The traveling restaurant had parked for the weekend at the old Singapore Bistro space on 19th St. NW for two dinners featuring beers from Flying Dog Brewery.
We checked in on the first of the three floors set up for the event and were given the ground rules: Fill seats from the top down. No table will be served unless it’s fully occupied. In what could very easily have been St. Patrick’s day leftovers, I was handed a green bead necklace and green Solo-style cup to indicate that I’d be grazing off the vegetarian menu.
There was definitely a sort of hipster frat house feeling to the gathering. We sat on folding chairs at folding tables and ate off disposable plates with no utensils in sight. And, of course, there was plenty of beer — one full 12-ounce bottle for each diner, followed by four bottles shared with a “beer buddy.”
Therein lay much of the evening’s novelty for me. Here we got to imbibe with our food truck fare. For most of us, that’s impossible on a workday.
Then again, no one took the pairings too seriously. For a few of the courses, a fedora-wearing host stopped by to explain the rationale behind the selections, but I had a hard time hearing him. No matter.
It was interesting to see what dishes the food trucks came up with to go with the beer. DC Empanadas served everyone a poached pear and brie empanada, a concoction I’d be happy to see added to the truck’s regular roster.
Then the menus diverged for the vegetarians and carnivores, sometimes leading to awkward lag times between when the groups were served.
My husband really enjoyed the thin, crispy crust of his prosciutto and caramelized onion pizza from DC Slices. I like my crusts to not be nearly transparent, but I gave the truck kudos for the flavors on my spinach and caramelized onion pie.
I would have liked my caramelized tofu taco from TaKorean to have been warmed. As usual, I could have eaten the wonderfully sweet corn tortillas on their own. My carnivorous companion wasn’t crazy about his pork taco (not a usual TaKorean offering). I thought the meat was quite moist.
My eyes nearly fell out of my head when I saw the size of my eggplant sandwich from the Rolling Ficelle, after I’d already packed in three courses. It was the only course that made me wish for some plasticware, a fork to salvage the garlic-aioli-spiked vegetables and mozzarella that had breached the soft bread. The chicken salad sandwich for meat eaters tasted bland to me, though my husband pointed out that I’d obviously not gotten a bite with any avocado or lemon aioli.
I bravely dug into Curbside Cupcake’s also generously portioned desserts. I kind of wanted to fight my husband for the entire red velvet cupcake. For the sake of marital bliss, however, we shared it and the accompanying snickerdoodle cupcake.
It was a decadent meal. As I slowly — so many steps! so much beer! — walked out, I realized it was probably for the best that such a combination of dangerous indulgences isn’t an everyday opportunity.