 1974. At the same restaurant. In the same seat.

That's not dining. That's habit.

The Case FOR Standing

Harold believes that dining requires sitting. I disagree. Some of the best food cultures in the world—street food in Bangkok, tacos in Mexico City, yakitori in Tokyo—are built on standing and eating. You eat, you move on, you eat again. It's efficient. It's democratic. It's delicious.

Sitting at a table with tablecloths is lovely. I enjoy it. But pretending it's the only way to experience good food is pretentious nonsense.

What Food Trucks Offer

Access. A food truck can serve excellent food at a fraction of restaurant prices. No overhead. No waitstaff. Just food. This means young chefs can experiment without gambling their life savings on a brick-and-mortar location. This means diners can try things they'd never risk at a $200 dinner.

Creativity. When your entire restaurant is 100 square feet, you focus. You perfect a small menu. You make the best version of three or four things instead of a mediocre version of thirty. The constraints breed creativity.

Community. Those lines Harold complains about? Those are neighbors talking. Friends meeting. Strangers bonding over shared anticipation. The food truck creates community in a way that a reservations-only restaurant simply cannot.

Harold's Real Objection

I've known Harold for thirty years. I know what his real objection is, even if he won't admit it.

Food trucks are new. They're different. They're popular with young people who wear athletic clothes and take photographs of their food. They represent a Nantucket that Harold didn't grow up with, a Nantucket that changes and evolves.

Harold doesn't like change. Harold believes that 1978 was the pinnacle of island civilization and everything since has been decline.

But here's the thing: Nantucket has always changed. The island that Harold's grandparents knew was different from the one his parents knew. The whaling industry died. The tourism industry was born. Restaurants opened that would have seemed radical in their time. Everything is always changing.

Food trucks are just the latest evolution. And they're a good one.

My Recommendation

Go to a food truck. Try something new. Stand in line with the tourists and the locals and the families with sticky-fingered children. Order something you can't pronounce. Eat it on a bench, or a curb, or walking down the street.

It might not be the most elegant dining experience of your life. But it might be the most delicious.

The food trucks are doing God's work. Harold can stay at his club.