Facebook prompted me to review Preston Food Truck Park. So I did.
In the brisk Melbourne weather, and set to the most heinous musical soundtrack of my recent experience, I had the best Mac and Cheese I have had that wasn’t made by a close friend or family member. Then I had pulled pork. And ribs. And Brisket. And some pickles. Hoo boy did I eat pickles. If I were a Jim Henson character I’d be Pickle Monster and pickles wouldn’t be some nonsense millennial “sometimes food”. My Pickle Monster would be old school and just munch on pickles all the damn time. There’d be brine for days, spraying like blood in a Tarantino film.
Pickles. Mmm mm MMM.
And then I had a Ghetto Gaytime. My girlfriend ate a bunch of my Ghetto Gaytime and we talked about how woke it isn’t to appropriate the word Ghetto or in fact the word Gaytime. Problematic doesn’t even begin to describe it. Delicious does, though. You can’t be woke when delicious is at stake.
My dog made some friends but I was disturbed to see there was no designated vaping area, storage for double-wide prams, or Addams Family pinball machine.
Life goes on though. I went home with a full tummy and started watching the latest season of House of Cards. It’s not that good so far.