The man who peed on my cart and others like him cont..

OK...where was I? Oh yes, it was a warm summer evening and the end to another day at the cart. I opened up my squeaky back door and hopped down to sweep and throw out the trash.

Little did I know there would be a man standing beside my cart looking at me as he's pissing on it. Not pissing on the ground, nor in between the 100 plus cars on the lot...nope today my pristine white cart caught this mans fancy. He, like so many others was an endearing addition to the everyday hustle and grind of cart life.

"Dude...you're pissing on my cart!" I shouted at the man.

An indignant stare shot back at me as he turned to hide his junk from my view. So courteous I thought to myself...

"I'm peeing!" Dude insinuating that I'm violating his "personal comfort space."

"No shit Sherlock....you are peeing on MY FUCKING CART." I spat back at him.

I proceeded to tell him to shake a tail and get lost. No response, just the gentle stream of warm, acrid urine baptising the side of my cart, then dripping down and running towards and settling in a pothole an inch from my New Balance sneaks. Great...my very own On Golden Pond. I should toss some goldfish in there while I'm at it. What a fucker.

"Dude! Get out of here!" I screamed at him, tightly holding my broom ready to whap at the tiny peener that was causing such a mess.

A lot of F you's were swatted back and forth like a healthy game of tennis. 40 Love.

Dudes shakes IT off and tucks it back into the dark den of nasty, zips up and scolds me for invading his privacy.

I watched him proudly saunter off as he had made his mark on my little island. His very own personal hydrant. I'm sure he will be back...with more love to share.

What nerve!

The next day when I pulled up to my little, white cube of sugar goodness there was...you guessed it a little present waiting for me. Oh to be so lucky. Not flowers or chocolate's just a fat, swampy turd baking in the morning sun.

Good thing I had Portland Clean and Safe Crew on speed dial.

The man who peed on my cart...And others like him

Location. Location. Location.



Downtown Portland is one of the major hubs for food carts, feeding the masses of hungry office workers, bike messengers, students, dilettantes and miscreants. A veritable petri dish of grumbling bellies all waiting in long lines for some quick, good, hot off the grill deliciousness.



I'd say that most of my downtown customers were very pleasant and eternally grateful as I doled out the sweetness. Eyes wide and glazed over with a fine mist..perhaps a tear of pure joy..their lips perched and glistening from horny salivary glands.



Unfortunately, I've also been the recipient of not so nice, creepy, stinky, slurry, pukey, poopy and yes pee...eee people. I quickly learned not to be surprised by anything. Whether it was sweeping up piles of used drug needles, tearing down ramshackle cardboard fortresses, garbage, The Book of Solomon...whatever I've seen it and much worst smelt it:(



Now the people behind these gifts of joy are just as warm and fuzzy. The methadone clinic was just a hop, skip and a blow job from my cart and we are talkin about some true characters. A quick story...

In my spacious 8x12 trailer I had a unique window to the world outside and when it was slow I sat back and watched. Through fat billows of carbon monoxide smoke parked a rumbling...barely alive, beat to all hell Ford pick up truck. Choking from the fumes, my eyes stung as I blindly tried to close my window. Inside the truck sits two small children, one around twelve years old with a horrible pneumatic cough that rattled so deeply in her chest and sitting on her lap was her baby sister. To her left was her father who was chain smoking impatiently waiting for mom to come out of the clinic. Finally, she appeared skin and bones, no front teeth, sunken cheeks and greasy hair she grabbed her little one from the truck and creeped over to my cart. I opened my window and tried to put the brightest smile on my face as I realized that her little girl was so horribly cross eyed...I can only imagine as to what was the cause? In her toothless lisp she ordered a cupcake and quickly paid. I watched in awe as she devoured the chocolate cupcake, licking her nicotine stained fingers...not really caring that chocolate was smeared on her face and t-shirt. She looked up at me and smiled.

"That was an amazing cupcake!"

Wow. That was fucking surreal. I had only wished that her addiction was to sweets and not the poison that she put in her veins or smoked. I had hoped that she would of shared that made with love cupcake with her children, but instead in her own drug driven selfishness I'm not even sure it crossed her mind.

to be continued...

Part deux...cart doodoo

OK so you've seen my humble beginnings, littered with dirty needles, trash, nasty pee smelling cardboard that was someones bed the night before...It was a turd and I was determined to polish said turd an d make it something really sweet! No pun intended:)

First things first is to literally tear everything out and gut this baby wide open. If this cart is going to have a chance it must be defouled from top to bottom..a full gallon of bleach is in order as well as some serious gloves. When I mentioned that things were smelling a little shitty I wasn't joking.

We need to do a serious power washing of this cart, including the under carriage and I enlisted my dear friend Chad to help me out with this task. Chad showed up with his dad's trusty power washer ready to take action...he had no idea what "little gifts" were waiting for him.

Chad fires up the washer, hot water blasting off months and months of weather decay, bird shit, food debris and we begin to see the true illustrious color of the cart. When Chad makes his way to the under belly of thy beast I take a few good steps back and witness the sheer power take hold. Rotten food, soiled clothes, socks, underwear, needles, cigarette butts, coke cans that were obviously used for more than just a frosty beverage flew out from under the cart like someone had given them the ol' boot to the ass. Suddenly, I see a medium sized yogurt container come skidding out from under the cart and there it lay resting about twenty feet ahead. Even though it was twenty feet in front of us there was no mistaking the familiar smell of shit. Yup, someone shit in a cup and stashed it under the carto. Perhaps, they were saving it for later usage? I looked up at Chad and the grimace on his face will forever be burned into my memory.

"I think I got some on my shoes..." Chad quipped as he wiped off his eye glasses.

I couldn't help but chuckle at this and I really felt bad for dear sweet Chad, but I was also relieved that it wasn't me. That doesn't mean that in the very near future I wouldn't have a face off of my own with a giant turd nestled next to my cart. Apparently, the nook in front made for a great living, sleeping and shitting environment. I'm SO glad that people felt SO welcome that they could just shit:)

All I can say is thank you God for Portland Clean and Safe Crew! I bribed them with cupcakes many a time to come and do a "turd sweep" for me. It didn't even seem to faze them as I watched them scoop, and plop the turd into the bucket and quietly roll on to the turd gig. I know I wasn't the only poor soul that had an uphill battle with the late night turd phantom.

Owning a cart downtown and turds I guess goes hand in hand. I know this is gross and I generally make people happy with sugary sweetness, but this is the nitty gritty details that I feel like I need to get off my chest.

If you intend on opening a cart downtown, then prepare yourself for a turd battle. Some tools to have on board: kitty litter to absorb nasty things, heavy gloves, a mask or bandanna, a scooper and lots of bleach. This is your armor against the fangled turd dusters of the night. Be ready.

Alder St. Part 1

My first cart was originally located downtown on SW 9th and Alder St, all 8x12 of it...truly palatial. I was tucked away from from the main strip directly facing Magpie vintage clothing store. Now all that remains is a giant, slopey dent in the parking lot that my little cart called home. It was my first venture at this whole cart thing and everyone else was mostly located downtown...well, why not me? A friend of a friend told me about this cart for sale and with no hesitation I jumped on it. Stars in my eyes I eagerly waited to meet the owner of the cart and get a peek inside. As she unlocked the cart and pryed the sticky door open I got my first real glimpse of said cart....what a turd! It was nasty, greasy, dirty, smelling of stale weed, something potentially died under this cart grossness. After standing there for a few minutes taking in all its beauty I turned to "Eunice" and asked if she would accept a deposit? Begrudgingly, she agreed and that was the beginning to the birth of The Sugar Cube.

The keys burned in the sweaty palm of my hand as for the first time I placed it in the lock, took a deep breath and waited for the click. After prying the door open I took my first step into my new digs. The stale air was thick as the windows have been shuttered for months, sealing in all the nasty dankity dankness. I flicked on the awful fluorescent lights which dimly glowed in the lime green interior...Jesus! It was undoubtedly ugly, but it was mine. I smiled as I could see beyond the greasy lime green walls, rotting floors, morgue like lighting and questionable smells. This cart was destined to be reborn and I was dead set determined on making it happen!

Silly me...I had no idea what I was about to get myself into. Let me start by saying it rhymes with shit....stay tuned for part deux.

So...um I want to start a food cart?

So I was wondering if you had anytime...you could tell me how to start a food cart?



Sure no problem was my answer for the first six month's as I too had to figure out a lot of shit to get this thing rolling. Nowadays, with the ever growing influx of food carts and a quickly growing national following I've had to put the kibosh on how much information I disclose. It's not that I don't want to help, but when it becomes almost an everyday occurrence that people are quizzing you on your equipment, costs, resources...where did ya get this and that, can I take a peak at your business plan? It's gotta stop somewhere. Fuck no! You cannot look at my business plan or scan the insides of my kitchen gallows to copy everything that took me so long to piece together. What you can do is start by researching what type of cart you wish to operate, the competition, best locations and foot traffic and what it's truly like to own and work and out of a metal box that's smaller than your freakin bedroom! DO THE WORK!



Let me start by asking you if you have a family, children, social life, manicured fingernails, any restaurant experience because if you don't...you may be fucked. If you're tired of your cushy job overlooking the waterfront and just want your hands in the dirt...go and do some fucking gardening. Do you really want to deal with nasty grey water that smells like barf, or clogging pumps that are about to explode your holding tanks, pruned and hang nailed fingers from washing so many dishes (and yes you are a glorified dishwasher), the rain that can crush your daily sales in half, something is always breaking, flooding, burning...clunk clank crappity crap on ya! Can you deal? If you can...then proceed to the next paragraph. Otherwise, thank your lucky stars that you have a 9-5 job with bennies, a plump bank account and even a fairly good dental plan.



I probably sound like a bit of a jerk, but I just want to be really honest. I've also spent the last two years hustling my ass to make this dream work and part of the process is learning the steps to get it up and running. It has been one of the hardest things that I have ever done and it has tested me on so many personal and professional levels it could make your head spin. With that being said, it has also been one of the proudest things that I have accomplished and I am truly humbled by the everyday experiences and beautiful and inspiring people I have met along this journey. I have been fortunate to be able to follow my dream and have the support and love to make it happen. Not only the true blue close friends and family in my life, but the everyday customers that have stuck by me and supported me since the inception of my little cart. I truly love and thank you all!



It's fantastic to watch people step up to my cart with a big smile and even though we generally have a quick exchange it's something that makes an imprint on me and perhaps a little imprint on you. I love the clean plates that you return to me, and your chocolaty mustaches that sometimes I don't tell you that you have (he hee) and the warm smiles and contentment that gleam from your face! I love it! I love it! I love it!



This is why I stick around and stand on my feet for 12 plus hours and deal with barfy smelling grey water, 20 trips to Winco, Cash N' Carry, Restaurant Depot, Ghetto Safeway, oven burns that lay tracks on my arms, dry and cracked gnarly fingers, bumps and bruises, smelling like sickeningly sweet chocolate, all my clothes are either bleach or butter stained, carpal tunnel in both my wrists, tennis elbow, haven't had a proper hair cut in five months, circles under my eyes, haven't had a proper lay in four month's because I have no time to date...shall I continue? Even with this long list it has all been worth it and I commend anyone who has a dream to start something of their very own and has the balls to actually bring it to fruition. YOU are inspiring!



If you still wish to start a food cart you should go here: foodcartsportland.com You can also talk to the Multnomah Health Department about requirements for your specific needs.

There is tons of helpful info and insight into the depths of owning and operating a metal box with stuff that makes stuff in it. Take a deep breath, grow a pair and get started. Don't what if it...just do the research, have a plan and make it fucking happen:)



A friend told me this once and I still say this to myself on a regular basis. " Jump first and build your wings on the way down." Now go get started...



xoxoxo!!

And so it began...

I guess I should start at the beginning of my sweet love affair with food and the journey that has led me to this crazy process of opening a food cart. For starters, I have been baking for twelve plus years weaving myself in and out of bakeries, restaurants and hotels. Some so inspiring that it has left a permanent imprint on the way I bake and create my desserts to this day. Others, so heinous and god awful that it too has left a permanent imprint on the way I bake and create my desserts.

If you've ever worked in a kitchen then you know what I'm talking about. It's gritty, dirty, often smelly, chaotic, exhilarating, fast, furious, intense, fucking hot as hell, bloody, sweaty, burny goodness. It's a camaraderie special to its own and a family that is often closer to you than your own flesh and blood. Why? When you spend at least 12-15 hours with the same people...they know your stink pretty damn well. For every shit job I have turned, there is nothing like working in a kitchen with like minded people who also have passion and true love for food. Even the fuckheads I've had to deal with (as you're screaming at me, spittle bombarding my face) I fucking salute you all! You've made a better cook for it.

In the end for me it's all about the passion and drive to eat, create and feed people really amazing food. It's a warm comfort like and old familiar blanket...feeding the hungry gnomes in my belly. Each grumble getting louder and louder as I bring the first, sweet bite to my lips I fucking love to eat! Perhaps, it's a mighty expression and nod to my childhood..watching my mom bake for dinner parties at home and proudly assisting by serving the houderves that consisted of mom's famous cheese puffs and smoked oysters. To this day, I remember leaning over our brass candle holders that flickered a cozy flame...then sizzled as my long, blond hair caught on fire while setting the tray on the table. My ego bruised, I sulked for the remainder of the night as my brother ran around telling all the guests that I smelled like a fart. Thanks Dave! I also spent a great deal of time at my father's smokehouse munching on liverwurst and pumpernickel sammie's sitting on the cool stainless steel counter tops curiously observing my dad washing away pools of strong smelling irony blood into the cracked concrete drains. His sausage like fingers (no really he wears a size 20 ring band) would grasp the lever to the smoker and with one swift movement the heavy, char crusted door would pop open and there was this instant flurry of the alluring smell of smoked meats. It had super powers that would seep deep into your clothes and hair and for the rest of the night I would smell like a smoked sausage...thanks dad! There lay racks and racks of glistening meat, dripping it's infinite gloriousness, pitter pattering and sizzling onto the gristly floor. These images are forever seared like a good cut of meat into my memory. Whatever it was that sparked this fascination with food I am grateful.

And so it began...

PS: This is my first post...so try to forgive the grammatical errors:)