Wet Hot(Dog) American Summer

Do you want fries with that?

I’m obsessed with the idea of being different. Just the idea of it. The notion that I’m not like other girls. I did the dive team instead of the swim team. I did broadway jazz instead of ballet. I was consistently sent to the principal’s office in hebrew school. I had gold sparkly Uggs when everyone else had brown ones. (This was a huge mistake but came to define a period of my life.) While most teens were having their first kisses and grinding at bat mitzvah’s, I was talking to someone’s aunt about Gilda Radner. 

I know that you’re not supposed to try to be different, you’re supposed to just be yourself, but I grew up watching a lot of Food Network and I operated often like the host of a cooking show. When I made Annie’s mac and cheese in my kitchen I did it with my head up and shoulders back, for my pretend studio audience. If I don’t personally teach you how to make a soufflé, who will? 

But the more I try to be different the more I realize I’m just like everyone else. I listen to Drake, I step on crunchy leaves, and I was disappointed in the series finale of Game of Thrones. I tear up when I watch videos of babies getting cochlear implants and hearing for the first time, and I cannot stand James Corden.

The summer after freshman year of college, on my quest to be unique, I worked on a gourmet hot dog food truck. I know that many people work in the service industry, but I thought being on a truck was excitingly different enough! It was like that movie Chef but instead of that scene with Scarlett Johansson seductively eating pasta it was me, slipping and falling in truffle oil and then washing my hands in the Booz Allen Hamilton lobby bathroom.

The truck, called “Swizzler” made spiral cut grilled hot dogs with a range of toppings fit for any Instagram. They had one covered in mac and cheese, one with tomato mozzarella and basil, and one with goat cheese, candied jalapeños and caramelized onions. Sweetgreen executives called our menu a “hate crime.” Let the record show that I was vegan for 9 months leading up to this summer. 

The food truck operated out of a communal kitchen in DC with about 15 other vendors. Breakfast for me was usually some combination of leftover BBQ, pizza, catered desserts, or whatever else I found in the walk-in. On my holiest days, the pizza guys would be testing new dough recipes and I’d pretend to know what I was talking about to help them taste test. Ah yes, in this one you can feel the gluten. This was the summer I discovered that my ideal diet is just grazing around a kitchen while running up and down the stairs in between. My ideal profession is Remy from Ratatouille.

The atmosphere in a communal space like this made it what it was. I was slicing appx. 500 cherry tomatoes one morning when Jacob from the deli truck reached over my shoulder to correct my knife grip. I welcomed his advice because after all, he was a real chef at a real restaurant before he left it all behind to be his own boss (this week’s newsletter is sponsored by Chef). I adjusted my grip as instructed and continued on my tomato journey. In prep-heavy mornings like these, doing mundane, repetitive manual tasks, I pretended again that I was the star of my cooking show. That people cared. Come back after the break I’m making a cocktail that is just vodka in a cup.

So what did I learn from this time? I learned that water tastes better at room temp out of a quart container, that walk-in fridges are the best place to have a good cry, and that the smell of truffle oil never truly goes away. I learned that when 3 people are covering a lunch rush inside of a small metal box in the 90 degree DC summer humidity, communication is key. One false move and your hand was on the grill (I only did this once.) 

I miss the fast-paced environment and I miss eating experimental pulled pork at 8am. I miss nodding and smiling when people told me they were getting the fried parmesan brussels sprouts as their side instead of the french fries to “stay healthy.” One day, after I retire with my HBO money, I want to open a restaurant. There will be no truffle oil.