You are on page 1of 2

 

Easy  Slider  
 
My  grandfather  is  an  avid  birdwatcher.  He  learns  –  God  knows  how  –  about  a  particular  bird  and  
becomes  enamored  by  it.  It  doesn’t  have  to  be  a  rare  bird  or  a  fancy  bird,  it  just  has  to  be  a  new  
bird,  with  new  mannerisms  and  new  feathers  and,  above  all,  a  new  story.  He  used  to  take  me  bird  
watching  with  him,  and  we’d  hunt  down  the  bird’s  habitat  and  then  sit  and  wait,  stalking  the  poor  
little  guy  so  that  when  he  finally  did  materialize,  we  could  stare  him  down.    
 
Then  we  were  done  with  that  particular  bird.  But  now  that  we’re  accustomed  to  him,  now  that  his  
image  is  like  a  post-­‐it  on  a  mental  clipboard,  he’ll  show  up  here  and  there,  unannounced  but  
always  welcome  because  attached  to  his  wings  are  the  memories  of  bird  watching  with  my  
grandfather.    
 
I  feel  very  much  the  same  way  about  food  trucks.    
 
God  knows  how  I  learned  about  Easy  Slider;  I  certainly  don’t.  If  I  had  to  guess,  it  was  word  of  
mouth  -­‐  “Best  burger  I’ve  ever  had,  and  it  came  from  a  truck!”  -­‐  or  some  anonymous  invitation  to  
Like  a  page  on  Facebook.  It  was  a  new  concept  (well,  not  new  new.  Food  trucks  really  started  
cookin’  with  gas  when  the  economy  screeched  to  a  halt  during  the  2008  recession,  forcing  
restaurant  entrepreneurs  to  seek  alternative  storefronts  that  would  literally  allow  them  to  track  
down  business);  it  was  new  in  the  sense  that  it’s  a  Zagat-­‐rated,  D  Magazine-­‐touted  miniature  
cheeseburger  served  from  a  wagon  window.    
 
It  had  new  mannerisms,  like  pairing  bacon  with  goat  cheese  and  strawberry  jam  or  slathering  
peanut  butter  on  a  pygmy  piece  of  Angus  beef,  and  then  nestling  it  between  two  halves  of  a  freshly  
baked  baby  bun.    
 
It  had  no  feathers,  but  rather  a  maroon-­‐and-­‐turquoise  star-­‐spangled  truck  that  simultaneously  
radiates  comic  book  and  drive-­‐in  movie  vibes.    
 
And  it  had  a  new  story,  of  two  friends,  Caroline  Perini  and  Miley  Holmes,  who  were  inspired  in  
2011  by  the  great  state  of  Texas  and  the  barely  palpable  “perfect  bite”  to  serve  top-­‐notch,  local  
ingredients  and  have  a  blast  doing  it.    
 
Fascinating.  I  had  to  find  Easy  Slider.    
 
Like  bird  watching,  I  hunted  in  food  trucks’  natural  habitats:  Klyde  Warren  Park,  the  SMU  flagpole  
during  lunchtime,  random  liquor  store  parking  lots.  I  could’ve  made  it  easier  on  myself  by  
consulting  the  real-­‐time  schedule  posted  on  the  official  Easy  Slider  website,  but  where’s  the  thrill  
in  that?  I  finally  located  the  truck  among  several  of  its  nemeses,  competing  for  survival  by  making  
alliances  (or  customers)  out  of  the  boozy  Sunday  Funday  crowd  swarming  around  the  picnic  
tables  at  Lower  Greenville’s  Truck  Yard.    
 
Like  bird  watching,  I  watched.  I  watched  weekend  alcoholics  amble  up  to  the  truck,  gaze  glassy-­‐
eyed  at  the  menu  (“Peanut  butter  on  a  burger?”),  and  place  equitable  $8  order  for  two  sliders.  I  
watched  the  darling  little  sandwiches  handed  through  the  truck’s  window,  and  the  recipient  
gingerly  cradle  the  red-­‐and-­‐white  checkered  basket  against  his  frothy  plastic  cup.    
 
Unlike  bird  watching,  I  ate.  The  famous  Sweet  &  Lowdown  was  a  rich  mouthful  that  satisfied  every  
kind  of  craving  in  one  bite.  The  sweetness  of  the  strawberry  jam  bounced  off  the  smoky  bacon,  

whose  crunch  balanced  the  creaminess  of  the  goat  cheese.  Oh,  right,  there  was  beef  in  there  too,  
but  aside  from  the  juicy  and  slightly  gamey  flavor,  it  was  eclipsed  by  the  toppings.  The  French  
Revolution,  one  of  the  current  specials,  was  more  of  what  I’d  expect  from  a  burger,  plus  the  
sophistication  of  salty  prosciutto  and  Gruyere  cheese,  and  finished  with  a  zap  of  Dijon  mustard.    
 
The  itty-­‐bitty  burgers  were  the  ideal  size  and  savory  enough  that  two  were  satiating,  not  
nauseating.  They  complemented  my  beer  (some  obscure  draft  I’d  gambled  on)  and  I’m  relatively  
certain  they’d  complement  any  beer  because,  well,  because  burgers  and  beer.  Before  you  picture  
sloppy  fried  food  and  Natty  Light,  remember  that  Easy  Slider  uses  only  certified  Angus  beef  and  
fresh  farmer’s  market  produce  and  bakes  their  bread  fresh  daily.  And  Truck  Yard  is  too  cultured  to  
serve  Natty  Light,  obviously.    
 
Yesterday,  I  was  at  a  stop  light  in  a  maniacal  Dallas  rainstorm,  dejectedly  watching  rain  drops  pelt  
the  window  and  slither  down  the  glass.  The  elusive  turquoise-­‐and-­‐maroon  star-­‐spangled  truck  
sidled  up  next  to  me,  unannounced  but  always  welcome  because  attached  to  that  truck  are  
memories  of  a  cloudless  Sunday  Funday,  and  of  small  burgers  and  large  beers.