Story 20: Bucket List

It seems every Spring, someone leaves New York, and the plumbing of our social calendars clogs with friends or friends-of-friends' New York bucket lists. Boozy brunches. Farewell parties. Oh, and trying that restaurant that we always said we would try but never managed to make time for because our lives revolve around deadlines and chores and all other sorts of planned distractions... where was I? Bucket lists depress me. I hate losing people, like losing my best set of undergarments to Chinese laundromats or ex-boyfriends. There is a faint possibility that you could get them back but in reality, we all know we won't. The very idea of a farewell bucket list reminds me of how the mundane nuisances consume our thoughts and lives and plans. Bucket lists say, "You haven't fully enjoyed yourself here, so stuff your life into a day or a week or a month, like you would stuff your feet into designer shoes on sale." That's depressing. Worst of all, bucket lists never include anything Brooklyn. Why do people discount Brooklyn? Is it the traffic and never-ending construction on the Brooklyn Bridge? Is it that more restaurants offer high chairs than dinner reservations? Or is it something as meaningless as a Sex and the City episode?

It's really NOT like that time when Carrie went to visit Miranda. It's more like the time when we all wished we could be somewhere Latin for Cinco de Mayo, but instead of spending $1700 on a plane ticket, we spent $17 on the food trucks in Red Hook. Oh, the food trucks in Red Hook.

In a stretch stuffed between housing projects and the Red Hook Park with Ikea as the back drop, starting at Bay street and court street will be approximately 20 food trucks representing all things fried and spicy and cheesy and Latin. If you're anything like me and can't stand the thought of leaving without sampling every single truck and chatting with every single vendor, you'll want to start with the chille relenos at Court and Bay street. You'll spend $5 for one pepper stuffed with potatoes and rice and beef and jalapenos and cheese. Tip: I learned the hard way that you have to ask for hot sauce and the crumbly queso, but old lady serving me this delicious snack made up for everything by saying, "incomprensible spanish, incomprensible spanish, incomprensible spanish, mi amor." How could I stay mad?

You'll be tempted to keep ordering. Don't. Move down the block and onto a tamale. Skip the sour cream, too. Just share the fluffy corn bites and a Jarritos mandarin soda with someone and enjoy the scenery, even if the scenery is a hispanic man who ironically resembles a burrito and also happens to be eating the exact same thing as the hipster sitting next to him. How Brooklyn is that?

By the time you reach El Olomega, or the self-titled "original Red Hook Salvadoran pupusas" truck, you'll have plenty of time to digest. That was my first pupusas experience. To be completely honest, I'm glad I'm writing about this experience and not telling you, because I'm not even sure how to pronouce the word, "pupusas." I just know it is the "most authentic and traditional food from El Salvador. Pupusas are grilled corn masa patties, hand shaped and stuffed with cheese and various fillings." Or so a sign tells me. My taste buds, however, tell me it's like everything you love about latin food bundled and bow tied into one dish.

Living up to every foreign and brown stereotype, the workers at El Olomega take customer orders in no particular order. You have to be prepared for this and accept it for what it is. Don't huff and complain. Don't even try to figure out when your food will be ready. It magnificent chaos is part of the experience. You can complain when you're in Manhattan and DBGB lost your dinner reservations. After all, you're paying $6 for a two jalapeno and cheese pupusas, pickled cabbage salad and fried plantain chips. Tip: Somehow make room for the cashew juice, because I couldn't.

Pace yourself now. you're almost to the corner of Court Street and Bay Street. It's time for grilled corn--extra spicy rolled in cheese and unidentifiable goodness. Tip: Squeeze some lime on it. End the journey with fresh fruit.

(Briana, my eating buddy. You should get one--a Briana and an eating buddy)

(Erect corn, quite phallic.)

(Fruit stands, we opted for pineapple.)

You'll want to walk to Manhattan after that--only to burn the calories from the corn alone.