One of my pet peeves about the media coverage of Kogi was that writers often played up the fusion Korean angle but downplayed the Mexican side of the equation. That recent Marketplace story is even worse—nowhere does it once mention that before haute cuisine entrepreneurs took to the streets in their vinyl-wrapped catering trucks, the L.A. food truck industry was almost exclusively a Mexican American enterprise.
True, most of the traditional taco trucks didn't figure out the Twitter angle; after all, they tend to appear at the same spots daily for the convenience of their largely working class clientele. But the basic business model—staying mobile and serving food at cheap overhead, at all hours—is something that Mexican trucks have been doing for decades. Adding the social networking angle is an innovation but it's not a wholesale revolution in concept. If these nuevo-trucks are successful, they owe much of that to the foundation that was already laid out for years by blue collar taco trucks, themselves offering a pan-Latino set of options including Cuban sandwiches and Oaxacan clayudas besides the requisite carne asada and al pastor tacos. (Notably, few think to call these trucks "fusion" though).
One of the telling quotes from that most recent NY Times piece came from an operator of a new Korean taco truck in Indianapolis. I quote:
"The meat makes it Korean," said Mr. Ban, who marinates chuck roll in a soy and garlic sauce that is traditionally used with Korean barbecue dishes. "The tortilla and the toppings are a way to tell our customers that this food is O.K., that this food is American."
I love that last part because, truly, the taco has become an integral part of American cuisine and as I've stressed, in Los Angeles, the taco truck is as local an institution as Jewish delis, Cantonese dim sum, and post-Spago-style pizzerias.
So, to me, I don't care if your truck is mashing up Vietnamese banh mi with Philly cheesesteak or serving Filipino chicken adobo wrapped in lavash bread; if you're a catering truck serving cheap food off the street, you're still following the lead of the old fashioned taco trucks that have been a part of this city's food fare for 30+ years.
Respect the architects.
By the way, my favorite taco truck was Taco Zone, parked on Alvarado Blvd, just a few blocks northeast of Sunset, in Echo Park. They didn't necessarily make the best tacos but they had a few things going for them. First of all, they had a salsa bar, a clear sign of a superior operaiton. Many other trucks just hand you a pre-packed container of hot sauce or ladle it on for you before serving. Better trucks put out at least two or more kinds of salsa (usually a green/verde and red/roja, maybe some pico de gallo).
Second, and perhaps most importantly, Taco Zone was open until 2 a.m., sometimes 2:15 a.m. if I was lucky. I used to have a weeky DJ gig at the Short Stop, about a mile or so away on Sunset, and most nights, would try to leave the bar as quickly as possible and rush to Taco Zone, hopefully before they turned out the lights. Much of the time, even if I arrived on
time, they were out of a few of the meats (usually the carne asada, their more consistently good choice) and the salsas were literally at the bottom of the bucket. But even if I had to settle for my 2nd or 3rd choice of meat, at 2 a.m., pretty much anything I ordered was going to taste incredible. Plus, there was always a small crowd of people there (Taco Zone on a Friday/Saturday night, after last call, is a zoo. Luckily, I DJed on Thursday nights) and it was always an interesting mix of people reflecting Echo Park's particular cross-blend of race and
class as a neighborhood that got froze in mid-gentrification by the Great Recession.