(This is definitely not a blog post about food trucks.)
The Union Project is an old church transformed into a community space full of yoga, dance and ceramics classes, and it can also be rented out for weddings, parties and Goth Blacklight Bingo nights. (Seriously, if anyone is interested in organizing this with me, get in touch.) It’s your basic Feel Good city establishment.
We have love for this place because it’s where Chooch’s recent ceramics classes were held. (And um, also where his old child psychologist’s office is. What? He snipped our cat’s ear with scissors when he was three and I needed to know he wasn’t going to be the next Ed Gein, OK?)
Anyway, the story is something like: once their floor was sloped and now it is flat, so the awesome people behind the Union Project threw a big party last Friday evening to commemorate this momentous occasion. And the ceramics cooperative decided to have a little exhibition in tandem with the party, so Chooch submitted one of his pieces: a ceramic monster pinch-pot bank.
He named it Dawn, you guys. Dawn! I almost died when I saw that! I’m so happy that my son is following in my footsteps of taking the smallest detail of Henry’s life and running it into the ground with endless punch lines.
The heart swells.
I took a half day under the pretense of “You guys, what kind of mom would I be if I missed my kid’s first art show?” But really, it was for the FOOD TRUCKS. I even worked out extra long that morning to prepare for the astronomical calorie count I was planning to rack up.
I was THIS excited for food trucks, too, Chooch.
While we waited for the food trucks to set up, we killed some time playing cornhole, which is how I learned I am exceptionally bad at cornhole.
Still waiting for the food trucks to get their shit together.
My friend Elizabeth showed up with her little girl Rachel and, like me, she was there for the food trucks, not Chooch’s ceramic talent. It’s amazing how excited people get just from the prospect of buying food from a mobile truck. Pgh Taco Truck was there, but I was most looking forward to Fukuda because I wanted some exotic street food. Turns out Fukuda did not opt to include anything vegetarian-friendly on their truncated traveling menu, instead parking their pork belly-palooza curbside. (I didn’t bother to ask if they could modify it either because I dislike speaking to strangers.)
Fukuda you, Fukuda.
My back-up plan would have been to get a vegetarian hot dog from Franktuary, but those motherfukudas were no shows.
So I ended up with a guacamole taco. I mean, a curried potato taco soused under a niagara of guacamole. It was only OK and so I pouted internally for the rest of the night. I did have a really satisfying apple rosemary popsicle though from some hippie urban farmer people. (Aren’t they all hippie urban farmer people in that part of town though? I think so. Nice people, though!
If you ask Chooch though, he had the best taco ever thrown together. I was just happy he was eating something that didn’t come out of a gas station. That kid couldn’t name one component of the food pyramid even if there was $100 on the line.
I blame Henry.
Later, after losing 87 quarts of sweat from running around in circles and pretending to be Ju-On, Chooch took approximately three bites of a peanut butter banana Nutella crepe that took Henry THIRTY MINUTES to order and procure because he is so fucking passive aggressive and let some assholes take his crepe. This was the second time in one week that he was the victim of a food-swiping! But you would have known that if he had lived up to his end of the bargain and blogged about his funnel cake fukuda-up at DelGrosso’s.
The crepe was OK (the savory ones looked like they were better), but the real props need to go out to the crepe booth’s name: Creped Crusaders.
Chooch mocked Rachel at one point and I made him apologize. I’m not sure if he followed through though, because he was intercepted by a couple with a dog on his way over to deliver his apology. And he is almost as obsessed with dogs as he is with cats, so he pretty much hung out with these strangers and their dog for what was left of the evening.
I’m not sure what ever happened with the art exhibit. Prizes were promised to be awarded, but anytime we went inside to check out what was going on, no one was around. It was too nice of an evening and every one wanted to be outside. This probably had nothing to do with the food trucks.
Nothing at all.
We bailed during the last hour because I wanted to go home and watch the hockey game like any good mom would. Sidney Crosby had a hat trick that night! Probably thinking of food trucks.