Kohinoor Dhaba began (and still is) a brick and mortar restaurant in the Crystal City neighborhood of Virginia. During my penny-pinching days right after law school, I was a regular for the nondescript restaurant’s less-than-$10 buffet. Kohinoor Dhaba was the kind of dive that I missed most after leaving New York City and moving to Virginia. More than a time or two, I found myself seated on Kohinoor Dhaba’s worn banquet chair, a plastic knife and fork at the ready, looming over Styrofoam plates full of chicken tandoori, chick peas, and naan.

Kohinoor Dhaba

When I first saw a bright orange food truck called Kohinoor Dhaba, I didn’t immediately connect it to the Crystal City restaurant. But as soon as I made the connection, nostalgia drove me to the truck’s ordering window.

India is famous (or infamous, if you ask the wrong person) for its street food. Without fail my mouth waters at the thought of handheld bites like pani puri, a delicate, golf-ball-sized fried shell filled with chick peas, onions, and flavored water. The menu for the Kohinoor Dhaba food truck, unfortunately, lacked the best offerings of Indian street vendors and very much resembled its brick and mortar menu.

With the choice of restaurant food from the truck, I opted for the $10 lamb biryani – lamb “sautéed in herbs & mild spices with fragrant rice.” The biryani came with a salad of greens and a tomato slice, plus two containers of yogurt sauce.

Lamb Biryani

The biryani was flavorful. The lamb was tender, and the long grain rice was fluffy and well spiced. When the dish reached the peak of a slow-building heat, the yogurt cut it and offered some coolness, as well as freshness with its specks of mint and cilantro.

There was nothing wrong with Kohinoor Dhaba’s lamb biryani. It was tasty and filling. Would I order it from the restaurant? Yes. Would I order it again from the truck?

That’s a very different question. No. While the biryani was perfectly fine, it was not exciting enough (or, frankly, cheap enough) to inspire a return visit to the truck.

A huge serving of rice is just not my idea of street food. This court has defined street food as “the kind[] . . . that can be cooked in front of you and [is] meant to be eaten with your hands, without forks, while standing up.” In re Eat Wonky, 2 Catt. 5 (2011). Biryani does not meet this definition. For one, the dish can only be reheated, not cooked, in front of you. Biryani is a time-intensive dish. Another Arlington restaurant needs advance notice from the customer and four hours to prepare it.

But this court’s street food determination does not end there. In In re Hot People Food, 6 Catt. 4 (2012), we added another layer. We explained that our definition was intended to be a “multifactor test to guide and direct our analysis.” An additional factor not mentioned in the original definition was whether the dish was traditionally considered to be street food. Guided by this factor, biryani might qualify as street food by this court.

Our street food analysis continued further. As explained in In re Big Cheese, 6 Catt. 2 (2012), the “street food” question was a threshold matter to determine the burden of proof in a case before the Supreme Cart. A presumption of affirmance arose for true street food. On the other hand, if a dish did not qualify as street food, no presumption arose, and the dish was required to prove its own merits. Kohinoor Dhaba’s biryani, a solid execution that suffered from no major flaws, would pass this test whether or not it was found to be street food.

Is this the correct result when the Justice admits that she would not return to Kohinoor Dhaba’s truck for a second helping of lamb biryani? Of course not. It cannot be. A test that leads to such results must be flawed and unusable. It has become clear that our burden of proof framework for street food has no place.

Kohinoor Dhaba’s lamb biryani is better suited for its sit-down restaurant, not its food truck. I am sad to say that the food truck scene has become an uninspired mobile food court that has very little to do with street food and more to do with quick-service restaurant food. What else can be concluded when TGI Fridays and Starbucks have entered the food truck business? Food trucks that offer brick and mortar menus (and yes, at restaurant prices) have failed the promise of street food.

I will not attempt to describe the type of food truck or type of menu that would reach the heights of street food’s full potential, but I will know it when I see it. Cf. Jacobellis v. Ohio, 378 U.S. 184 (1964) (Stewart, J., concurring). Kohinoor Dhaba’s lamb biryani isn’t it.

AFFIRMED in part and REMANDED in part to Kohinoor Dhaba for revision. It is so ordered.

Phonation

Opinion of JUSTICE CATTLEYA, in chambers.

From across Farragut Square, Phonation’s truck—painted white with blue signage—slightly resembled a classic ice cream truck. I was surprised when I got close enough to read the truck’s name and see its menu of Vietnamese pho and bánh mì. My surprise, however, was quickly forgotten as I began to picture in my mind’s eye a beautiful bánh mì sandwich.

Phonation’s picture menu.

(This was not difficult to do at the instigation of Phonation’s menu, which included large, color photos.)

Phonation describes itself as “the real deal on wheels with fast serving, delicious PHO and gigantic BANH MI.” Pho may be ordered with either chicken or beef, and the available bánh mì sandwich fillings are BBQ chicken or BBQ pork. All entrée items are $9.

I ordered the BBQ pork bánh mì. Because a bánh mì sandwich is “street food” under the Supreme Cart’s case law, e.g., In re Lemongrass, 7 Catt. 1 (2012) (holding that a bánh mì is street food); In re BONMi, 25 Catt. 2 (2013) (same); In re PhoWheels, 24 Catt. 1 (2013) (same), my review must assume that Phonation’s sandwich should be affirmed unless it suffers from a significant flaw. See In re Eat Wonky, 2 Catt. 5 (2011) (defining street food as “the kind[] . . . that can be cooked in front of you and [is] meant to be eaten with your hands, without forks, while standing up”); In re Big Cheese, 6 Catt. 2 (2012) (discussing the burden of proof for street food). Phonation’s bánh mì sandwich suffers from no such fatal flaw. It is a solid rendition.

BBQ Pork Bánh Mì

Pork. While I typically prefer grilled pork in my bánh mì sandwiches, Phonation’s heavily sauced pork was tender and flavorful. But as the sauce was still on my tongue several hours later, it was almost too flavorful.

Toppings. The toppings included a slice of cucumber, thickly cut radish and carrot, plus cilantro. The toppings did their job of adding freshness and crunch to the sandwich. The freshness was cut a little by the richness of the mayo. I normally don’t like mayo on my bánh mì sandwiches, but it worked here by balancing out the strong sauce on the meat. The sandwich was finished off with some heat from thinly sliced jalapenos (and Sriracha, which I requested).

Bread. The choice of bread was good, but not perfect. The bread had the requisite softness inside and crustiness outside, but it seemed more like an Italian sub roll than a French baguette.

Sandwich cut in half.

Bottom line: Phonation’s BBQ pork bánh mì sandwich wasn’t the best I’ve had, but it certainly wasn’t the worst either. While the heavy sauce on the pork, inclusion of mayo, and sub-like bread wouldn’t be part of my dream bánh mì, Phonation nonetheless served up a tasty lunch.

AFFIRMED. It is so ordered.

The bottom line up front: Korean BBQ Taco Box (“KBBQTB”) is a food truck for people who look for variety and big portions, but not necessarily authenticity, in a meal.

Korean BBQ Taco Box

KBBQTB’s fusion menu features box lunches made of five different components. The first is the meat: Korean fried chicken, bulgogi, spicy pork, or chicken teriyaki. All four meats may be ordered over white rice. The last three may also be served in a flour tortilla taco. The second component of the box is a salad with ginger dressing. Third is a spicy chicken wing. Fourth is a fried cheese roll. A varying Korean-influenced bite, such as another roll or a dumpling, completes the box. Boxes range between $8 and $10.

I opted for a rice box with Korean fried chicken. In addition to the salad, chicken wing, and fried cheese roll that come with all boxes, the final Korean-influenced side in the box on the day of my visit was a kimchi dumpling.

As it is well settled by this reviewing court that rice-based platters are not street food (i.e., food that can be cooked in front of you and is meant to be eaten with your hands, without forks, while standing up), KBBQTB’s box must prove the quality of its offerings without the aid of any presumption that it should be upheld as street-service-worthy. See In re Eat Wonky, 2 Catt. 5 (2011) (defining street food); In re Big Cheese, 6 Catt. 2 (2012) (discussing burden of proof); see, e.g., In re NY Famous Kabob, 7 Catt. 3 (2012) (denying street food status to a platter of meat over rice); In re Mediterranean Delights, 20 Catt. 2 (2013) (same). The merits of the separate components of KBBQTB’s box are addressed below.

Rice Box with Korean Fried Chicken

Korean Fried Chicken and Rice. A fillet of chicken battered and fried, then cut into easy-to-eat strips. While KBBQTB’s version was crispy (surprisingly so, given that it was trapped in a Styrofoam container while I walked back to the court), don’t expect Bonchon’s extra-crunchy Korean double fried chicken. The meat was not dry; neither was it juicy. But no matter, as the chicken strips were covered with generous drizzles of spicy mayo and sweet teriyaki sauces. The paired white rice was fluffy and sticky, just the way I have always liked it. The meal’s greatest indulgence was mixing the excess mayo and teriyaki sauces into the rice. Given my confession of my favorite meal as a child—white rice smothered with another condiment (ketchup)—this should not be surprising.

Salad with Ginger Dressing. A basic salad of iceberg lettuce. The dressing was not shy on the ginger, and the overall effect was wonderfully fresh and biting. However, the consistency of the dressing was too thick. While salad dressing should be thick enough to stick to the greens, it should still be liquid enough to toss with the greens.

Spicy Chicken Wing. Fried chicken wing (or drumstick) tossed in KBBQTB’s spicy sauce. Well-executed. The skin was crispy, and the chicken was moist. The sauce coating the wing was a nice balance of sweet and spicy. Boxes are supposed to come with one wing, but somehow I got two. Normally I frown upon such inconsistency, but in this case, lucky me.

Fried Cheese Roll. KBBQTB boxes come with two pieces of a fried cheese roll that is topped with a spicy mayo sauce. Unfortunately, I couldn’t tell that cheese was an ingredient in this dish. To me, this just tasted like fried batter covered in a sweet, creamy mayo.

Kimchi Dumpling. A fried, rectangular-shaped packet filled with kimchi. A nice little bite, but the ratio of dumpling skin to kimchi should have weighed in favor of more kimchi. Because, really, the answer to everything is more kimchi.

The bottom line, repeated: A lot of food. Several different items to please a palate that gets bored from one dish. While not terribly authentic or creative, KBBQTB’s Korean fried chicken rice box sticks close to a tried-and-true strategy: the more fried food, and the more mayo, the better. While your arteries might complain, are you really going to?

AFFIRMED. It is so ordered. 

Several months ago, I made a sua sponte appearance at PhoWheels for bánh mì. I was pleasantly surprised by the truck’s tofu bánh mì on a baguette, but disappointed by the pork belly bánh mì on a doughnut. See In re PhoWheels, 24 Catt. 1 (2013). After the decision was announced, PhoWheels participated in general commenting per the Supreme Cart’s Rule of Procedure 2-7.

Comment from PhoWheels

“Come back & try the tacos,” PhoWheels said of their menu item that apparently always sells out. After returning to try the musubi tacos, I not only believe this claim; I completely understand why.

PhoWheels’s regular menu offers tacos with the same fillings that one can get on a bánh mì (tofu, pork belly, or chicken). A fourth option (musubi) can be found on the menu as a special. Normally I never order so-called “specials.” See In re DC Empanadas, 1 Catt. 3 (2011) (expressing skepticism of specials). But PhoWheels has been serving musubi tacos off and on since August of last year, so the dish doesn’t feel like an experiment gone awry or like old ingredients in a poor disguise. With no alarm bells ringing in my head, I ordered the musubi tacos. An order of two was $9.

Musubi Tacos

What is a musubi taco exactly? PhoWheels takes a piece of roti canai (Malaysian flatbread) and wraps it around cubed spam, thin slices of Chinese sausage, pickled radishes and carrots, and rice, and then tops it all off with nori, wasabi sesame seeds, and a generous drizzle of Kewpie mayo.

The regular reader knows by now that fusion dishes more often than not confuse me. See, e.g., In re TaKorean, 1 Catt. 4 (2011). But finally (finally!) I have found the complete opposite of fusion confusion. Even without the Supreme Cart’s presumption of affirmance for street food like tacos, I would enthusiastically affirm. See In re Eat Wonky, 2 Catt. 5 (2011) (defining street food); In re Big Cheese, 6 Catt. 2 (2012) (discussing burden of proof); In re District Taco, 21 Catt. 2 (2013) (finding tacos to be street food). PhoWheels’s musubi taco was the most unique, cohesive, and balanced fusion dish that I have ever encountered as a Justice of mobile gastronomy.

The vehicle holding everything together—the Malaysian flatbread—was divine. It was buttery and flaky. On the inside, it was fluffy and chewy. The composition reminded me of a beautifully thick and chewy Chinese dumpling wrapper, but with a slightly crisp exterior. Its malleability allowed it to snugly envelop the taco filling, making something that very easily could have been messy to eat, not messy at all.

The filling was an explosion of sweet (from the Chinese sausage), tangy (from the pickled radishes and carrots), spicy (from the wasabi sesame seeds), and salty (from the spam and nori). It was a mix of soft and warm (rice), and cold and crunchy (pickled radishes and carrots). And the rich and creamy Kewpie mayo was the cherry on top.

Interestingly–and this is going to sound like a bad thing–the meats (spam and Chinese sausage) were not the stars here. They were overpowered by the nori and wasabi sesame seeds. One might think that the proper response to this would be to increase the portions of spam and Chinese sausage in the taco, but I’m not sure that this would be right. I so enjoyed the salty and earthy flavors of the nori and wasabi that I just didn’t care about the individual contributions of the spam and Chinese sausage. However, what I would change is PhoWheels’s preparation of the spam. I found the cubed pieces of spam to be very soft, and I would have preferred it if they had been fried until crispy.

Overall, PhoWheels’s musubi taco was bold and inspired. Must try? I think so. Would I return for it again? I already have. I would consider this to be PhoWheels’s signature dish, and if I had a vote in the matter, I’d promote this from the specials menu to the regular menu ASAP.

AFFIRMED. It is so ordered.

Bibimbap with Spicy Bulgogi

JEREMY, C.J., delivered the opinion of the Cart, in which CATTLEYA, J., joins.

Back in the early days of the Cart, we dined at 1st Yellow Vendor. Today, we consider Yellow Vendor. Though their trucks look identical, as my sister noted in an erratum to our earlier opinion, Yellow Vendor and 1st Yellow Vendor are “totally different.” Both trucks are the progeny of Yellow Bulgogi Cart, a stationary cart that resided at 14th and L. Yellow Bulgogi Cart was one of the old guard of DC’s street food scene. The cart first hit the streets in 2007, back when hot dogs were about all you could get on city streets. One of the operators – Andy Kim – founded Yellow Vendor in 2010; the other operator – his mother – founded 1st Yellow Vendor.

Yellow Vendor’s Menu

Yellow Vendor’s cuisine is simple, without corn tortillas or Sriracha overdosing. Cf. In re TaKorean, 1 Catt. 4 (2011). This is a truck, that, as the Post put it, “eschew[s] fusion trends in favor of basic Korean staples.” The truck offers eleven lunch boxes, all $8. The menu on the side of the truck shows what appears to be eleven nearly identical pictures, but some combos are spicy and some are not, some feature chicken and some feature beef, some come with an egg (bibimbap) and some do not. We opted for the spicy bulgogi bibimbap lunch box – a Styrofoam box filled with white rice, a sizeable serving of bulgogi meat dripping with gochujang – a condiment of red chili and fermented soybeans – and topped with an over-easy egg, kimchi, and two namul – julienned carrot and blanched greens (perhaps chrysanthemum) dressed simply with sesame oil and salt.

Yellow Vendor

Because a stuffed Styrofoam container such as this cannot be “street food” under our jurisprudence, there is no presumption in favor of Yellow Vendor’s spicy bulgogi bibimbap and the truck bears the burden of proving the merits of its offering. See In re Eat Wonky, 2 Catt. 5 (2011) (defining street food); In re Big Cheese, 6 Catt. 2 (2012) (discussing burden of proof).

The bulgogi meat itself was tender with a great traditional balance of sweet and savory flavors, complemented nicely by the healthy dose of spicy fermented gochujang. Amid the beef strips and the gochujang was an over-easy egg. Initially, we were suspicious, as the egg itself appeared to have been pre-made and pulled out of a container. But the egg was perfectly cooked, with a firm white and golden runny yolk. The star of the combo, however, was the vegetables: the sour kimchi and the crisp freshness of the carrots and chrysanthemum greens. It took some work to attain, but a mouthful consisting of each of the combo’s components was heavenly.

Yellow Vendor is not fusion. For the past three-and-a-half years, or nearly seven if you consider the progenitor cart, Andy Kim has offered basic Korean fare prepared well and presented simply. It easily succeeds on its own merits.

AFFIRMED.

El Fuego.

Peruvian cuisine has been hailed as one of the world’s great cuisines, but it hasn’t always gotten the recognition it deserves. The New York Times in 1999 declared it “the original fusion food.” And if there’s a classic Peruvian dish, it’s lomo saltado, a dish with its origins specifically in the Chifa cuisine – a fascinating melding of Chinese and native Peruvian influences dating from a wave of immigration in the late nineteenth and early twentieth centuries.

DC-area residents have been able to try Chifa cuisine at Kampo on Leesburg Pike for years, and word is José Andrés will open a more upscale Chifa-style eatery – “China Chilcano” – next spring on 7th Street in an area quickly becoming Andrés Alley.

Lomo saltado – literally “salted loin” – is a stir fry of beef strips marinated in vinegar and soy sauce, onions, and tomatoes. Local food truck El Fuego offers its “signature lomo saltado bowl,” which features beef tenderloin, red onion, plum tomato, and hot peppers cooked in “Our Chef’s special marinade.” As is tradition, the dish comes carb-heavy, with both French fries and rice.

El Fuego is the work of Manuel Alfaro, a Puerto Rican-born, Spanish-trained culinarian who, through his Peruvian-born wife, obtained his love for the cuisine of Peru, his “second Motherland.” In addition to lomo saltado, the truck offers a Peruvian-style burger, ceviche, pan con chicharron, salchipapa, tamales, and tallarín saltado, another Chifa dish.

This truck gives you a lot of food for your money ($10).

In the flavor department, however, El Fuego’s lomo saltado is a bit of a one-note samba – not terrible, not incredible. But add a bit of the truck’s ají amarillo – a spicy crema made from the ají amarillo chili pepper – and the dish begins to sing.

Lomo saltado.

The best part of the dish is probably the French fries, which are served unbelievably crisp. Traditionally, however, the steak and vegetables are served on top of the fries, or mixed with them, so that their sauce soaks into the potato. El Fuego instead serves its fries on the side, and it can be difficult to mix the steak and vegetables with the fries in a take-out container. Without mixing the one with the other, the dishes loses something of its Chifa roots.

Under our jurisprudence, a dish is “street food” where it is cooked in front of you and is “meant to be eaten with your hands, without forks, while standing up.” In re Eat Wonky, 2 Catt. 5 (2011). Because true street food is the aim of the food truck, a dish classified as “street food” is entitled to a presumption of affirmance unless some serious flaw is exposed. In re Big Cheese, 6 Catt. 2 (2012). On the other hand, a dish not classified as “street food” must stand on its own merits without any presumption of affirmance. Id.

Here, El Fuego’s lomo saltado cannot properly be considered “street food” because it is not easily eaten with just the hands, without a fork. The dish must therefore stand on its own two feet without the assistance of the presumption.

El Fuego’s lomo saltado is not a bad dish by any means. But it could be a much better dish with adjustments in seasoning and plating. For these reasons, the lomo saltado is

AFFIRMED in part and REMANDED in part to El Fuego for revision. It is so ordered.

There’s nothing quite like pho on a cold day.

Of course, the day I happened upon Pho-Bachi, it wasn’t a cold day at all. Far from it. The sun was shining bright, the sky was a brilliant blue, and a particularly feisty yellow jacket was hell-bent on destroying my lunch hour.

Luckily there’s nothing quite like pho on a hot day either.

Pho-Bachi, the mobile gastronomic enterprise.

Pho-Bachi is a mobile gastronomic enterprise which, as the name suggests, serves pho (chicken or steak) and hibachi (chicken, steak, and shrimp).

Fusion again. We’ve voiced time and time again our hesitance with regard to fusion. I hesitated again a moment. But I remembered that pho itself is the result of either French-Indonchinese or Chinese-Indochinese culinary interaction, so I can’t so easily look askance at the truck’s fusion of Japanese and Vietnamese flavors. Besides, the two flavors aren’t really fused at all; they’re simply both sold from the same truck.

Faced with the choice of hibachi or pho, I opted for the latter because, as I’ve said, there’s nothing quite like pho on a hot day either. Hot soup cools you down, right? Right. And it was a fairly hot day, otherwise pleasant, just marred by that goddamn yellow jacket.

Between chicken and steak, I opted for steak. Sure, sure, there’s pho ga; even Così is trying to get in on that game. (It’s a now-removed “Italian” soup with the faintest hint of lemongrass.) But my go-to pho concoction is always a laundry list of various cow parts—eye-of-round, flank, brisket, down to beef tendon and Bible tripe—though I’m always wary of a cut called “cow something” I once spied on a sign listing every cut imaginable, at a wholesale vendor in the older, less Bethesda-ized part of the Florida Avenue/Union Market.

Really, Così?

Funny story: I once took some friends to an otherwise generic place on H Street in Chinatown to taste a surprisingly delicious beef omasum I had very much enjoyed on a previous visit. (Ok, fine, sometimes I “ennoble[] certain ingredients precisely because most people thing they are gross.” So I ordered Rocky Mountain oysters at a ticky-tacky place in Denver covered in animal heads. Whatever. You do it too.) I ordered the beef omasa, but got only a blank stare in return. I said it again, “you know, beef omasa,” and was told I wouldn’t like it. I insisted I’d had it before, in that very establishment, and had very much enjoyed it and would like to try it again and share it with my friends. “We’re out,” I was told, but that smelled fishy. I persisted. But by that time my waiter had made the executive decision to remove it from the menu. Fourth time is clearly not the charm.

Ok, so maybe that wasn’t all that funny.

But I digress. Especially since Pho-Bachi doesn’t come close to offering tripe. Bible.

Pho from Pho-Bachi.

An order of beef pho did come with fat brisket and flank, though. The brisket was a beautiful medium, while the flank was a bit more well-done, as expected. Both were fresh, well prepared, and delicious, and came swimming in a lovely, heady broth perfumed with star anise and clove and onion and filled with a heavy helping of vermicelli, bean sprouts, Thai basil, and hot peppers. With it came tiny containers of hoisin and Sriracha, the perfect amounts for flavoring the already flavorful broth.

Even though pho is traditionally a street food in Vietnam, I was suspicious as to how well it would translate to the American street. This is clearly not eat-as-you-walk food, as you might do with a sandwich or a half smoke or a dosa. In Vietnam, it is often served at a stall with seats and a table. Back on this side of the Pacific, Pho-Bachi gives you a to-go container—and a rather sizeable one at that (you won’t go hungry)—and sends you on your way, cradling your large container of steaming hot liquid as you would a feverish newborn, in search of a vacant park bench or the confines of a drab break room.

But Pho-Bachi surprised me. The pho actually transported quite well. There was no scalding, no stained Oxford, and, aside from that goddamn yellow jacket, no real trouble at all.

Brisket. Pretty, right?

Was Pho-Bachi the very best pho I’ve ever tasted? No, probably not. It’s hard to compete with the Eden Center. But it was actually a good pho, a very good one I’d say, better and more satisfying than some I’ve had in some restaurants. (I’d say it’s better than Pho DC in Chinatown, certainly, but I wasn’t terribly impressed by that establishment.)

I’d give Pho-Bachi 3 out of 4 stars. But since we don’t actually award stars here at Supreme Cart, I’ll say instead that it’s

AFFIRMED. It is so ordered.

When I first saw Urban Bumpkin’s menu, I was worried. I saw the truck described its cuisine as “fusion.” This Cart has many times described its distrust of fusion, which is too often code for confusion. (Picture Rachael Ray’s marsala masala, a cute idea that has no business existing.) Urban Bumpkin’s menu spans the globe: an “urban Native American taco” with “[t]raditional Native Alaskan fried bread,” a smoked barbecue sandwich, borsch (“Authentic Taste of Russia!”) and Russian shwarma, and Southeast Asian flavors. I could strain to link Alaska and Russia – after all, the Russians claimed Alaska as a colony from 1733 to 1867, and, if you live in Alaska, you can see Russia from your house. But Vietnamese flavors?  Southeastern American barbecue? As I say, I was worried. But then I learned the truck was a barbecue truck, the creation of a gentleman born in Alaska of Vietnamese roots, with a lady of Eastern European extraction who takes your order. And suddenly it all made sense: this was natural fusion, the collision of a lifetime of experiences, not some gastronomic Frankenstein’s monster.

My eye landed first on the “urban Native American taco,” described as a “[t]raditional Native Alaskan fried bread filled with smoked meat, chili garlic coleslaw, fresh pico de gallo and smoked mayo.” My choices were “sweet chili garlic chicken” or “smoked pulled pork.” I opted for the latter.

Urban Bumpkin

The traditional Native Alaskan fried bread was actually a form of frybread, a staple not just of Native Alaskans but of Native Americans more broadly. I’ve had frybread many times: at a ramada at twilight on the dirt plaza outside the cloud-white Mission San Xavier del Bac on the Tohono O’odham reservation south of Tucson, among the pueblos of Northern New Mexico, as a small child at the Mattaponi pow wow in rural Virginia, and, more locally, in the terrific cafeteria at the National Museum of the American Indian. It may be served plain. It is sometimes served sweet, with honey and powdered sugar. At other times, it is made into an Indian or Navajo taco, topped with beans and chili and cheese and onions and tomatoes and lettuce. Whatever its form, “a good piece of fry bread turns any meal into a feast.”

Urban Bumpkin’s “Urban Native American taco” was of the last variety — the Navajo taco – and turned out to be a rather delicious, if not entirely traditional, preparation of the dish. The smoked pulled pork was wonderfully flavorful – smoky, as advertised, tender, with a deep flavor, and clearly cooked for many hours. The coleslaw and cilantro were bright. The pico de gallo wasn’t altogether bad but tasted too strongly of lime for the concoction.

Urban Native American Taco

All in all, I quite enjoyed the Urban Bumpkin. Though the flavors were not flavors I recognized from Indian tacos past, the dish was cohesive and, aside from an overdose of lime juice, well-balanced. It was clearly fusion, but fusion done fairly well, in that ingredients from disparate sources were chosen because they paired well, not as part of any gimmick. The dish is quite substantial, to boot, and, at $8.18 is priced reasonably (no matter how odd the price itself).

But was it street food? Yes and no. We have decided many times before that a taco is “street food,” because it is the kind of food that can be cooked in front of you and is meant to be eaten with your hands, without forks, while standing up. See, e.g., In re El Chilango, 12 Catt. 2 (2012); In re La Tingeria, 18 Catt. 3 (2013); In re Kimchi BBQ Taco, 13 Catt. 2 (2012); In re Sol Mexican Grill, 9 Catt. 4 (2012). In concept, the Urban Native American Taco is similar to other tacos, but, given its sheer bulk, I was unable to eat it without a fork and a knife. This alone could disqualify the dish from the realm of “street food.” Nevertheless, because it is a traditional form of street food (see the memory of San Xavier del Bac above), I would find that it is “street food” and thus entitled to the presumption of affirmance. See In re Hot People Food, 6 Catt. 4 (2012); In re Big Cheese, 6 Catt 2 (2012). I affirm.

AFFIRMED. It is so ordered.

When I first approached the Latin & American Flavors (“LAF”) food truck, it struck me as plain. While the typical food truck these days is dressed up with splashy graphics, LAF is the color of a school bus and its only decoration is a name decal so basic that it probably could have been designed with Microsoft Paint. But don’t get me wrong — these were all good signs. The Justices of this Cart have found that “the best food comes from the least adorned, even spartan, establishments.” In re El Floridano, 2 Catt. 2 (2011). So LAF’s exterior excited me.

Latin & American Flavors

On the other hand, its menu of tacos was not especially exciting. Let’s be honest: there are a lot of taco trucks out on the streets. This Cart has tried quite a few already. See, e.g., In re District Taco, 21 Catt. 2 (2013); In re El Chilango, 12 Catt. 2 (2012); In re La Tingeria, 18 Catt. 3 (2013); In re Sol Mexican Grill, 9 Catt. 4 (2012). Nevertheless, I stepped up to LAF’s window with high hopes for this unassuming food truck.

A simple whiteboard on the truck’s side announced the day’s menu in handwritten lettering. At the top was LAF’s taco deal: 3 tacos for $8. On my visit, the available meats were steak, chicken, and chorizo. I ordered one of each.

Before I can reach the merits of LAF’s tacos, I must determine whether tacos qualify as true street food; that is, “the kind[] of food[] that can be cooked in front of you and [is] meant to be eaten with your hands, without forks, while standing up.” In re Eat Wonky, 2 Catt. 5 (2011). This is easily done. The Cart has repeatedly held that tacos are street food. See District Taco, 21 Catt. 2; El Chilango, 12 Catt. 2; La Tingeria, 18 Catt. 3; Sol Mexican Grill, 9 Catt. 4. Because tacos are street food, the Cart must affirm LAF’s tacos unless they suffer from a significant flaw. See In re Big Cheese, 6 Catt. 2 (2012). Although they were not perfect, LAF’s steak, chicken, and chorizo tacos are affirmed.

Steak, Chicken, and Chorizo Tacos

LAF served its tacos the authentic Mexican way: on two soft corn tortillas and topped with cilantro, onion, and green salsa. It included garnishes of fresh radishes and lime wedges. So far, so good.

Now the big question: how were the meat fillings? The steak, chicken, and chorizo were all flavorful. Even the chicken, which is often most in danger of being bland, was well-seasoned. That being said, the steak and chicken were on the dry side and too finely ground for my liking. They veered too close to the texture of sawdust. The oiliness of the chorizo saved it from a similarly dry fate.

Even though the meats could have been executed better, I was impressed by the heaping portion included in each taco. Of the taco-serving trucks that we have tried to date, LAF wins for the largest serving of meat. I was full after three tacos and remained so through the afternoon, even skipping my usual 3pm snack.

As we often do, my sister and I sampled the mobile gastronomic enterprise on separate days. My sister was met with steak, chicken, and chorizo tacos. I encountered carne asada, chicken, and grilled tilapia.

I assume my “carne asada” and chicken tacos and my sister’s “steak” and chicken tacos were, respectively, the same. Nevertheless, as our assessments differ somewhat, I write separately with regard to those offerings. My sister says that though she found the steak and chicken “flavorful,” she found them to be “dry.” But to quote Dinah Washington, what a difference a day makes. My chicken and carne asada were as moist as a Duncan Hines yellow cake. I have no complaints whatsoever with regard to the carne asada taco — it was delicious — and my only complaint with regard to the chicken taco is that it fell apart when I picked it up. And that’s a rather minor complaint.

I alone, I suppose, encountered LAF’s take on a classic fish taco. LAF prepares its tacos with tilapia — a cheap, relatively flavorless that I associate with institutional kitchens, a fish that nobody likes but nobody actively dislikes because there is so little taste to dislike. That said, LAF’s tilapia taco was flavorful and delicious, a real testament to the truck’s piscine prowess. Its profile was fresh, clean, bright, and vibrant. The fish paired well with the chopped onions, cilantro, and radish slices, and with the pucker of lime. Texturally, the fish was shredded and could almost be described as velvety.

Tilapia, Chicken, Carne Asada Tacos

As my sister notes, the servings were substantial, and more than I expect from a taco truck. Three tacos were more than enough for a satisfying lunch. While perhaps no El Chilango, see In re El Chilango, 12 Catt. 2 (2012), LAF made for a meal I’ll be happy to have again.

In conclusion, LAF is a serious taco truck, and certainly no LAF-ing matter. (My apologies. Had to say it.)

AFFIRMED.

Once upon a time, there was a mobile gastronomic enterprise named El Floridano. I liked it very much, as did my sister. See In re El Floridano, 2 Catt. 2 (2011). I sampled its pulled pork and mango-based sauce — two things I traditionally eschew — and was blown away. That takes some doing. El Floridano was a really superb truck.

But, in the words of the inimitable Nelly Furtado, all good things come to an end. And so El Floridano went away and became something else entirely. It became a brick and mortar. One called Mothership. (Not to be confused with Dr. Funkenstein’s vehicle of supergroovalisticprosifunkstication.) It is located in a place called Park View, an overlooked stretch of Georgia Avenue south of Petworth, which, judging by the restaurant’s mason jar water glasses, is a neighborhood on the verge of a hipster breakdown. The whole enterprise frankly reeks of facial hair and horn-rimmed glasses. But, then again, aren’t we all just a little hipster? And who am I to talk?

One fine, particularly comfortable late summer evening, my clerk and I met my sister and her clerk for oral argument at one of Mothership’s sidewalk picnic tables. Spotify (complete with ads for Spotify) streamed from a speaker suspended above us. We ordered drinks — an acceptable Negroni for me, a decent and rather bitter pear-based concoction for my clerk, and beers for my sister and her clerk — and perused the menu.

The menu itself is a messy hodgepodge of influences. My sister and I tend to agree on very little. But one thing we have shared during our time together on the bench is a healthy suspicion for fusion — a sometimes unfortunate remnant of the 90s (like Natalie Imbruglia’s Torn) which we find too often to be merely code for confusion (again, like Torn). See, e.g., In re Sâuçá, 4 Catt. 3 (2011); In re Seoul Food, 3 Catt. 1 (2011); In re TaKorean, 1 Catt. 4 (2011).

I suppose El Floridano was also fusion, what with its Cuban offerings and its banh mi, but I never made it beyond the delicious Pan con Lechon, and, I don’t know, the truck’s menu felt somewhat more cohesive. Mothership’s menu features Old American, New American, pan-New Southern, Cuban and Puerto Rican, pan-Latin, Italian, and Asian influences without offering any clear vision of what it all means. The influences were not so much fused but peddled separately without complementing one another. Imagine a food court (Taco Bell, Panda Express, Sbarro, KFC) but as a single business, with a waiter, with a liquor license, and with the unmistakable Deliverance-style banjo thumping of one Mr. Marcus Mumford. To be fair, the tableware wasn’t a food court’s Styrofoam. No, it was plastic.

Oxtail & Bone Marrow Patty

We opted for three starters:

• Oxtail and bone marrow patty with spicy guava sauce, mesclun greens, and cotija cheese ($8)
• Steamed buns with shaved beef tongue, pickled green mango, and papaya ($7)*
• Lemongrass dashi steamed PEI mussels with tomatoes and shallots ($10)*

and three main courses:

• Slow-cooked wild boar bucatini with shallots, grape tomatoes, clipped herbs, and butter ($20)*
• Lower Potomac blue cat fish with creamy asiago grits and tasso gravy ($14)*
• Cuban pizza with roast pork, Edwards Virginia ham, swiss cheese, pickles, and mustard béchamel ($16)

and, for dessert, a chocolate mousse with shortbread cookie ($6)*.

(* These dishes were ordered as part of a restaurant-week special but are available on the ordinary menu at the prices listed above.)

Wild Boar Bucatini

Oxtail and Bone Marrow Patty. Yelp reviews led us to expect several smallish empanadillas. Instead, we received a decently sized patty. The crust was good – golden, buttery, flaky, exactly what one expects from a good crust. The oxtail itself was palatable but ended up overpowered by the excellent crust. The bone marrow was undetectable.

Steamed Buns with Shaved Beef Tongue. The steam buns were of this variety rather than this variety. They were good. Even better was the shaved beef tongue itself, which was tender, flavorful, and texturally luxurious.

Steamed Mussels. The mussels were fine but bland. Nothing much to write about. Inoffensive, palatable, but not particularly recommended or discouraged.

Wild Boar Bucatini. This was one of the best dishes we sampled. That said, it was a pretty mediocre dish. The flavors were well developed enough, and the bucatini were well prepared, but I think I could have whipped this dish up at home (if boar were ever on my shopping list). The dish even looked like something I might whip up at home.

Blue Cat Fish

Blue Cat Fish. This was, hands down, the worst dish we sampled. The fish tasted, well, fishy. (Fishy fish does not taste good, for some reason, in the same way that beefy beef or ducky duck might taste delicious.) My mother always told me not to order catfish because it’s a bottom-feeder. I never really heeded her warning because lobster and shrimp are also bottom feeders and yet are perfectly delectable. But Mothership’s catfish tasted exactly like one would expect a bottom eater to taste. As for the grits, I have a high bar for them. In this case, they were bland and not nearly as well prepared as I might have liked. The advertised tasso was undetectable.

Cuban Pizza. The Cuban pizza is, in theory, a classic Cuban sandwich reimagined as a pizza. Cf. In re A’ Lo Cubano, 22 Catt. 3 (2013). Really, the Cuban pizza was poorly named. It did not read as a pizza at all, but rather as something more like a mediocre flatbread with scattered pig bits, Swiss cheese, and pickle. The mustard béchamel was not a sauce in the manner usually employed by a pizza. There was a hint of mustard across the flatbread, but little more than a hint.

Chocolate Mousse. The chocolate mousse was chalky, oddly lumpy, and tasted less of chocolate and more of a heavy pour of triple sec. Imagine a badly-executed milk chocolate orange ball. The orange-flavor wasn’t advertised on the menu, and neither my sister and I nor our clerks were expecting such a sharp tang of citrus. The unexpected shock was offputting. As for the shortbread cookie, it was not shortbread. In fact, it tasted more like pound cake. Again, not as advertised, and the shock was unwelcome.

In the end, there were promising notes (the steamed buns with shaved beef tongue, the shell of the oxtail and bone marrow patty); there were mediocre notes which, with a bit of tinkering, could be better dishes (steamed mussels, oxtail and bone marrow patty, wild boar bucatini); and there were poor notes (Cuban pizza) and very poor notes (blue cat fish, chocolate mousse). Mothership’s menu is marred by fusion confusion, while its food preparation is marked by deep inconsistency. With a bit of careful ordering, Mothership could, perhaps, provide a passable meal. But having to be that careful about what you order at a restaurant takes most of the fun out of restaurant dining. Mothership feels like it’s trying too hard to be the hipster bar and grille of Park View and not trying hard enough with its food. That’s a shame. El Floridano was a gem.

I’m sure my sister will question how it is I was able to find jurisdiction to review a restaurant from the owner of a now-defunct food truck. For the reasons put forth in my dissenting opinion in In re Pupatella, 8 Catt. 4 (2012), I find again that there is no temporal restriction on our jurisdictional test. As for the “sibling relationship” between El Floridano and Mothership, I find the test of In re Shanghai Lounge, 23 Catt. 3 (2013) to be satisfied.

For these reasons, this case is

REMANDED to Mothership for revision.

CATTLEYA, J., dissenting.

My brother was right to guess that I would question the finding of jurisdiction in this case.  When we granted cartiorari to Mothership, and indeed when we dined at Mothership, the owner had not yet officially closed the El Floridano food truck. Thus, at that time, the Cart had jurisdiction to review Mothership based on its relationship with a concurrently operating food truck. See SUNdeVICH v. SUNdeVICH, 22 Catt. 1 (2013); In re Shanghai Lounge, 23 Catt. 3 (2013). But when El Floridano closed its window while our review was still pending, the Cart lost its power to release an opinion on Mothership. See In re Pupatella, 8 Catt. 4 (2012).

We must abide by the limits of the jurisdiction granted to us in the Judiciary Act of 2011 (Cartiorari Act). If we continue to follow my brother’s expansive vision of jurisdiction, this respected tribunal soon will be reviewing restaurants with owners who like food trucks and restaurants which include food truck owners as their regular customers—and then this tribunal will be respected no more.

Although I shared my brother’s disappointment with Mothership’s dishes, this Cart has no authority to review them. The grant of cartiorari should be dismissed as improvidently granted.

One evening after a long day of work in my chambers, I began to make my way home when I spotted a food truck on the far side of the metro station. Uncommon as it is to see a food truck offering dinner service, I immediately changed my evening plans, put my metro card away, and headed towards a food truck called PhoWheels.

PhoWheels

PhoWheels, as one can guess from the name, is a Vietnamese food truck that serves pho. But, in its own words, it is “[n]ot just a PhoTruck [sic].” It offers “a modern interpretation of traditional Viet cuisine, where comforting favorite dishes blend seamlessly w[ith] bold new flavors.” One bold new flavor that appeared on its menu this past September was the Astro Doughnut Bánh Mì.

This unusual offering was the result of a collaboration between PhoWheels and Astro Doughnuts. The DC doughnut-maker created a savory flavor made with bacon, cheddar, and chives to go with PhoWheels’s bánh mì sandwich. At PhoWheels, the sandwich comes with the usual toppings of cilantro and pickled radishes and carrots, plus the addition of sliced cucumbers and truffle aioli. For the main filling, the customer has three choices: 1) “5 spice maple glazed porkbelly [sic]”; 2) “[s]oy garlic chicken”; or 3) “[m]ushroom-onion tofu.”

Feeling adventurous, I opted for the pork belly bánh mì on an Astro doughnut. I also ordered a tofu bánh mì on a French baguette, the usual glutinous container for a bánh mì. PhoWheels’s menu includes two everyday bread options: a baguette or a croissant. Whichever way the customer pairs the breads and meats (or “meat” in the case of the tofu), the cost is $8 plus tax.

True Street Food

Little time needs to be spent on the initial question facing the Cart: whether a bánh mì is street food, or “the kind[] . . . that can be cooked in front of you and [is] meant to be eaten with your hands, without forks, while standing up.” In re Eat Wonky, 2 Catt. 5 (2011). This court has already determined that sandwiches in general, and bánh mì sandwiches in particular, are street food. See In re Lemongrass, 7 Catt. 1 (2012). As true street food, I am required to affirm PhoWheels’s bánh mì sandwiches absent significant flaws with the offerings. In re Big Cheese, 6 Catt. 2 (2012).

Astro Doughnut Bánh Mì with 5 Spice Maple Glazed Pork Belly

Pork Belly Bánh Mì on an Astro Doughnut

I’ll start with my conclusion: the pork belly bánh mì wasn’t bad, but it wasn’t great either. As my youthful law clerk might say, “Just eh.” The biggest issue, for me, was the doughnut. Luckily, what pops into my head when I think of a doughnut—a cloyingly sweet, glazed pastry—was not what I got. But unluckily, what I did get was a tasteless and textureless bun. While the doughnut was made with bacon, cheddar, and chives, none of those flavors were detectable. And as far as texture goes, it was one-dimensional and boring. The thick and somewhat dry bun distracted my taste buds from the sandwich filling when it should have accentuated the filling. The sandwich probably would have been more interesting if the bun (I can’t call it a doughnut; it really wasn’t one) had been grilled like a Panini.

The pork belly was disappointing too, unfortunately. It was bland. Sure, it was fatty (it was pork belly, after all), but it was underseasoned. I detected neither the seasoning of five spices, nor the sweetness of a maple glaze.

The highlight of the sandwich was the pickled radishes and carrots. Fresh and crunchy. And, thank goodness, a whole lot of it piled high. PhoWheels got this part right.

Mushroom-Onion Tofu Bánh Mì on a French Baguette

Tofu Bánh Mì on a Baguette

I was impressed with PhoWheels’s tofu bánh mì on a baguette as much as I was unimpressed with the pork belly bánh mì on a doughnut. The delicious pickled radishes and carrots were there, plus this time the “meat” (tofu) and bread (baguette) were of equally high execution and quality. The tofu pieces were deep-fried and tossed in a tasty mushroom and onion sauce. And the baguette—oh, the baguette!—was everything I wished it to be. Crusty on the outside, and moist and soft inside. This was a very solid bánh mì offering.

To answer the question that might be lingering in the minds of regular bánh mì eaters: Yes, customers of Song Que in Arlington’s Eden Center will probably balk at PhoWheels’s $8 price tag (compared with the less than $4 that Song Que charges for its (smaller) bánh mì sandwiches), but I didn’t regret getting this practically-delivered-to-my-door bánh mì. Plus, PhoWheels offers a free bánh mì after you buy ten.

Conclusion

Two essential components of the classic bánh mì sandwich—the baguette and the pickled radishes and carrots—were spot on at PhoWheels. Unfortunately, while the vegetarian tofu was a surprisingly satisfying find, the pork belly was bland.

Customers who missed the chance to get a bánh mì on an Astro doughnut last month need not worry. The doughnut added nothing special to the sandwich. However, I appreciated PhoWheels’s out-of-the-box thinking and willingness to try something different. If it creates a bánh mì sandwich with other breads of the world in the future, I would probably get in line. Bagel bánh mì, anyone?

AFFIRMED. It is so ordered.

If there’s one thing the DC dining scene loves, it’s small plates. Sometimes, this format is successful, e.g., Jaleo. Sometimes, it’s less so, e.g., Ambar. (Try splitting two tiny stuffed cabbage six ways. Hint: It can’t be done gracefully.) So why shouldn’t a mobile gastronomic enterprise have in on the fun. Here enters Tapas Truck, which, according to its website, serves “Authentic Spanish Cuisine.” Of course the website is also chock full of imagery of delicious-looking paellas and hams wholly unlike anything sold off the truck.

Tapas Truck

For $10, I was able to choose 3 out of 4 tapas options. My clerk and I opted for the following:

• Pollo Valenzia [sic]: “Pan roasted chicken breast in our roasted pepper sauce, served with rice.”
• Shrimp pil pil: “Crispy shrimp in a sweet and spicy sauce.”
• Corn fritters: “Sweet corn nuggets served with cilantro lime sauce.”

(We decided against the fried calamari, salted and peppered with smokey sauce.)

Pollo Valenzia, Shrimp Pil Pil, Corn Fritters

I’ve been to Spain twice. That is not to say I’m some sort of expert on “authentic Spanish cuisine.” But I am fairly certain the food I sampled was hardly authentic, unless you count some swim-up bar in Benidorm that caters exclusively to Brits and Dutch on holiday. The Pollo Valeniza could have been a Lean Cuisine — somewhat palatable, but entirely forgettable. The shrimp pil pil and the corn fritters tasted like fare you might find at some Parrothead-themed beach bar in Virginia Beach: overly sweet, a gloppy sauce, best paired with something rum-based in a tiki head.

I was unimpressed.

Ordinarily, I would devote some time determining whether the sampled fare was “street food,” for, under our jurisprudence true street food is entitled to a presumption of affirmance whereas non-street food must prove itself entirely on its merits. Whether or not Tapas Truck’s fare qualifies as street food is immaterial. Either way it is unsuccessful.

REMANDED to Tapas Truck for revision. It is so ordered.

In Crystal City for the day, I was excited to see a food truck parked on Crystal Drive. The Crystal City BID seems to have scared away most of its burgeoning food truck scene with its “Food Truck Thursdays” failure. (My sister has heard that many food trucks avoid Crystal City like the plague, but who could blame them). But A’ Lo Cubano (“ALC”) had braved the city of the future and set up shop in a particularly perilous spot outside a particularly adversarial Corner Bakery.

(I recall bad blood between Corner Bakery and Seoul Food. And the petition for cartiorari in this case notes the following: “Lady from Corner Bakery interfering (both handing out free treat coupons and also asking the truck to move) – brick and mortars have no clue what to do.” Amen.)

I was eager to sample ALC’s wares.

(Before passing to the questions at hand, I must note that ALC has successfully gotten the song “A Lo Cubano,” by Havanese hip-hop group Orishas, stuck in my head. In the freewheeling halcyon days of KaZaA, a certain high school student may or may not have compiled an album of international rap. Another song, “Così e Cosà,” by Milanese group Articolo 31, proved particularly popular among a certain social group. “Pachka Sigaret,” which isn’t even really rap at all, proved less so.)

I granted cartiorari to ALC’s traditional Cuban sandwich following an emailed petition for cartiorari. While this does not comply with the specific requirements of Rule of Procedure 2-3, I will accept this as a valid Petition as it complies with the spirit, if not the letter, of that Rule.

Cuban Sandwich

As a sandwich is “street food,” ALC’s Cuban sandwich is entitled to the presumption of affirmance announced in Big Cheese, 6 Catt. 2 (2012).

A Cuban sandwich is a pressed sandwich of “Cuban pulled pork, premium sliced ham and imported Swiss cheese” (but imported from where?). A relatively simple thing, a good Cuban sandwich can be a thing of wonder. Unfortunately, despite being home to the Cuban Interests Section of the Swiss Embassy, DC is sorely lacking in decent Cuban food. (Versailles: move north.) At ALC, the Cuban sandwich can be ordered either of two ways:

(1) “traditional,” i.e., with yellow mustard and pickles, or
(2) “con mojo,” i.e., with a “house made spicy pepper sauce.”

Ever the traditionalist, I opted for the first option.  I ordered my sandwich with black beans and rice ($10), which proved a tad al dente for my liking and ultimately forgettable. The petition for cartiorari likewise notes: “Rice&Beans – $2 for essentially 2 oz of dried out rice and beans.  Unforgiveable.” I agree. The sandwich itself, however, was fantastic.

First, the size. The sandwich is huge. A clerk of mine was unable to eat more than half of her sandwich. I ate my entire sandwich but only because I had no way to store the second half of my sandwich and I refused to let it go to waste. (The things I do for justice, o reader!)

ALC’s ingredients were top notch. (All except for the yellow mustard, that is, but who wants top-of-the-line yellow mustard?) The ham and cheese were perfect and, while I have made known for my general uncertainty with regard to pulled pork, ALC’s pulled pork was moist and flavorful, at least close to El Floridano quality which generally serves as my bar. The bread was memorable: crispy on the outside, buttery on the inside. Most significantly, ALC doesn’t try to reinvent a classic sandwich or dress it up unnecessarily. It takes a simple combination and executes it well–generally a good sign when it comes to street food.

For these reasons, the case is

AFFIRMED. It is so ordered.

We recently held that “this Supreme Cart has jurisdiction to review a brick-and-mortar restaurant that concurrently operates a food cart or truck when that brick-and-mortar offers the same menu items as the food cart or truck.” SUNdeVICH v. SUNdeVICH, 22 Catt. 1 (2013). In that case, in which a single enterprise’s, SUNdeVICH’s, mobile and immobile forms were pitted one against the other like gladiators, we found it within our power to rule on a particular food item (a) that was also available in mobile form, and (b) where the mobile version presented itself in the same case. In this case, however, we are presented with one sandwich (Kingston) solely in its immobile iteration (though it is served mobile) and two others (Athens, Buenos Aires) which, as far as I know, are not served on the truck at all. As discussed below, I find that our jurisdiction extends to all three sandwiches.

KINGSTON

In In re Curbside Cupcakes Kiosk, 20 Catt. 4 (2013), we held that we had jurisdiction over a kiosk in a food court “by virtue of its relationship with a mobile gastronomic enterprise that is within our jurisdiction.” In that case, we addressed only the kiosk’s fare, not the truck’s. The same logic extends to a true brick and mortar, such as SUNdeVICH. Accordingly, we have jurisdiction over SUNdeVICH’s Kingston sandwich.

Kingston sandwich

It is SUNdeVICH’s custom to name their sandwiches after world cities. Kingston is the capital of Jamaica. It is also a ficelle filled with jerk chicken, pineapple salsa, greens, spicy slaw, and garlic mayo. (Needless to say, it is most certainly not a beef patty on coco bread.) The careful reader might recall this Cart’s general aversion to fruit-, and in particular mango- and pineapple-, based condiments. See In re OoH DaT ChickeN, 16 Catt. 3 (2013); In re Pedro and Vinny’s, 9 Catt. 2 (2012); In re Doug the Food Dude, 5 Catt. 3 (2012); In re El Floridano, 2 Catt. 2 (2011). However, in this case, the pineapple imparted a beautiful, charred, floral acidity that paired nicely with the heavily seasoned chicken and unctuous garlic mayo. As in El Floridano, I am happy to rule in the party’s favor with regard to their fruit-based accoutrement. The chicken was a well prepared interpretation of a traditional jerk seasoning (allspice, Scotch bonnet). All in all, the sandwich’s flavors melded harmoniously. This was, in fact, the favored sandwich of one of the two clerks present with us at our proceedings. While I tended to favor the Buenos Aires (see below), the Kingston is really a very good sandwich.

ATHENS

As noted above, we found jurisdiction over the kiosk in Curbside Cupcakes Kiosk “by virtue of its relationship with a mobile gastronomic enterprise that is within our jurisdiction.” 20 Catt. 4 (2013) (emphasis added). While that decision addressed a particular cupcake also sold by the mobile gastronomic enterprise, it in no way foreclosed our consideration of food items not purveyed by the mobile gastronomic enterprise itself. Instead, as the cited language indicates, we stressed the importance of the relationship that exists between the mobile and immobile gastronomic enterprises rather than the particular food served. We hold here that, because SUNdeVICH the brick and mortar operates a mobile gastronomic enterprise under the same branding, our jurisdiction extends to all items purveyed by the brick and mortar.

Athens is the capital of Greece. It is also a ficelle filled with chunks of succulent lamb, tomato, sumac onions, tztaziki, and greens. Like many other sandwiches purveyed by SUNdeVICH, the particular combination of flavors is no way revolutionary. The beauty of SUNdeVICH lies more in its execution than the ingenuity lent each individual sandwich (though the concept of the restaurant as a whole is, I should say, quite creative and successful). The lamb in particular was an exquisite medium rare–pink on the inside but not so blue as to emit baas. It was, in other words, perfectly toothsome. The flavors, like that of the Kingston, were well balanced. They were crisp and fresh. Of the three sandwiches, the Athens was probably my least favorite, but that is a matter of taste alone. Its preparation was immaculate.

BUENOS AIRES

For the reasons given above with regard to the Athens, our jurisdiction extends also to the Buenos Aires. No principled distinction can be drawn between the capitals of Greece and Argentina, respectively, other than the fact that one is in South America while the other is not. This has no bearing on the question before us.

Buenos Aires sandwich

As noted, Buenos Aires is the capital of Argentina. It is the birthplace of tango and the stomping grounds of Borges. It is also a ficelle filled with (flank?) steak, chimichurri, and sautéed onions. Though the meat itself was perhaps a tad more cooked than I might have liked, the Buenos Aires was my favorite of the three sandwiches. (I’ll leave it to my sister to reveal her and her clerk’s preferred bocadillos.) The chimichurri lent an incredible pungent freshness to the dish–a fragrant bouquet of garlic and parsley and olive oil. While not a revolutionary or innovative chimichurri by any means–such does not appear to be SUNdeVICH’s modus operandi–it was made from good ingredients, well executed, and served in proper proportion to the sandwich itself. There was also the matter of the sautéed onions. I am a sautéed onion fiend and would think nothing of eating a bowl of them. (Fortunately for you, our decisions are delivered electronically rather than aloud in open court.) For these reasons, I find the Buenos Aires to approach the perfect sandwich, which is quite a feat given the competition from the Kingston, the Athens, and the Milan (which may still be my favorite of the four).

For these reasons, the case is heartily

AFFIRMED.

CATTLEYA, J., concurring.

SUNdeVICH’s Kingston, Athens, and Buenos Aires sandwiches are rightly affirmed for the reasons stated in the Court’s opinion. I write separately to clarify why the Cart has jurisdiction to review the Athens and Buenos Aires sandwiches even though they are available only at the brick-and-mortar location. It is true, as the Chief Justice says, that the Cart’s jurisdiction over a brick-and-mortar establishment stems from its “relationship with a mobile gastronomic enterprise that is within our jurisdiction.” (quoting In re Curbside Cupcakes Kiosk, 20 Catt. 4 (2013)). However, it is not true that any relationship is sufficient to extend our jurisdiction to those food items that are purveyed by the brick-and-mortar alone. For example, sibling enterprises under different names and with different menus would not bring a brick-and-mortar under our power of review on the basis of their relationship. The relationship must be, as it is here, one “under the same branding”, supra, so that the new food items are a natural extension of the mobile gastronomic enterprise’s menu. Clearly, SUNdeVICH’s sandwiches–on the same baguettes, following the same theme of globally inspired fillings–are natural extensions of the food truck’s offerings. And so, for that reason, we properly exercise jurisdiction in this case.

I granted cartiorari on the question of the pulled pork barbecue sandwich and fries at Food for the Soul (“FFTS”).

I. JURISDICTION

As an initial matter, I must decide whether this Cart has jurisdiction to hear a case involving FFTS. Under our Rules of Procedure, the jurisdiction of the Cart extends to mobile gastronomic enterprises (“MGE”) in Arlington, Alexandria, and the District reasonably proximate to public transportation of a reasonably rapid and efficient character. However, FFTS is a primarily Fairfax-based MGE which happened to visit Arlington one blustery day. The question then is whether a Fairfax-based MGE which serves its cuisine at times within the combined area of Arlington, Alexandria, and the District may fall within the jurisdiction of this Cart.

Our decision in In re Make My Cake, 16 Catt. 4 (2013) answers this question. Though that case was dismissed on other grounds, we held that a New York-based MGE which served cupcakes at the second inauguration of Barack Obama was properly within the jurisdiction of this Cart. There is no principled distinction between a New York-based MGE and a Fairfax-based MGE. Accordingly, FFTS must be found to fall within this Cart’s jurisdiction.

Food for the Soul

II. STREET FOOD

I next must inquire whether FFTS’s pulled pork sandwich and fries constitute “street food.” If so, the dish must be affirmed absent grievous error. See In re Big Cheese, 6 Catt. 2 (2012). If it is not, the food truck must prove the worth of its creations. See id. “Street food” is food which “can be cooked in front of you and [is] meant to be eaten with your hands, without forks, while standing up.” In re Eat Wonky, 2 Catt. 5 (2011).

We have consistently held that a sandwich is “street food.” See Big Cheese, 6 Catt. 2. And though the decision predates our explicit street food jurisprudence, we have affirmed a pulled pork sandwich. See In re El Floridano, 2 Catt. 2 (2011). FFTS’s pulled pork sandwich, too, is clearly “street food.” And though a side dish alone cannot defeat application of the presumption, see In re OoH DaT ChickeN, 16 Catt. 3 (2013), fries, too, meet our “street food” test. Accordingly, the presumption of affirmance holds, and I proceed to adjudication of the MGE’s cuisine.

Pulled Pork Sandwich and Fries

III. CUISINE

A. Sandwich

I have registered my general dislike of the pulled pork sandwich. El Floridano, 2 Catt. 2 (2011). I have also, however, affirmed a pulled pork sandwich, finding it to be quite delicious and quite well executed. See id. But, in my experience, a pulled pork sandwich is more generally dry and somewhat bland. Unfortunately, FFTS’s pulled pork sandwich falls into the latter class. It was both dry and bland; it was underwhelming. Therefore, I find the presumption of affirmance to be rebutted.

B. Fries

FFTS’s fries were crinkle-cut. They were palatable, yes, and not altogether terrible, but they tasted suspiciously like Ore-Ida. I have a sneaky suspicion they were Ore-Ida. You can read reviews here.

IV. CONCLUSION

For the reasons given in this opinion, this case is

REMANDED to Food for the Soul for revision. It is so ordered.

We granted cartiorari on the question of the combination of (1) yebeg wot (a berbere-spiced lamb stew), (2) gomen (buttery collard greens), and (3) tikil gomen (cabbage braised with turmeric) from Simple on Wheels (“SOW”), a mobile gastronomic enterprise purveying Ethiopian offerings.

I. STREET FOOD

Our first inquiry, as always, is whether the offering before us is properly “street food.” If it is, we presume it should be affirmed absent, of course, some grievous error. See In re Big Cheese, 6 Catt. 2 (2012). If it is not, the burden is on the mobile gastronomic enterprise to prove the worth and merit of its creations. See id. We have defined “street food” to be that which “can be cooked in front of you and [is] meant to be eaten with your hands, without forks, while standing up.” In re Eat Wonky, 2 Catt. 5 (2011). We have held that this test provides a starting point but should not be taken to define the scope of “street food.” See In re DC Ballers, 19 Catt. 1 (2013) (quoting In re Hot People Food, 6 Catt. 4 (2012)).

SOW’s cuisine is clearly capable of, and in fact is, “cooked in front of you.” It is less clear, however, that SOW’s food satisfies the second and third factors of our test of “street food.”

It is of course a given with this particular cuisine that it is in a literal sense “meant to be eaten with your hands, without forks.” Our platter was accompanied by a hearty helping of injera. This Cart has never considered whether a meal eaten by means of injera is “meant to be eaten with your hands,” or whether the injera is instead some form of edible utensil and is thus a “fork” of sorts, removing the dish from the scope of “street food.”

However, we need not reach any conclusion on this point at this juncture. Whatever the legal effect of injera on the street-foodness of a particular dish, it is plain in this case that SOW’s particular meal is not meant to be eaten “while standing up.” It is essentially take-out and, as such, requires resort to a bench or, better yet (particularly for the sake of one’s light-colored clothing), a table. Therefore, I must conclude that SOW’s meal is not “street food” as this Cart has traditionally interpreted that term. As a result, the burden rests with SOW to prove the worth of its cuisine. As discussed below, we affirm in part and remand in part.

Simple on Wheels

 II. YEBEG WOT, GOMEN, TIKIL GOMEN

In a city brimming with delicious Ethiopian cuisine, we had long wondered in chambers when Ethiopian fare would hit the food truck scene in earnest. (I would hesitate to call fojol bros.’s gimmicky approach “earnest.”) And so it was with great excitement that we encountered SOW. (A clerk of mine informs me of another truck, Lilypad on the Run, whose day in court will have to wait.)

As noted above, we opted for the combination of (1) a yebeg wot, a spicy, berbere-heavy lamb stew; (2) gomen, or buttery collard greens; and (3) tikil gomen, or lightly-spiced, braised cabbage. This combination, of course, was accompanied by a bounty of injera.

The food was decent. While I’d still prefer to eat at Dukem or Awash, neither serves lunch downtown, and SOW’s cuisine is more than passable and even quite good. The yebeg wot was well spiced and flavorful. Its taste was not dumbed down for the Farragut Square lunch crowd and tasted reasonably authentic. The stew paired well with the collards and cabbage, which were also flavorful and which tasted quite fresh.

I suppose the easiest determinant of an Ethiopian restaurant is its injera. SOW’s injera was good — airy and chewy and sour and teff-y in all the right ways. And the meal came with a lot of it. Of course, this is almost too filling for a weekday, workday lunch break. I spent much of the afternoon in a food coma.

The meal itself was a good deal: $10 for a serving that could easily satiate two.

Yebeg wot with gomen and tikil gomen

The only downside is, as noted above, the difficulty one encounters in eating this sort of meal streetside in work clothes before going back to work. While finger food in a sense, this is hardly dainty eating. By the end of the meal, as we sat back on a bench in Farragut Square, my sister and I noticed a vibrant reddish tint to our fingertips. Olfactory investigation revealed the pungency of berbere. While this is ordinarily of no great concern to me, this does make for a somewhat tricky business lunch. If I had one suggestion for SOW, it would be this: moist towelettes.

In the end, I would affirm SOW for the flavor and freshness of its food and for the bargain of its price. I would, however, remand for the imperfect translation of this sort of dish to workday street food fare. So be it.

AFFIRMED in part and REMANDED in part to Simple on Wheels for revision.

CATTLEYA, J., concurring.

I have two words to offer on the subject, and the Chief Justice already took them out of my mouth: moist towelettes. And a third word: please.

Recently, a new food truck caught my attention on the streets of Arlington. The pink-colored truck featured a cartoon woman (to my eye, a dark-haired cross between Jane Jetson and Lucille Ball) serving an enormous tray of donuts. It was named Mama’s Donut Bites (“MDB”), and I could not stop myself from granting cartiorari to review MDB under the authority given to me by Rule of Procedure 2-2.

Mama’s Donut Bites

STREET FOOD

The procedures of this reviewing tribunal dictate that I must first determine whether MDB’s donut bites are street food. This is because the Cart presumes that street food should be fully affirmed. Food that does not qualify as “street” is not entitled to the same presumption and must prove its worthiness. See In re Big Cheese, 6 Catt. 2 (2012).

This court has defined street food as “the kind[] of food[] that can be cooked in front of you and [is] meant to be eaten with your hands, without forks, while standing up.” In re Eat Wonky, 2 Catt. 5 (2011). We have consistently held that baked goods, like cupcakes, cheesecakes, and pies, are not street food. See In re That Cheesecake Truck, 10 Catt. 4 (2012); In re Sweetbites, 10 Catt. 1 (2012); In re Dangerously Delicious Pies, 4 Catt. 4 (2011). Although donuts would seem to easily fit into the non-street-food category of baked goods, MDB’s donuts are different. For one thing, they are deep-fried, not baked. More importantly, they meet the three elements of the “street food” test. First, they can be prepared in front of the customer. When MDB sets up at farmers’ markets in Northern Virginia, customers can watch MDB make the donut batter and then fry the rings. Second, donuts are meant to be eaten with your hands, for how else would you get to enjoy the pleasure of licking any excess frosting/sugary topping from your fingers? Finally, donuts can be easily eaten while standing up. Therefore, MDB’s donut bites are proper street food, and this Cart presumes that the donuts should be affirmed. For the reasons below, I would affirm MDB’s donuts even without this presumption.

APPLE CIDER DONUT BITES

MDB’s menu is simple. It sells bite-sized donuts, plus coffee. A bag of 6 donut bites is $3, a bag of 12 is $5, and a bag of 26 is $10. A 16-oz. cup of coffee is $1.50. On my visit, MDB had apple cider donut bites available. It creates other flavors, including red velvet donut bites with cream cheese frosting.

Apple Cider Donut Bites

Although I think of donuts more as a breakfast item than as a dessert, MDB’s apple cider donut bites were a sweet way to end my afternoon meal. MDB explains that they are “made with local apple cider and fresh apples then tossed in a delicious cinnamon-sugar mixture.” The hot, made-to-order mini donut rings were a perfect size to pop in the mouth. The apple cider flavor was appealing, and the cinnamon-sugar made it addictive. The donut bites were generously tossed in the cinnamon-sugar mixture, as evidenced by the sugary mound at the bottom of my bag, and yet they managed not to be too sweet. To my delight, the donut bites were light, fluffy, and not heavy in the stomach, which made it easy to keep reaching into my bag for another, and another, and one last piece, and then just one more. . . and one more.

For those who want to kick up the sweetness, MDB has a help-yourself toppings bar with options such as homemade raspberry preserves, white chocolate, dark chocolate, caramel, and rainbow sprinkles. The apple cider donuts were delicious on their own and did not need any toppings, but I tried the raspberry preserves (because I can’t resist homemade foodstuff) and white chocolate (because white chocolate goes so well with raspberry). Both toppings were spot on.

CONCLUSION

The members of this Cart typically wait a few months before reviewing a new food truck in order to serve the causes of fairness and justice. I made an exception here because (1) although new to the line of food trucks during the weekday lunch service, MDB has been serving its donut bites on weekend mornings at farmers’ markets in Northern Virginia (e.g., Westover, Falls Church, Vienna, Dale City) for over a year; and (2) I find no fault in MDB’s donut bites.

I conclude that MDB knows how to make a hot, fresh, and tasty donut. Usually when I grab donuts on the run from convenience stores or breakfast chains I end up regretting the wasted calories, but not here. There is no comparison. These donuts are worth it. And I can’t wait to try more donut bite flavors for breakfast or dessert.

AFFIRMED. It is so ordered.

Before the Cart today is Kafta Mania (“KM”), a Lebanese food truck serving the streets of Virginia. Last week I reviewed KM’s Classic Kafta sandwich and stuffed grape leaves, see In re Kafta Mania, 17 Catt. 2 (2013), and now I consider its Halloumi Cheese Panini and baba ghanoush.

I. The Street Food Test

The first issue to be settled can be done so easily. Our regular reader knows that in order to establish who bears the burden of proof in this case, it must be determined whether the food before us qualifies as “street food.”  Street food is entitled to the presumption of affirmance by this court, unless the Cart meets the high burden to prove that there is something wrong with the food. See In re Big Cheese, 6 Catt. 2 (2012). We have defined street food as “the kind[] of food[] that can be cooked in front of you and [is] meant to be eaten with your hands, without forks, while standing up.” In re Eat Wonky, 2 Catt. 5 (2011).

Our case law is clear that sandwiches are street food. See, e.g., In re Kababji Food Truck, 15 Catt. 2 (2012); In re Hometown Heros, 14 Catt. 2 (2012); In re Pepe, 13 Catt. 4 (2012); In re Wassub, 13 Catt. 1 (2012); In re Borinquen Lunch Box, 10 Catt. 3 (2012); In re Willie’s Po’Boy, 7 Catt. 4 (2012); Big Cheese, 6 Catt. 2. What is more, because a sandwich is the main component of the meal being reviewed today, the side dish does not need to be street food for the presumption of affirmance to apply. See In re OoH DaT ChickeN, 16 Catt. 3 (2013) (explaining that where “the principal component of a food truck combination platter is reasonably considered ‘street food,’ the presumption of affirmance should apply.”). Thus, without determining whether baba ghanoush is street food, I can say that KM is entitled to the presumption that this Cart should affirm its dishes in toto.

Halloumi Cheese Panini with Baba Ghanoush

 II. Halloumi Cheese Panini ($6.99)

KM describes its Halloumi Cheese Panini as “[g]rilled halloumi cheese, tomato and oregano on a 6 inch baguette.” I have tasted a great many cheeses in my life, but I have never had the pleasure to try Halloumi cheese before. (I also have never tried Wensleydale cheese, but I hear good things about it from a cheese connoisseur named Wallace, and I hope to try it soon.) My law clerk tells me that Halloumi is a white cheese with a high melting point. If I had opened my Styrofoam container expecting a melted and oozy grilled cheese sandwich, I might have been disappointed. Maybe, for a second, until I gave KM’s panini a try. The Halloumi cheese was texturally similar to mozzarella, except a bit drier and saltier. It was quite tasty. The combination of cheese, tomato, and oregano was very classic, but with a slightly salty twist. Everything was encased nicely by KM’s choice of bread. The sandwich roll developed beautiful grill marks and a nice crust on the outside.

III. Baba Ghanoush ($1.50)

KM’s baba ghanoush, a mix of mashed eggplant, tahini, garlic, and lemon, was served with pita chips. The chips and dip were very good. The baba ghanoush was marked by a strong smoky taste, which was probably the result of the eggplant being expertly roasted over an open flame. The pita chips were fresh, crunchy, herby, and salty. The pita chips ran out before my portion of baba ghanoush did, but I was more than happy to eat the baba ghanoush on its own . . . and then maybe clean off my Styrofoam container so as to not miss a single drop.

IV. Conclusion

 For the reasons above, the case is

AFFIRMED. It is so ordered.

I granted cartiorari to Kafta Mania (“KM”), a food truck serving up Lebanese food. KM’s menu features a variety of sandwiches, including three versions of a kafta sandwich, and side dishes like hummus, baba ghanoush, and stuffed grape leaves. In today’s opinion, I review KM’s signature sandwich, the so-called Classic Kafta, as well as the stuffed grape leaves. In a companion case to be discussed next week, In re Kafta Mania, 17 Catt. 3 (2012), I review KM’s Halloumi Cheese Panini with a side of baba ghanoush.

My first question upon seeing a black-painted food truck with “Kafta Mania” written in white bold letters was, “What is kafta?” KM’s website explains that kafta is “made by grinding meat, mixing it with spices, and forming it into balls or cylinders for cooking.” In other words, kafta is a mix of ground meat and spices, which is shaped into a meatball or patty, and then grilled (or baked or fried). In other other words, kafta is kind of like a hamburger.

In the case of KM’s Classic Kafta, the ground meat is beef; the spices include (at least) parsley, salt, and pepper; and the shape is a rectangular patty. The patty is topped with tomato, red onions, and KM’s “special Mediterranean sauce.” It is then served on a six-inch baguette. (I did not measure KM’s bread, but I assume that KM means to give a measurement of the bread’s length, unlike Subway which describes the length of its subs without intending to give a measurement of length.)

Kafta Mania

Before I discuss the merits of KM’s Classic Kafta, I must determine whether the sandwich and side order before the Cart today are street food. This Cart has defined street food as “the kind[] of food[] that can be cooked in front of you and [is] meant to be eaten with your hands, without forks, while standing up.” See In re Eat Wonky, 2 Catt. 5 (2011). This Cart has repeatedly held that sandwiches are street food. See, e.g., In re Kababji Food Truck, 15 Catt. 2 (2012); In re Hometown Heros, 14 Catt. 2 (2012); In re Pepe, 13 Catt. 4 (2012); In re Wassub, 13 Catt. 1 (2012); In re Borinquen Lunch Box, 10 Catt. 3 (2012); In re Willie’s Po’Boy, 7 Catt. 4 (2012); In re Big Cheese, 6 Catt. 2 (2012).

A dish’s status as street food affects the burden of proof in its case before the Cart. We presume that street food should be fully affirmed unless we meet the high burden to prove that there is something wrong with the food. See Big Cheese, 6 Catt. 2. Because KM’s Classic Kafta is street food, I need not determine whether the side dish of stuffed grape leaves is street food. This is because where “the principal component of a food truck combination platter is reasonably considered ‘street food,’ the presumption of affirmance should apply.” In re OoH DaT ChickeN, 16 Catt. 3 (2013). Here, the principal component (a sandwich) is street food, so the entire sandwich-and-side-dish platter must be affirmed, unless I show that there is a significant flaw with the platter.

Classic Kafta with Stuffed Grape Leaves

I now turn to the Classic Kafta ($7.99). I start first with the bread–the first thing that one’s teeth sinks into when eating the sandwich. Although I have a great passion for crusty bread (especially when dipped into a mix of olive oil and balsamic vinegar), I was afraid that KM’s choice of bread would ruin the sandwich. I feared that a baguette would be too rough against the roof of the mouth and too tough to chew. But to my great delight, I was wrong. KM’s choice of bread (more of a roll than a baguette) was very pleasing–lightly toasted on the outside, and soft and fluffy on the inside.

The filling was even more pleasing. The ground beef patty was succulent when it very easily could have been dried out like an overcooked hamburger. And it was packed with flavor. Whatever was mixed in with the beef (certainly onion and parsley, and maybe allspice and garlic) gave it a very full flavor. The add-ons of a fresh tomato slice, diced red onions, and KM’s special sauce completed the sandwich nicely. The overall effect was a well-rounded, earthy flavor that I’ve never quite tasted before. It was delicious.

My side of stuffed grape leaves ($2 for 4 pieces) matched the high quality of the sandwich. I must admit that I’ve never enjoyed stuffed grape leaves before, but KM’s version changed my mind about the dish. The versions I’ve had in the past either used mint leaves too heavily (I’m not a fan of fresh mint leaves) or didn’t quite manage to fuse the grape leaves and filling into a cohesive dish. KM didn’t do the first and achieved the second. Plus, KM’s stuffed grape leaves were obviously homemade and very, very fresh.

My sandwich-and-one-side lunch came out to $10. Although on the pricey side, the food was very good. And, for me, it was worth paying a little more than usual for lunch in order to try something (i.e., kafta) that I’ve never eaten before. For all these reasons, the case is

AFFIRMED. It is so ordered.

Today, we grant cartiorari to review the combination of OoH DaT ChickeN’s (“ODC”) 1/4 dark meat, rice, and basil coleslaw.

OoH DaT ChickeN

I. “STREET FOOD”

We must first consider whether this combination constitutes “street food,” as we have defined that term. Under our jurisprudence, where a mobile gastronomic enterprise’s offering is found to be “street food,” there is a presumption that the offering should be affirmed absent convincing evidence to the contrary. See In re Big Cheese, 6 Catt. 2 (2012). We have defined street food to be “the kind[] of food[] that can be cooked in front of you and [is] meant to be eaten with your hands, without forks, while standing up.” See In re Eat Wonky, 2 Catt. 5 (2011).

In the present case, we are confronted by the combination of a bone-in chicken leg and thigh; long-grain rice; and seasoned, shredded cabbage. The jasmine rice and shredded cabbage are clearly meant to be eaten with forks. Therefore, they cannot properly be considered “street food.” But is this finding controlling as to the entire combination, where, as here, the principal part of the combination—the bone-in chicken—is arguably finger-food?

We have not affirmatively decided this question. In a line of cases, my sister has found that Indian food platters including easily-manipulated naan does not constitute true “street food.” See In re BD Heartily, 16 Catt. 2 (2013); Salt and Pepper Grill, 8 Catt. 2 (2012). However, in both cases, the principal component of the dish was not amenable to being eaten with one’s fingers. In my brief opinion in Kababji Food Truck, 15 Catt. 2 (2012), I summarily found that the combination of a sandwich, labneh, and baba ghannouj constituted “street food.” But in that case, both side dishes are intended to be eaten with pita, not with a fork.

In this case, I find that so long as the principal component of a food truck combination platter is reasonably considered “street food,” the presumption of affirmance should apply. After all, while we ultimately affirm ODC’s combination based, in part, on its rice and coleslaw, neither alone provided the grounds for granting cartiorari. Because we granted cartiorari to ODC for its chicken, not for its rice and coleslaw, their presence alongside the chicken should not shift the burden of proof in this case.

Accordingly, the burden is on this Cart to demonstrate that remand is warranted. We find we are unable to do so and therefore affirm.

1/4 Chicken (Dark Meat) Combo                               with Rice and Basil Coleslaw

II. CHICKEN

ODC laudably prepares its whole chickens on spits within the truck. The patron is then offered the choice of a quarter chicken (white or dark meat), half chicken, or whole chicken. As we had several cases to adjudicate on the day we heard oral argument, we opted for the quarter chicken. As the flavor of dark meat is stronger and more nuanced than that of white meat, we opted for the dark meat. For $8.00, the quarter dark meat chicken is accompanied by long-grain rice and the patron’s choice of side. These patrons opted for the basil coleslaw. The merits of the rice and coleslaw are discussed below.

The chicken was perfectly cooked—fully cooked yet fully moist. The skin of the chicken was spectacular. While not entirely crispy, it was seasoned beautifully. Having sampled the offerings of one El Pollo Rico, the Justices of this Cart have high standards when it comes to simply prepared chicken. See In re Tasty Kabob, 3 Catt. 4 (2011). However, in the present case, I would find those high standards to be met, whether applying or hypothetically withholding application of the presumption of affirmance noted above.

As a side note, ODC supplied a rather sweet, presumably fruit-flavored sauce for the chicken. We have consistently voiced our distrust of fruit-based sauces. See In re Pedro and Vinny’s, 9 Catt. 2 (2012); In re Doug the Food Dude, 5 Catt. 3 (2012); In re El Floridano, 2 Catt. 2 (2011). This case is no exception and, as expected, the sauce was not to our liking. Luckily, ODC’s chicken is more than sufficiently flavorful on its own and so no partial remand is warranted.

III. SIDES: RICE AND COLESLAW

The combination included long-grain rice. The rice was flavorful (perhaps containing bits of spinach or sorrel or some other leafy green) and well prepared. It included crispy bits, as in a paella or pilaf.

The coleslaw was “basil coleslaw” and appeared to be shredded cabbage tossed with pesto. It was fresh, refreshing, and paired nicely with the chicken.

V. CONCLUSION

For the reasons noted above, this case is

AFFIRMED.

CATTLEYA, J., concurring.

Though he be but longwinded, the Chief Justice is right. I write separately on the issue of the sauce, which the Chief Justice describes only as a “fruit-flavored sauce.” For readers who may like fruit-flavored sauces or who may want to know on which fruit the sauce was based, I offer a few more words (but just a few). It tasted to me like a sweet and sour mango sauce. Although it was not to my liking, I think I would have ignored any sauce that ODC served on the side. The chicken was so beautifully cooked that any condiment would have ruined it for me.

I granted cartiorari to Seoul Food’s winter special, Mushroom and Pork Donburi. Seoul Food’s dishes have been placed on the bench of this court on several occasions. The Steak Superbowl (a Korean-Mexican rice bowl) was made with high-quality ingredients but in the end the fusion mix was not my personal favorite. See In re Seoul Food (The Korean Superbowl Case), 3 Catt. 1 (2011). The Steak Bibimbap (a more traditional Korean dish) was executed to perfection and has fed the Justices of this court many times since that first lunch. See In re Seoul Food (The Beef Bibimbap Case), 3 Catt. 2 (2011). The Chief Justice was also very impressed with last winter’s seasonal soups. See In re Seoul Food (The Winter Soups Case), 5 Catt. 4 (2012). With this record, Seoul Food has shown itself to be a leader on Arlington’s food truck scene, so I had high expectations for its special menu item.

Seoul Food

Seoul Food’s Mushroom and Pork Donburi ($9) [1] is made with shitake, oyster, and crimini mushrooms. The pork is marinated in sake, red wine, and sweet soy. The meat-and-mushroom dish is completed with vegetables (carrots) and topped off with sesame seeds and green onions. To add heat, diced jalapeños are added upon request. (You should request.)

Because rice bowls are not “street food,” i.e., “the kind[] . . . that can be cooked in front of you and [is] meant to be eaten with your hands, without forks, while standing up,” In re Eat Wonky, 2 Catt. 5 (2011), Seoul Food’s donburi is not entitled to the presumption that it belongs on the street and should be affirmed by this court. See In re Big Cheese, 6 Catt. 2 (2012). But no matter, the dish stands up on its own, and I affirm.

Mushroom and Pork Donburi

The Mushroom and Pork Donburi was a satisfying lunch. It could have been a satisfying dinner too, since the serving size was so generous, but I didn’t have the strength to stop eating halfway through even though I was full. Here’s why: The pork was tender and full of flavor. The mushrooms were succulent and earthy. And there was just the right amount of heat – my nose got a little runny, as often happens with spicy food, but it was not spicy enough to blind my eyes with tears. Lastly, and most importantly in my opinion, the bed of white rice was sticky and chewy, just the way I like it. See In re AZNeats, 2 Catt. 3 (2011).

As I expected, Seoul Food’s Mushroom and Pork Donburi was tasty and well-executed. Another solid dish from a food truck that aims high and rarely disappoints.

AFFIRMED. It is so ordered.

[1] Seoul Food offers a small discount for customers who bring back a plastic food container for re-use.

I granted cartiorari to give consideration to Kababji Food Truck’s (“KFT”) spicy intabli sandwich, labneh, and baba ghannouj. KFT is a mobile gastronomic enterprise associated with Connecticut Avenue’s Kababji Grill that has been operating on the streets of this Cart’s jurisdiction since May.  At a glance, KBT does not appear terribly distinct from other kebab-themed trucks apart, perhaps, from slightly better graphics, a television mounted on its side, and a broader array of offerings. But, if nothing else, kebab makes for an excellent lunch and terrific “street food”—as defined by the precedent of this Cart—and, in the end, KBT did not disappoint.

I opted for the pita platter, which allows you to choose a sandwich from a list of seven along with two cold mezze from a list of six. I opted for the “spicy intabli sandwich,” with labneh and baba ghannouj as my sides of choice. For $9, you get a truly considerable amount of food, and so I would consider this a “good deal” in line with other good deals considered through the history of this venerable tribunal.

Spicy Intabli Sandwich with Labneh and Baba Ghannouj

In place of the spicy intabli sandwich, I could have opted for a number of staples—shish taouk, halabi, hummus, labneh, etc. But what drew me to the spicy intabli sandwich was the fact that I had no idea what an “intabli” was. The menu offered no explanation, which only further piqued my interest. It turns out an “intabli kabab” is ground beef “seasoned with house-blend spices, fresh peppers, chopped parsley and  mild pepper paste,” or so it is defined by Kababji Grill’s more intricate menu. I would not call the sandwich particularly “spicy” in the traditional sense—that is, it does not tend to burn any part of the digestive tract. It is “spicy” in this sense that it contains a bounty of spices—maybe cumin, maybe coriander, maybe sumac, who knows—that form a harmonious, pleasing, and gustatory whole.

The labneh is simple, as labneh should be. It is rich and creamy and a bit sour. It is delicious with pita.

The baba ghannouj was quite smoky but without tasting of motor oil. It tasted strongly of eggplant as opposed to filler. Most importantly, it tasted fresh.

KBT is by no means innovative. Instead, it takes classic Middle Eastern street food and, without trying to improve it or fuse it voguishly with some other far-flung cuisine, serves it quickly, freshly, sufficiently authentically, tastily, and affordably. For this reason, I would affirm.

AFFIRMED. It is so ordered.

Emboldened by the Chief Justice’s recent grant of cartiorari to an imaginary duck truck so plainly outside existence and this Cart’s jurisdiction, see In re Imaginary Duck Truck, 1 Jer. 2 (2012), I granted cartiorari to Döner Bistro, a brick and mortar restaurant in Adams Morgan. Today, the writ of cartiorari is dismissed as improvidently granted. I am not–and never can be–as crazy as the Chief Justice. Nor can I undermine the legitimacy of this fine tribunal, as I believe the Chief Justice has done. Although such a dismissal is customarily made without further explanation, I feel that one is necessary in this case.

I. Döner Bistro

During the autumn season, I had the pleasure of dining at Döner Bistro. Döner Bistro is now a brick and mortar, but it got its start by selling döner kebab from a van. Sitting at a long picnic table at its Adams Morgan location, I devoured two meals: first a döner and then a plate of currywurst. My law clerk, who is of German descent, has long been bemoaning the absence of döner and currywurst from the mobile food scene. They are, he says, the truest of street foods.

Döner Kebab

In Germany, thousands of food stands sell döner. Döner came to Germany by way of a Turkish immigrant who adapted a traditional meat-and-rice platter for German taste buds. The result was a toasted flatbread stuffed with spit-roasted meat, cabbage salad, tomatoes, cucumbers, onions, and yogurt sauce. And now döner frequently appears on various “world’s best street food” lists.

Currywurst

Germany’s currywurst is also a frequent mention on “world’s best street food” lists. See here and here. Currywurst is a sausage topped with ketchup and curry powder and served with either pommes (fries) or brötchen (bread roll). My youthful clerk tells me that currywurst can be very satisfying after an evening partaking of drink and dance; in his words, it is good “drunk food.” 

II. Street Food

Döner Bistro’s offerings—döner and currywurst—are considered street food around the world. But what does this status as street food mean to this Supreme Cart? I take this opportunity to clarify our court’s treatment of street food.

This Cart has defined “street food” as “the kind[] of food[] that can be cooked in front of you and [is] meant to be eaten with your hands, without forks, while standing up.” In re Eat Wonky, 2 Catt. 5 (2011). In other words, street food is (1) cooked or capable of being cooked in front of the customer, i.e., aboard the mobile gastronomic enterprise; (2) meant to be eaten with one’s hands, i.e., without forks or other cutlery; and (3) eaten or is capable of being eaten while standing up. In re Big Cheese, 6 Catt. 2 (2012). However, this test is “not intended to affirmatively define the entire class of ‘street food.’” In re Hot People Food, 6 Catt. 4 (2012). In fact, we recognize as street food those dishes that are traditionally seen as street food, whether or not they meet our three factors. For example, the half-smoke and crêpe, In re Street Vendor Near National Mall, 9 Catt. 5 (2012); In re Choupi, 12 Catt. 3 (2012), and now döner and currywurst.

If the analysis shows that a dish is street food, then what? If a dish constitutes street food, then we must affirm the dish unless we can prove that the dish is significantly flawed. If a dish is not street food, then there is no presumption in favor of the dish and the mobile gastronomic enterprise must prove that the dish belongs on the street. See Big Cheese, 6 Catt. 2.

Our Eat Wonky “street food” test, therefore, merely establishes where the burden of proof lies in a case. It is applied only after it is determined that a mobile gastronomic enterprise is within the Cart’s jurisdiction. The street food test has no effect on whether a mobile gastronomic enterprise is within our jurisdiction. Thus, even though Döner Bistro purveys food recognized as “street” by this court, that fact does not confer jurisdiction on the court.

III. Jurisdiction

To be reviewed by this court, Döner Bistro must be within our jurisdiction. Under the Judiciary Act of 2011 (Cartiorari Act), the Supreme Cart has “exclusive jurisdiction of all food carts, trucks, and other transitory alimentary establishments within those portions of the District of Columbia or the part thereof retroceded to the Commonwealth of Virginia by Act of [the] Congress assembled in the year of our Lord 1847.” From this, our Rule of Procedure 1-2 provides that our jurisdiction “extend[s] to all mobile gastronomic enterprises situated throughout those parts of (a) the County of Arlington, Virginia, (b) the District of Columbia, and (c) the City of Alexandria, Virginia, which are reasonably proximate to public transportation of a reasonably rapid and efficient character.”

So, to be within our jurisdiction, three elements must be met. First, the establishment under consideration must be a “mobile gastronomic enterprise[].” Second, it must be located in Arlington, Alexandria, or the District of Columbia. Third, it must be reasonably proximate to public transportation. See In re China Garden, 5 Catt. 1 (2012).

Döner Bistro fails to meet the first element; it is not a mobile gastronomic enterprise. Döner Bistro is strikingly similar to the establishment that we were met with in In re Pupatella, 8 Catt. 4 (2012). Like Pupatella, Döner Bistro once operated as a mobile food vendor. Pupatella was a food cart before it became a brick and mortar, and Döner Bistro was a food van. In Pupatella, we unequivocally held that “[t]his Cart does not have jurisdiction over a brick-and-mortar restaurant that once operated as a food cart.” That ruling applies here. That Döner Bistro operated as a van instead of a cart is a distinction without a difference.

Because Döner Bistro is not currently a mobile gastronomic enterprise, it is outside the Cart’s jurisdiction and we may not review its offerings of döner and currywurst.

IV. Conclusion

The grant of cartiorari was improvidently granted on the issue of whether the Cart has jurisdiction over a brick and mortar restaurant that previously operated as a mobile food vendor. This issue has been previously brought to the court and a ruling was issued. The answer is no.

(By the way, Chief Justice, how do you like that show of “respect for the nobility of stare decisis”? See In re Amtrak Café Car, 14 Catt. 1 (2012).)

DISMISSED.

JEREMY, C.J., dissenting.

By the sharp point of my sister’s quill, I am called “crazy” and said to have “undermine[d] the legitimacy of this fine tribunal.” But certainly I am no crazier than one who would slam shut the gilded doors of justice, nor do I undermine the legitimacy of this fine tribunal nearly so much as she who would rely on cramped and self-serving interpretations of foundational texts.

My sister correctly states our jurisdictional test, but there ends our agreement on the matter at hand. She would find, as she did in Pupatella, that a mobile gastronomic enterprise necessarily loses its mobility when it ceases operation of its truck and finds refuge in the locational certainty of brick-and-mortardom. But, for those reasons already noted in my dissent in Pupatella, I would find this not to be the case. I would set aside Pupatella and proceed to judge Döner Bistro on the merits of its gastronomy.

However, even where I to agree with, or at least concede to, my sister’s flawed logic in Pupatella, I would part ways in the present case. In Pupatella, this Cart held that it lacked jurisdiction “over a brick-and-mortar restaurant that once operated as a food cart.” In re Pupatella, 8 Catt. 4 (2012) (emphasis added). My sister would hold here that that ruling must apply also to food vans, that “operat[ion] as a van instead of a cart is a distinction without a difference.” But that assumes too much. That much should be clear to any person with a head on her body.

And yet I am the “crazy” one.

(Finally, my sister, you ask how I like your “show of ‘respect for the nobility of stare decision,’” quoting my own sound words from Amtrak Café Car. You will note that I also wrote that “sometimes” it is “more important that the law be established than that it satisfy every neuron of your intellect.” I continued, writing that only where there is no “compelling reason” to abandon precedent has a judge “undermine[d] democracy and the general welfare.” In this case, as I have explained, there is every “compelling reason” to abandon the wholly unreasonable precedent of Pupatella. It pains me to think how very many cases can find no tribunal due to the base wantonness of your activism. Have I answered your question?)

Today we take up the question of  “The General” at Hometown Heros [sic] (HH). The General is described by the mobile gastronomic enterprise as “[t]hinly sliced steak, sautéed onions, peppers (green and banana), and provolone cheese, piled high on a sub roll, [lettuce], [tomato], [onion].” Because it is a sub, it is undoubtedly deserving of a presumption of affirmance in the absence of countervailing circumstances. See In re Wassub, 13 Catt. 1 (2012). The General is a monstrosity of a sandwich, and so, at $8.00, it is a very good deal, easily large enough to feed a herd of hungry Philadelphians. But that a dish offers both a good deal monetarily and a great deal gastronomically does not alone suffice to save what is, generally, an underwhelming sandwich. I must find the presumption of affirmance overcome in this case. For the reasons discussed below, I remand the case to HH for revision.

The General

First, equity demands that I acknowledge that I am not ordinarily the biggest fan of the cheesesteak. However, I feel I have previously demonstrated my ability to fairly consider, and even affirm, a cheesesteak-like offering. See Wassub, 13 Catt. 1. Accordingly, it is unnecessary to consider recusal.

The General presents as a sub roll piled high with a mountain of thinly sliced steak. The steak itself is not bad, per se, but is woefully under-seasoned. It is appropriately cooked, but it has no flavor profile whatsoever. That need not be the case. Beneath the mountain of steak was a layer of sautéed onions and green peppers drowning in a coating of black pepper that should have coated the meat as well. The two layers clearly never met on the griddle. The vegetables had no taste of meat; the meat had no taste of onion or pepper. Atop the mountain of meat was a snowcap of lukewarm, congealed cheese. I am told it was provolone, though the lump tasted only of congeal and processing. The bread was just fine.

One of my clerks prods me to note that the truck’s owner was a very nice and pleasant man. I agree with my clerk: he was indeed a model of amicable congeniality. And so I will end on that positive note.

REMANDED to Hometown Heros for revision. It is so ordered.

We granted cartiorari to Langston Grille on Wheels (“LGW”), the mobile component of Washington, DC restaurant Langston Bar & Grille. LGW’s kitchen cooks up soul food. On this day, the Chief Justice and I needed some real comfort food to soothe the tension that had been brewing in our court. Ever since he took advantage of my absence to hear the case of In re Brennan’s, 1 Jer. 1 (2012), relating to a New Orleans brick-and-mortar restaurant that is plainly outside this court’s jurisdiction, communications between us have been cold indeed. I even began to suspect that the Chief Justice, who bears a close resemblance to the very late Supreme Court Justice William Cushing (1732-1810), had lost his mind, just as Justice Cushing had. See David J. Garrow, Mental Decrepitude on the U.S. Supreme Court: The Historical Case for a 28th Amendment, 67 U. CHI. L. REV. 995 (2000). But my duties to the court, to mobile gastronomy, and to the reader weighed heavily on me, and so, without any hard evidence of the Chief Justice’s mental incapacity, I managed to stand side-by-side with him in front of LGW’s window.

Langston Grille on Wheels

LGW’s menu consists of several meat options (brisket, pulled pork, oxtail, roast chicken, jerk wings, shrimp, and fried fish), a few side dishes (macaroni & cheese, collard greens, dirty rice), and some desserts (sweet potato pie, sweet potato cheesecake, peach cobbler). The exact menu changes daily, and LGW announces the day’s line-up on Twitter every morning.

Luckily, on the day of our visit, LGW had oxtail on the menu. The Chief Justice and I disagree about many things, but one thing that we always agree on is the consumption of food that is hard to come by, such as oxtail from a food truck. We paired our oxtail with a side of macaroni and cheese and topped off our order with sweet potato pie. LGW prices one meat plus one side at $10. Desserts are $3.

I. STREET FOOD

Our regular reader knows that first we must decide whether our order (oxtail, macaroni and cheese, sweet potato pie) is true street food. If yes, then we presume that LGW’s food should be affirmed. See In re Big Cheese, 6 Catt. 2 (2012). This court has defined street food as “the kind[] of food[] that can be cooked in front of you and [is] meant to be eaten with your hands, without forks, while standing up.”  In re Eat Wonky, 2 Catt. 5 (2011). Oxtail, macaroni and cheese, and sweet potato pie are not cooked in front of you, are not meant to be eaten with your hands while standing up, and are not street food. Our case law supports this conclusion. In re Hot People Food, 7 Catt. 2 (2012) (meat not served in hand-held bread container was not street food); In re Basil Thyme, 8 Catt. 1 (2012) (pasta was not street food); In re Dangerously Delicious Pies, 4 Catt. 4 (2011) (pie was not street food). LGW’s food is not entitled to the presumption of affirmance. However, its food proved itself on its own merits, and we affirm.

II. LANGSTON GRILLE ON WHEELS

As the Chief Justice and I stood in line, we got the impression that LGW attracted many regulars. We heard many greetings by first name and just as many “See you next Thursday” farewells. With that many regulars, we began to hope that we had stumbled on a good food truck find.

Oxtail, macaroni & cheese, and sweet potato pie

We opened up our Styrofoam container and were at once struck by the big serving of oxtail. We didn’t know exactly what we were getting since the menu simply said “ox-tail,” but as oxtail is usually slow-cooked or braised, we expected something like that. And that’s what we got: braised meat that was fork-tender and fell off the bone, all swimming in a flavor-packed beef broth with carrots. We cleaned off the bones, licked our fingers, and then stared longingly at the broth remaining in the container. Oh, how we wished we could magically pull out bread from our pockets to sop up the delicious broth!

On a side note, it was refreshing to see that LGW didn’t clutter its menu items with over-detailed descriptions of every step of the food preparation. You know, like “breast of chicken massaged with the finest olive oil, spiced with thyme, marjoram, rosemary, and black pepper, and then grilled over smokey wood chips.” LGW left it at “ox-tail.” It was enough information for us.

Next, we turned our forks to the macaroni and cheese. Our regular reader knows by now how much I love the orange foodstuff. The court’s first meeting with macaroni and cheese had sour results despite a very appetizing-looking mac. See In re CapMac, 1 Catt. 1 (2011). I will admit that at first glance LGW’s version did not look like much. The noodles didn’t carry a deeply orange hue, and there weren’t many visible strings of cheese hanging off the noodles. But we’re often told that looks can be deceiving, and in this case it was. I liked LGW’s macaroni and cheese. The noodles were al dente, and the cheese flavor came through just enough. It wasn’t mushy Velveeta soup like the macaroni and cheeses found at Boston Market and KFC, and it wasn’t unnecessarily drenched in seven different kinds of cheese like Delilah’s. People who prefer gooey macaroni and cheese would probably call this tasteless, but to me it was simple in the way that is satisfying.

A serving of sweet potato pie completed our meal. Given the Chief Justice’s love of pie, he could wax more eloquently about the smoothness of the sweet potato and the harmonious blend of nutmeg, cinnamon, and vanilla. I will just say that LGW knows how to bake a sweet potato pie. I did wish that we had a slice of pie instead of a mini pie round, but that’s about form, not substance.

III. CONCLUSION

LGW was a pleasant surprise. The braised oxtail was tender and tasty. The not-too-cheesy-or-mushy macaroni and cheese was enjoyable. The sweet potato pie disappeared quickly. And best of all, by the time we finished our lunch of soul and comfort, the Chief Justice and I were congenial colleagues once again.

AFFIRMED.

JEREMY, C.J., concurring.

What a cruel and vile thing to insinuate that I am or have been mentally incapacitated. My only mental decrepitude is a deep and honest devotion to the majesty of the Law. I would have thought that a shared and delicious stewed oxtail would have thawed my sister’s cold and activist and rebellious heart. But I see that I was mistaken. Foolish me. “[C]ongenial colleagues once again” my foot. You will not catch the two of us at the opera together any time soon.

But that is to delve too deeply into the politics of this body. When struck, I am wont to strike back. I must work on that.

And so onto the case at hand, upon which my sister and I do agree. I have no point of dissent.

However, my sister writes that, given my love of pie, it is I who should “wax . . . eloquently about the smoothness of the sweet potato and the harmonious blend of nutmeg, cinnamon, and vanilla.” As she was absent the day it was upon us to decide In re Brennan’s, my sister once more abdicates her judicial responsibilities. But yes, o sister, the sweet potato was smooth, and yes, o sister, the blend of flavorings was harmonious. I, like you, would affirm.

Our regular reader will know that quite a few Asian fusion failures have come across the lunch table of the Supreme Cart. Too often, this Cart has found that fusion offers nothing to the palate but confusion. See, e.g., In re TaKorean, 1 Catt. 4 (2011) (disappointing Korean tacos); In re Seoul Food, 3 Catt. 1 (2011) (unfocused Korean burrito bowl); In re Sâuçá, 4 Catt. 3 (2011) (really-missed-the-mark Middle Eastern bánh mì). Still, I line up in front of food trucks that serve fusion because I believe that–in the right kitchen, by the right hands–it can be made well.

The Korean taco, in particular, is a knockout in my head. I can see sizzling galbi or bulgogi meat and spicy kimchi wrapped in a lightly toasted corn tortilla. The picture in my head isn’t so clear on the garnishes. Maybe the taco includes onion, cilantro, and Sriracha. Maybe it has lettuce, tomato, onion, and a cilantro-based sauce. Maybe there are jalapenos somewhere. Certainly, there is never any cheese.

The Cart’s first foray into fusion involved a Korean taco. It did not go well. What could have been great ended up being a Sriracha-and-cilantro taco with barely any Korean marinated meat and very fake kimchi. TaKorean, 1 Catt. 4.

Today, I decide the second Korean taco case to come before the Cart. The vendor is the straightforwardly-named Kimchi BBQ Taco (“KBT”).

Kimchi BBQ Taco

 I. BURDEN OF PROOF

Because tacos are true “street food” as the Supreme Cart has defined the term, I must affirm KBT’s tacos unless I can show that they suffer from serious flaws. In re Big Cheese, 6 Catt. 2 (2012) (explaining that a presumption of affirmance arises for true street food); In re Sol Mexican Grill, 9 Catt. 4 (2012) (holding that tacos are street food); In re Eat Wonky, 2 Catt. 5 (2011) (defining street food as “the kind[] of food[] that can be cooked in front of you and [is] meant to be eaten with your hands, without forks, while standing up”). I cannot prove that KBT’s tacos don’t belong on the street, and therefore I affirm.

II. KIMCHI BBQ TACO

KBT sells three tacos for $8. This is neither the best nor the worst price. TaKorean, 1 Catt. 4 (three tacos for $9); Sol Mexican Grill, 9 Catt. 4 (three tacos for $7); In re El Chilango, 12 Catt. 2 (2012) (three tacos for $6).

The ordering process requires two decisions. First, you have four meat options: 1) bulgogi; 2) spicy pork; 3) spicy chicken; or 4) tofu. Second, you choose your style of kimchi: 1) fresh red napa kimchi; 2) pan fried red napa kimchi; 3) sweet-n-spicy radish kimchi; or 4) bibimbap cabbage-carrot slaw. If you don’t want kimchi, you can opt for a sauce instead. There are two: 1) Korea’s Most Beloved Sauce (KMB); or 2) Korea’s Mad Spicy Sauce (KMS). KMB is described as “Sweet & Mild,” and KMS is “spicy but Dam [sic] Good.” (Okay, maybe there are three decisions that you have to make.)

Three Tacos

I ordered a bulgogi taco with fresh red napa kimchi, a spicy pork taco with bibimbap slaw, and a tofu taco with pan fried red napa kimchi. Each taco came with shredded lettuce, tomatoes, and generous drizzles of two sauces. One was mayo-based and spicy, and the other was a mix of sweet and spicy (perhaps Hoisin and Sriracha?).

I never really feel full after eating just tacos for lunch, but KBT’s tacos were larger in size than other tacos being sold on the streets. See TaKorean, 1 Catt. 4; Sol Mexican Grill, 9 Catt. 4. After finishing KBT’s tacos, I felt satisfied. (Yes, I could have eaten more, but I didn’t need to.)

At first glance, KBT’s tacos didn’t look like the Korean tacos in my head for one major reason. KBT used soft flour tortillas, not corn tortillas. Although I prefer the taste and texture of corn tortillas, KBT’s flour tortillas functioned well as a vehicle to contain the taco filling. The tortilla’s elasticity allowed it to mold around the filling and hold everything together.

Now, about that filling. All of the meats (let’s assume for our purposes that tofu is meat) were well-prepared. The bulgogi was sweet. The pork was tender and spicy. The tofu was surprisingly flavorful. Each taco came with a heaping of the chosen meat. KBT didn’t skimp.

Thankfully, KBT’s kimchi was real kimchi. Cf. Takorean, 1 Catt. 4 (using a vinegared, not fermented, garnish). The red napa kimchi was enjoyable, but it was too mild for me. I couldn’t tell the difference between the fresh and pan fried versions, especially after they were doused with the two sauces. KBT’s version of bibimbap slaw was not my favorite. Instead of KBT’s cabbage and carrots, I would have preferred a more traditional slaw of julienned carrots and daikon radishes.

The lettuce and tomatoes were mere stomach-fillers for me. Yes, I suppose they added a cool, light, and fresh element to the taco, but they made the taco feel too Tex-Mex for my liking. Plus, they took the focus away from the kimchi. KBT’s taco should follow the lead of its name: the main players in the taco should be the Korean barbecue and the kimchi.

The two sauces were spot on in terms of flavor. They kept a decent buzz in my mouth throughout the eating experience. However, they didn’t kick up the heat as much as I would have liked, and I wished I had added an extra squirt of Sriracha.

Between the two sauces and the juices oozing from the meat, the tacos were messy. Juices dripped into my hands. They dripped and dripped and pooled at the bottom of my Styrofoam container. By the time I got to my third taco, the tortilla was completely soaked in the drippings. It was a sticky mess to pick up, and my hands were coated with a caked-on layer all the way back to my chambers. (This could have been avoided if I had known to get extra napkins.)

III. CONCLUSION

KBT’s tacos were tasty, although they weren’t my dream Korean tacos. For me, the flour tortilla, lettuce, and tomatoes made them more Tex-Mex than Korean. But, I can say that they were the best Korean tacos that I’ve had so far. (N.B. I’ve only tried two Korean taco vendors so far.)

AFFIRMED. It is so ordered.

Up for review before the Cart is Wassub, a food truck that serves Asian fusion subs. Asian fusion dishes have not fared well in our court. See, e.g., In re Sâuçá, 4 Catt. 3 (2011) (un-eatable fusion bánh mì); In re Seoul Food, 3 Catt. 1 (2011) (confusing Korean-Mexican burrito bowl); In re TaKorean, 1 Catt. 4 (2011) (not-worth-the-hype Korean tacos). Still, we approached Wassub with unbiased stomachs and ordered the kimchi bulgogi sub.

Wassub

 I. TRUE “STREET FOOD”

Kimchi bulgogi sub

II. KIMCHI BULGOGI SUB ($9)

Closer look of kimchi bulgogi sub

There was nothing bad inside the sandwich. The bulgogi was sweet and tender. The kimchi was real kimchi. Cf. Takorean, 1 Catt. 4 (passing off vinegared slaw as kimchi). The provolone melted nicely. Moreover, the sandwich was not overly messy. The melted cheese seemed to function as a binding agent to hold all of the components together. When I bit into the sandwich, it didn’t explode and fall apart in my hands. Yes, I needed a napkin to clean up after I finished eating, but I didn’t need ten.

The sub was satisfying. But (isn’t there usually a “but”?), some elements could have been raised to even higher heights. The scrambled egg didn’t detract from the sandwich, but more often than not I didn’t taste it. Perhaps a sunny side up egg would have been better. Just thinking about a runny yolk soaking into all of the nooks and crannies between the bulgogi meat makes me hungry. And I would have liked much more kimchi on the sandwich to kick up the heat.

I must note a technical difficulty with the process of eating the sandwich. The hot juices from the meat soaked through the bottom layer of the roll. Now, this was not a bad thing. Not at all. The juices saturated the bread and infused it with flavor. Delicious. The problem was that the meat juices were so, so, so piping hot that I couldn’t pick up the sandwich and hold it for very long. My fingertips burned. This problem could very easily be alleviated by serving the sandwich in deli wrapping paper. That way there would be a layer to protect one’s sensitive fingers from the hot temperatures of the juice-soaked bread.

III. CONCLUSION

Wassub didn’t make any major fumbles with its kimchi bulgogi sub. It was good just the way it was, especially when spicy sauce was poured all over it.

(But, yes, it could be great with some minor tweaks, namely more kimchi and a sunny side up egg.)

AFFIRMED.

JEREMY, C.J., concurring. CATTLEYA, J., joins in everything except the pretentious bits in paragraph no. 4.

I have noticed a disturbing trend among mobile gastronomic enterprises. That trend, unfortunately, is obscenity. I have observed it before, see In re Hot People Food, 6 Catt. 4 (2012), and I have heard tell of the “Ring-My-Bella Burger” over at Sassy Sandwiches. But Wassub is perhaps the worst offender I have had the chance yet to encounter.

As a federal court, deriving its power ultimately from Article III of the United States Constitution, this Supreme Cart is subject to the pronouncements of the United States Supreme Court, even though appeal from this body to that body is strictly curtailed. We are thus bound by the Supreme Court’s pronouncement in Miller v. California, 413 U.S. 15 (1973), which establishes a sound and well-reasoned test to determine what constitutes obscenity. Under that test, we must ask: (a) “whether ‘the average person, applying contemporary community standards’ would find that the work, taken as a whole, appeals to the prurient interest;” (b) “whether the work depicts or describes, in a patently offensive way, sexual conduct;” and (c) “whether the work, taken as a whole, lacks serious literary, artistic, political, or scientific value.”

“Better than Sex” Claim

Besides boasting “Hottie Sauce,” Wassub offers several reasons why their sub “is better than sex.” Those reasons are reproduced in the graphic above. We will not undertake to determine whether their boast is substantiated—at the very least, it is mere puffery—but we find instead that they satisfy Miller’s test for obscenity.

No reasonable mind can seriously contend that the reasons above do not “depict[] or describe[], in a patently offensive way, sexual conduct.” Nor can the “average person, applying contemporary community standards” find otherwise than that “the work, taken as a whole, appeals to the prurient interest.” Judges and justices have long been maligned for being out of touch with the common man. But we, like the average Joe, don our flowing, black robes one arm at a time; we wait patiently in line for opera tickets; we eat our frankfurters with Grey Poupon. Our own standards align with those of our communities. We, like you, share a strong distaste for the degradation of society—with its inline skates and rock ‘n’ roll music—and yearn for the simpler existence of our childhoods, when dinner and a movie cost a nickel and the streets bustled with the familiar sounds of Model T’s. We are hep to your lingo and your Google and your Foxfire. Accordingly, we find that we, the Justices of this Supreme Cart, are more than able to discern the would-be observations of the “average person, applying contemporary community standards.” We average Joes cannot help but find Wassub’s boasts to appeal only “to the prurient interest.”

We turn, then, to our primary inquiry: whether Wassub’s boast, “taken as a whole, lacks serious literary, artistic, political, or scientific value.” There is certainly no literary value: the text of the poster has none of the rhyme of Spenser or the rhythm of Ferlinghetti. There is certainly no artistic value: the poster shown above is downright ugly. There is certainly no legitimate political value, nor is there any sense of science about Wassub’s claims.

If for no other reason than, as Justice Potter Stewart famous wrote, “I know it when I see it,” Wassub, in addition to its sub, purveys a certain sort of obscenity. See Jacobellis v. Ohio, 378 U.S. 184 (1964).

We granted cartiorari to Tops American Food Company (“TAFC”) to review the combination of its “hot Italian sausage” with peppers, onions, cheese, and “chilli [sic] cook-off winning chilli [sic]” atop a hot dog bun. As discussed below, we affirm.

Our initial query is always that of determining whether the subject of our discussion constitutes “street food.” If it does, we apply a presumption that the item under consideration should be affirmed. See In re Big Cheese, 6 Catt. 2 (2012). We need not linger on this question, for we have previously held that a half-smoke is per se street food, and by the same logic so must a hot Italian sausage. Cf. In re Street Vendor Near National Mall, 9 Catt. 5 (2012); see also In re PORC, 4 Catt. 1 (2011). Because the subject of our consideration constitutes “street food,” we will presume it should be affirmed absent indication to the contrary.

Tops American Food Company

Sausage. This Cart has, on at least one prior occasion, addressed an artisanal sausage. In In re PORC, we considered the following elements in assessing a gin and juniper duck sausage: (1) casing, (2) preparation, (3) texture, (4) taste. See id. Without holding here that a sausage or sausage-like foodstuff need satisfy all four elements in order to be affirmed by this Cart, we find, in this case, that TAFC’s hot Italian sausage does. TAFC’s casing was good, the kind that snaps satisfyingly when you bite into it. The preparation was flawless–not too dry, not overcooked. Texturally, the sausage was, like PORC’s and like a typical Washingtonian half-smoke, on the coarser side, which I tend to prefer. In terms of taste, I would call the sausage pleasantly piquant; without searing the palate, it lived up to the promise of the “hot” in its name. All in all, I have no complaints.

Italian Chili Cheese Dog

Chili. As noted above, I am informed TAFC’s chili has won certain awards. I am not sure which, and, quite frankly, dear reader, I don’t give a damn. Food awards are political events, and we of the Judiciary do best to avoid involvement in such. We say what the law is, see Marbury v. Madison, 5 U.S. 137 (1803), not what it should be. TAFC’s chili was delicious and a perfect complement to its hot Italian sausage. It, too, packed a certain potency. All in all, I have no complaints.

Accoutrements. Every good chili cheese dog requires some conveyance by which to maintain its nature as “street food.” Here, as usual, that conveyance is the hot dog bun. The bun held up well enough under the heat and weight of sausage and chili, becoming permeated with their flavors but without becoming soggily so. Toppings of cheese, onions, and peppers completed a classic street food concoction.

Because there are no flaws by which to rebut the presumption of affirmance, we, the Cart, find that TAFC’s hot Italian sausage chili cheese dog must be, and is hereby,

AFFIRMED.

CATTLEYA, J., concurring.

Although the correct result has been reached in this case, I am saddened to see that my brother has opened up the Cart’s new term with an opinion that rejects plain English. But, of course, I am not surprised. See, e.g., In re DC Empanadas, 1 Catt. 3 (2011) (Jeremy, C.J.) (purposely using pretentious words). Yet again he casts aside familiar words in favor of a romp in his beloved thesaurus. He “would call the sausage pleasantly piquant”? 12 Catt. 1 (emphasis added). Oh really, Chief Justice? Well, I (and most other people, I think) would call it spicy. The sausage was spicy. Wonderfully so. So wonderful, in fact, that I am going to pick up another chili cheese dog on my way to get a copy of Plain English for Lawyers for my colleague, though he will surely continue to ignore its wise lessons (and opt instead to re-re-watch his copy of Gone with the Wind).

We granted cartiorari to Sang on Wheels (“SoW”), a self-described “Laos/Asian Fusion style food truck.” The Justices of the Supreme Cart generally approach fusion with skepticism, as we have tasted many fusion failures. See, e.g., In re TaKorean, 1 Catt. 4 (2011) (combining Korean and Mexican cuisines); In re Seoul Food (The Korean Superbowl Case), 3 Catt. 1 (2011) (same). However, SoW’s menu doesn’t fit into the modern understanding of fusion cuisine. Rather, its dishes are a more traditional type of fusion, the result of different ethnicities living together and influencing each other’s foods, and not the random mash-up of different culinary styles in a commercial kitchen. For example, drunken noodles – an item on SoW’s menu – is a dish that reflects the influence of Chinese immigrants in Laos. Presented with the opportunity to try proper fusion food, we eagerly lined up in front of SoW’s truck.

Sang on Wheels

We, of course, ordered the drunken noodles. SoW serves its drunken noodles with either (1) tofu; (2) chicken; or (3) shrimp. With these three options before us, it should come as no surprise that we opted for the shrimp (over the chicken over the tofu). See In re Red Hook Lobster Pound, 2 Catt. 1 (2011) (“[N]o one in their right mind orders shrimp over lobster.”); In re El Floridano, 2 Catt. 2 (2011) (“[N]o one in their right mind orders [tempeh] over [pork].” (internal quotation marks omitted)).  SoW’s drunken noodles cost $8. For an additional $2, you can pair the noodles with either a/an (1) Laotian egg roll; (2) papaya salad; (3) so-called “Asian empanada”; (4) Thai iced tea; or (5) sticky rice with mango. Each of these five items costs between $3 to $5 a la carte, so whatever you choose, you’re getting a good deal. We chose the papaya salad. We review the papaya salad in a companion case, In re Sang on Wheels (The Papaya Salad Case), 11 Catt. 2 (2012).

I. STREET FOOD

As an initial matter, we note that drunken noodles are not street food according to this court’s case law, even though drunken noodles are served from street carts in Asian countries. Street food is “the kind[] of food[] that can be cooked in front of you and [is] meant to be eaten with your hands, without forks, while standing up.” In re Eat Wonky, 2 Catt. 5 (2011). We have denied “street food” status to other dishes involving a form of noodle. See, e.g., In re Basil Thyme, 8 Catt. 1 (2012) (lasagna was not street food). We have also denied it to many rice-based dishes, which are similar to noodle-based dishes. See, e.g., In re fojol bros., 8 Catt. 3 (2012) (meat with rice); In re Hot People Food (The Sassy Chicken Case), 7 Catt. 2 (2012) (same); In re NY Famous Kabob, 7 Catt. 3 (2012) (same); In re Salt and Pepper Grill (The Chicken Tikka Masala Case), 8 Catt. 2 (2012) (same).  Because drunken noodles are not street food, the dish is not entitled to the presumption that it should be affirmed; the noodle dish must prove its own merits. See In re Big Cheese, 6 Catt. 2 (2012).

 II. DRUNKEN NOODLES WITH SHRIMP

When SoW handed us an order of drunken noodles with shrimp, my eyes grew wide. The dish looked delicious, really delicious. Succulent pieces of shrimp. Large pieces of broccoli and carrots. Fresh Thai basil leaves. A very generous serving of flat, wide rice noodles. All smothered in a spicy-looking sauce. I was not the only one who was impressed with what I saw. A young lad in line asked what we had ordered when he spotted the dish in my hands. “We’re getting that, ” he informed his companion, leaving no room for discussion.

Drunken Noodles with Shrimp

If only our eyes did the eating that day, this Supreme Cart would affirm wholeheartedly. However, the dish looked better than it tasted, and so we must affirm in part and remand in part. SoW’s drunken noodles did many, many things right, but one big thing – the taste of the sauce – was off.

First, what SoW did well:

1) SoW did not skimp on ingredients. There were several pieces of shrimp in our serving, plus lots of fresh vegetables.

2) SoW gave us a lot. A whole lot. Our food tray overflowed with a heaping of noodles.

3) SoW is a great deal. Not only did we get a lot of food, but we got a lot of food for a reasonable price.

Now, what could have been better:

1) The shrimp. The pieces of shrimp were mealy, suggesting that they were overcooked or not fresh to begin with.

2) The sauce. This stir fry dish is typically made with fish sauce, soy sauce, garlic, Thai chili peppers, and Thai basil. It’s usually spicy rather than sweet. But SoW’s version tasted more like duck sauce, and it was very sweet. It was not what we expected. We wonder whether SoW purposely sweetened its sauce with sugar to appeal to the American palate, in the same way that Thai restaurants in the area have become too Americanized. We would have preferred a spicier rendition.

A disclaimer of sorts:

For the sake of fairness, I state for the record that SoW was the last of several food trucks (excluding dessert food trucks) that we visited at a food truck festival. We did not show up to SoW’s window with empty stomachs. If we had, I probably would have gobbled up the entire serving of drunken noodles without noticing the too-sweet sauce. But because my stomach was already satiated and my blood sugar levels were stable, my taste buds were able to focus on the fine details. Although I stand by our conclusion in this case, I note that hungrier stomachs might enjoy SoW just for the generous portions, regardless of the sweet flavor profile.

III. CONCLUSION

SoW’s drunken noodles with shrimp held a lot of promise. This could have been an excellent food find. SoW did several things very well (especially the portion size), but the dish ultimately fell short because the sauce was American sweet, instead of hot and spicy.

AFFIRMED in part and REMANDED in part to Sang on Wheels for revision.

JEREMY, C.J., dissenting.

In committee, I had originally voted to affirm in part and remand in part, as my sister does in her thoughtful opinion. However, upon further reflection, I must change my decision. I would remand the case in its entirety to SoW for revision.

Initially, I would part ways with my sister’s determination that SoW’s drunken noodles do not constitute “street food.” First, we have held that our Eat Wonky, used to determine whether a dish is “street food,” is “not intended to affirmatively define the entire class of ‘street food,’ but is rather intended only to be a multifactor test to guide and direct our analysis.” In re Hot People Food, 6 Catt. 4 (2012). While SoW’s drunken noodles certainly do not meet each element of the Eat Wonky test, this is a dish which, as my sister notes, has traditionally been served as street food in other parts of the world. Indeed, we have held before that food that has traditionally been understand to constitute “street food” must necessarily satisfy our own definition of “street food.” Cf. In re Street Vendor Near National Mall, 9 Catt. 5 (2012) (considering the humble half smoke). I would find that SoW’s drunken noodles do constitute “street food” and, as such, are entitled to the presumption of affirmance. However, in this case, I would find that presumption to be rebutted.

I agree with my sister that (1) “SoW did not skimp on ingredients,” (2) “SoW gave us a lot,” and (3) “SoW is a great deal” (i.e., we received a lot of food for a reasonable price). I will add that the dish was quite a beautiful dish. But, in the end, I cannot say that I really enjoyed the drunken noodles, and taste remains always the most important factor in our adjudication. As my sister notes, the shrimp was mealy, and the sauce was cloyingly sweet. Yes, SoW “did not skimp on ingredients” and “gave us a lot,” but I could do without a heaping helping of mealy shrimp in stir-fried duck sauce.

I was excited to try SoW’s drunken noodles. In the past, I have greatly enjoyed Lao cuisine. I can say without hesitation that Lao cuisine is one of the most unique, most interesting, and most exciting cuisines I have had the pleasure to sample. And so SoW’s drunken noodles were a true disappointment. As my sister notes, we heard argument several hours into a food truck event. I am hopeful that my experience was an aberration. Our Rules of Procedure allow us to reconsider a previously decided case. In this case, I may do just that.

We granted cartiorari to adjudicate the case of the tripletas sandwich purveyed by Borinquen Lunch Box (“BLB”), a “mobile gastronomic enterprise” operating in the District of Columbia. Per BLB’s menu, the sandwich is composed of “[r]osted [sic] pork, skirt steak, ham, lettuce, tomatoes, potatoes [sic] sticks, and [their] signature dressing served in pan sobao.”

At least outside of select metropolitan areas with their cuchifritos and the like, Puerto Rican food is oddly hard to find on the mainland, and so I was especially excited to learn of BLB’s existence and try its food. Luckily, aside from a slight misstep discussed below, BLB’s tripletas sandwich did not disappoint.

Initially, we must note the sandwich we were served was, so far as one could tell, without lettuce or tomatoes, but nor were they especially missed. We find that the omission of lettuce and tomatoes was harmless error, not requiring remand. Nevertheless, it should be noted that the remainder of this opinion addresses a lettuceless, tomatoless sandwich.

Before passing to the substance of the matter at hand, we must consider whether the tripletas sandwich constitutes “street food.” We have long held that a “sandwich” clearly constitutes “street food.” See, e.g., In re Big Cheese, 6 Catt. 2 (2012). Therefore, we must affirm unless this Supreme Cart can meet the burden of rebutting the presumption of adequacy afforded “street food.” See id. Despite a certain problem with the tripletas sandwich, noted below, we ultimately find ourselves wholly unable to rebut the presumption. Accordingly, we affirm.

Tripletas

The tripletas sandwich is composed, at its root, of three constituent parts: (1) the meat (i.e., the combination of roasted pork, skirt steak, and ham); (2) the bread; and (3) a sprinkling of potato sticks atop the dish. We address each in turn.

Meat. The meat was well textured, perfectly cooked, and salty. The combination offered a nice savoriness, but, overall, it was the saltiness that lingers in my memory. I imagine the saltiness would pair well with a cold beer, though that would present an obvious problem in the world of mobile gastronomy. (As Justices, we interpret the law. Changes in the law are, of course, best presented to the Legislature.) The sandwich does not offer, to my mind, any real complexity of flavor, but the meaty saltiness is addictive. I could easily have eaten another and another and another, but then I might explode. And then, dear reader, how would you know which truck fare to sample and which to avoid?

Bread. The pan sobao is a Puerto Rican lard-based roll. BLB’s tasted like a standard, supermarket Italian bread, but the roll was well-suited to its role in the sandwich. It was fresh, and, like a ShamWow, it soaked up the “signature dressing” and flavor of the meat.

Potato Sticks. The potato sticks were flawed. With the heat and moisture of the meat, they quickly lost any residual crunch. They were essentially flavorless. With no taste and no texture, they served no clear purpose. Luckily, because they were tasteless and textureless, they also failed to detract from the overall tripletas experience. As with the omission of lettuce and tomato, we find the inclusion of potato sticks to be harmless error, not requiring remand.

BLB’s tripletas sandwich is what street food should be. A simple, but substantial, finger food, best eaten en plein air while on the go. While we find the potato sticks to be a misstep, they are a harmless misstep in an otherwise enticing offering. We are unable to rebut the presumption of affirmance, and, therefore, BLB’s tripletas sandwich is

AFFIRMED.

CATTLEYA, J., concurring.

My taste buds completely agree with the Chief Justice’s analysis of BLB’s tripletas. I write separately because one point in the Chief Justice’s opinion reveals his arrogance, his conceit, and his selfish disdain for the taste buds of others. Had he behaved in a more gentleman-like manner, I would have been spared the need to correct him on such a taboo subject: his death.

The Chief Justice writes:

I could easily have eaten another and another and another, but then I might explode. And then, dear reader, how would you know which truck fare to sample and which to avoid?

Sir, please allow me to settle your anxiety. If the Second Circuit – indeed, the American judiciary – survived the loss of the great Learned Hand, it would surely survive your gluttonous explosion. Truly, any legal mind with competent taste buds could easily fill your shoes and help readers decide “which truck fare to sample and which to avoid.” So, Chief Justice, do not fret, and do not stop yourself from eating “another and another and another” on our account.

Before the Cart is Red Hook Lobster Pound (“RHLP”), a food truck that is known on the street for its pricey lobster rolls. This food truck is no stranger to the Cart—we have already spilled ink on the topic of the $15 roll. See In re Red Hook Lobster Pound, 2 Catt. 1 (2011). In that opinion, we noted that RHLP’s menu also featured an $8 shrimp roll. We quickly dismissed the option, however. “[N]o one in their right mind orders shrimp over lobster,” we said. Id. Well, I was not in my right mind one afternoon, and I ordered the shrimp roll. (Actually, my mind was not “wrong.” It was just all too aware of my many expenses for the month, such as paying my newly-hired law clerk.)

Red Hook Lobster Pound

The first draft of my review of RHLP’s shrimp roll was very short. “It was good,” I wrote, “but it was not lobster.” I discarded that draft because it wasn’t fair. It was like comparing apples with oranges, steamed tofu with chicken fried steak, Carrot Top with Tupac, Wuthering Heights with Pride and Prejudice. It was also doing a disservice to those who wanted a real review of RHLP’s shrimp roll and wouldn’t be satisfied with “Take your $8, eat peanut butter and jelly one day to save another $7, and then treat yourself to a lobster roll.”

So I offer to you, loyal reader, my real review of the lobster roll’s oft-ignored cousin, the shrimp roll. To make the shrimp filling, RHLP tosses wild Maine shrimp in a homemade garlic tarragon mayonnaise. The sweet pieces of Maine shrimp were tiny (less than an inch long), but wonderfully sweet. The mayo dressing was lightly applied and didn’t hide the freshness of the shrimp. The taste of tarragon was evident, but it was not overpowering as often occurs with the intensely-flavored herb.

Shrimp Roll

Although the shrimp filling was executed quite well, the bread left a stronger impression with me. I have previously raved about RHLP’s bread. See Red Hook Lobster Pound, 2 Catt. 1 (Cattleya, J., concurring). I wrote, “The buttered bread developed perfect grill marks and a toasty outside, leaving behind a slightly crisp layer into which my teeth could sink with satisfaction. At the same time, the bread was just thick enough so that the inside was still soft and pillowy.”Id. Luckily for me (and for you), the bread is the same whether you order the lobster or shrimp roll. Again, there was the delicious buttery taste . . . the toasted exterior . . . the pillowy interior. Just thinking about it makes my mouth water! (The attentive reader will by now have noticed how easily satisfied I am by a great piece of bread. See, e.g., In re Lemongrass, 7 Catt. 1 (2012); In re Rolling Ficelle, 6 Catt. 3 (2012).)

The bottom line is that RHLP’s shrimp roll was good . . . but it was not lobster. (Yeah, yeah, I know what I just did there. See supra.) The shrimp roll did not knock my knee high socks off like the lobster roll did. I would be lying if I said that I hadn’t been thinking about the lobster roll while I was eating the shrimp roll. (And by “thinking” I mean “wishing that I had gotten the lobster roll.”) But if I were living in a world where RHLP’s lobster roll didn’t exist, I would be quite happy to share my lunch break with the shrimp roll.

A note about the portion and price: At $8, RHLP’s shrimp roll is comparably priced to other sandwiches on the street. See, e.g., In re Willie’s Po Boy, 7 Catt. 4 (2012) ($9 crawfish sandwich); Lemongrass, 7 Catt. 1 ($7.50 pork sandwich); In re El Floridano, 2 Catt. 2 (2011) ($7 pork sandwich); Rolling Ficelle, 6 Catt. 3 ($6.95 ham sandwich); In re Bada Bing, 5 Catt. 2 (2012) ($6.50 chicken sandwich). But unlike some of these sandwiches, the shrimp roll will leave you hungry. That’s not to say that the shrimp roll isn’t worth its price tag. It is. It’s just that you might find yourself standing in front of the vending machine at 3:30pm. (If you do and can’t decide while you’re staring at the rows of salty snacks and sweet candy, may I suggest Cheetos or Cheez-Its? They’re my personal favorites.)

I will now address an issue that I should have addressed at the beginning of this opinion. (I can feel the Chief Justice rolling his eyes at my oversight.) When reviewing a food truck’s offerings, this Supreme Cart determines whether the offering is “street food.” Street food is “the kind[] of food[] that can be cooked in front of you and [is] meant to be eaten with your hands, without forks, while standing up.” In re Eat Wonky (The Whoopie Pie Case), 2 Catt. 5 (2011). Street food is entitled to the presumption that it should be affirmed by this court. In re Big Cheese, 6 Catt. 2 (2012). It is well-settled that sandwiches, under which category the shrimp roll fits, is street food. See Willie’s Po Boy, 7 Catt. 4; Rolling Ficelle, 6 Catt. 3; Big Cheese, 6 Catt. 2. Therefore, RHLP is entitled to the presumption that its shrimp roll should be affirmed by the Cart. But, as should be clear by the reasons stated in this opinion, even without this presumption, RHLP’s shrimp roll—on its own merits—would be affirmed.

AFFIRMED. It is so ordered.

Smithsonian magazine recently compiled a list of the twenty best food trucks in the United States. From the region within this Supreme Cart’s jurisdiction, one made the list: fojol bros. of Merlindia (“FB”). After reading Smithsonian’s list, I rushed over to FB’s truck to see what the hoopla was all about.

FB is “a traveling culinary carnival” with three separate trucks from “distant lands”: Indian food from Merlindia, Ethiopian food from Benethiopia, and Thai food from Volathai. Following its “carnival” vision, the folks aboard the trucks wear mustaches and colorful costumes. A hula hoop even leaned against the truck’s side, waiting for anyone who wanted to try it. FB is clearly having a good time, but did its food live up to its creative concept?

fojol bros.

My culinary adventure was hosted by Merlindia. The items on the Merlindian menu are served over basmati rice. I opted for the “Pick 2” ($8) and chose the (1) butter chicken and (2) spinach & cheese. If you’re less or more hungry, you can get a “Dingo Bite” for $2 or the “Pick 3” for $11.

Since my platter of meat, rice and veggies was not true “street food,” FB is not entitled to the presumption that its offerings should be affirmed. See In re Eat Wonky (The Whoopie Pie Case), 2 Catt. 5 (2011) (explaining that street food is “the kind[] of food[] that can be cooked in front of you and [is] meant to be eaten with your hands, without forks, while standing up”); see also In re Salt and Pepper Grill, 8 Catt. 2 (2012) (finding that a similar platter of Indian food was not street food). Therefore, I now consider the merits of FB’s butter chicken and spinach & cheese.

Butter Chicken with Spinach & Cheese

FB’s butter chicken was excellent. It was well-seasoned and very tasty. The spice-level was perfect. It was more medium than mild, and I sensed the heat right away. The chunks of chicken were moist and tender, and I was easily able to cut the pieces with the spork that FB provided. FB also scooped up a generous spoonful of sauce to mix with the rice.

The basmati rice was better than the standard heap that often finds its way onto plates of Indian food. No dried-out grains here. It was fluffy (dare I say even almost sticky?) and felt like it had been freshly-prepared. (It probably was, as I was fourth in line after the window had opened for the day.)

The spinach & cheese was not to my liking. The pureed spinach was wonderfully thick and the pieces of paneer cheese were aplenty, but the flavor carried a heavy earthiness that did not appeal.

For the reasons stated above,

I AFFIRM in part and REMAND in part to fojol bros. for revision. It is so ordered.

The first time that I lined up in front of Salt and Pepper Grill (“SPG”), the chicken tikka masala was already gone. See In re Salt and Pepper Grill, 6 Catt. 1 (2012). The second time that I stopped by the truck, the chicken tikka masala had not yet run out, but the basmati rice had. On my third trip to SPG, there was basmati rice and chicken tikka masala. Finally! So the question is: Was SPG’s chicken tikka masala worth the wait?

Salt and Pepper Grill

 I. STREET FOOD

This Supreme Cart presumes that a dish should be affirmed if it constitutes “street food.” See In re Big Cheese, 6 Catt. 2 (2012). Street food is “the kind[] of food[] that can be cooked in front of you and [is] meant to be eaten with your hands, without forks, while standing up.” In re Eat Wonky, 2 Catt. 5 (2011). This Cart has already determined that SPG’s meat-and-rice platters are not street food. See Salt and Pepper Grill, 6 Catt. 1. Therefore, I will pursue the issue no further.

II. COMBO WITH CHICKEN TIKKA MASALA

SPG’s chicken tikka masala combo ($7.99) comes with basmati rice, naan, and salad. SPG was kind enough to allow me to make a substitution: palak paneer instead of salad. I address each component of the platter below.

Chicken Tikka Masala

 A. Chicken Tikka Masala

The chicken tikka masala, though not heavily spiced, was enjoyable. The creamy, tomato-based sauce was spicy, but the spice was slow-building rather than immediate. I would have preferred a bigger kick of paprika. There were large chunks of chicken, which were not overcooked or dry.

B. Palak Paneer

See Salt and Pepper Grill, 6 Catt. 1. My high opinion of SPG’s palak paneer remains the same. I recommend skipping the salad and requesting this in its place.

C. Basmati Rice

There is not much to say about the basmati rice because it was as it should have been. My only complaint was that the rice-to-meat ratio was off — I was left with a lot of rice after my chicken tikka masala had disappeared. If the number of chicken chunks cannot be increased, perhaps in the future there can be a more generous serving of sauce? The kid in me who enjoyed rice smothered in ketchup would probably also like rice swimming in orange-colored sauce.

D. Naan

Unlike the roti I previously sampled from SPG, see Salt and Pepper Grill, 6 Catt. 1,  the naan was made well. It was soft and chewy in the right kind of way.

Although I’ve had better versions of chicken tikka masala, I will probably return to SPG the next time I have a hankering for Indian food during my lunch hour. It was good enough, I got it quickly, and I got a lot of food for my money.

AFFIRMED in part and REMANDED in part to Salt and Pepper Grill for revision. It is so ordered.

Basil Thyme (“BT”) is a food truck that “serves fresh from-scratch pasta/Lasagna, sauces and dessert.” Up for review today is BT’s combo special, which includes a pasta entrée, side salad, dessert, and drink. For my entrée, I chose the “Guissepe” lasagna. The dessert of the day was a chocolate cannoli.

I must start with a confession: When I first spotted BT on the street many months ago, I walked right by it. I thought, “I cook pasta for dinner at least three times per week, and I don’t want to buy from a food truck what I can make for myself at home.” But the truth is that I can’t really compare my homemade pasta bakes with BT’s lasagna. I certainly don’t make lasagna from scratch, and even if I did, it probably wouldn’t be as good as BT’s. My stomach is glad that I was very wrong about BT.

Basil Thyme

 I. STREET FOOD

First, I must determine whether BT’s combo special is “street food.” This Supreme Cart has defined street food as “the kind[] of food[] that can be cooked in front of you and [is] meant to be eaten with your hands, without forks, while standing up.” In re Eat Wonky (The Whoopie Pie Case), 2 Catt. 5 (2011). This is important because if BT’s combo special is “street food,” then a presumption arises that [the combo special] should be affirmed” and “the burden of proof lies entirely with the Supreme Cart to prove that [it] should be remanded to [BT] for revision.” In re Big Cheese, 6 Catt. 2 (2012).

Although the Supreme Cart has not yet considered a combo special consisting of lasagna and salad, it is similar to other platters that have failed our “street food” test. See, e.g., In re NY Famous Kabob, 7 Catt. 3 (2012) (finding that a platter containing meat-over-rice and salad was not street food). A look at the main factors of the “street food” analysis supports the hunch that BT’s combo special is not street food. First, although a salad can be tossed in front of a food truck’s waiting customer, lasagna cannot be cooked within the minute or so that a customer steps up to a food truck. Second, neither lasagna nor salad is meant to be eaten without forks. Indeed, BT offers a fork to its customer. Third, lasagna and salad are not intended to be eaten by the customer while standing up. The standing position can be especially awkward and uncomfortable for the customer who likes to use a knife to cut smaller pieces.

BT’s cannoli does not constitute “street food” either. Although the dessert is meant to be picked up with the hands and can be eaten while standing up, the fried-and-filled pastry is not meant to be made in front of the customer. In fact, BT’s cannoli is similar to the pre-made whoopie pie that triggered our “street food” test in the first place. See Eat Wonky, 2 Catt. 5.

BT’s combo special is not entitled to the presumption that it should be affirmed as true “street food.” However, BT’s lasagna, salad, and cannoli proved to be pleasing to my palate, and I affirm.

II. COMBO SPECIAL

Guissepe Lasagna, Side Salad, Cannoli & Drink (Combo Special)

A. Guissepe Lasagna

BT’s from-scratch Guissepe lasagna is made with black truffles and gorgonzola. The truffle-and-cheese pairing was well-chosen, as the gorgonzola brought out the flavor of the truffles. Moreover, the gorgonzola was an inspired choice for the lasagna because it melted very well, leaving behind just the right amount of gooeyness. Not all mobile sellers of cheese dishes have found good melting cheeses, see In re Big Cheese, 6 Catt. 2 (2012), so BT is to be commended for this.

Note: The Guissepe lasagna a la carte costs $9. For an extra $2, you can get it with Portobello.

 B. Salad

The salad was impressive. It was made with fresh greens, cucumber slices, shredded carrots, roasted red peppers, Kalamata olives, shavings of Parmesan, and a light vinaigrette dressing. Compared to all the iceberg lettuce salads out on the streets, see, e.g., In re 1st Yellow Vendor, 4 Catt. 2 (2011); In re Ali Khan Express, 3 Catt. 5 (2011);  In re Tasty Kabob, 3 Catt. 4 (2011), this salad was a surprising and welcomed addition to my Styrofoam container.

C. Chocolate Cannoli

Chocolate Cannoli

BT makes its cannolis with “house-made Ricotta.” The chocolate filling was rich and creamy. The shell still had a bite to it and was not soggy. My only complaint: I would have liked a light sprinkling of confectioner’s sugar to top it off.

Note: A cannoli a la carte costs $3.

III. PORTION SIZE

Much ink has been spilled over whether BT’s portions are too small. I will add to the dialogue by saying that on first glance, the lasagna serving appeared on the small side, especially when juxtaposed with the larger serving of salad. But after eating the lasagna and salad, I was in that happy place where I was satisfied, not too stuffed, and could move on to dessert without feeling very bad. (In other words, if I had been in the mood to pig out on carbs, I probably would have been disappointed and wished I had gone to BT another day.)

 IV. CONCLUSION

 BT’s $10 combo special — with lasagna, salad, cannoli, and drink — is a solid deal. Since BT prices its lasagnas at $9, you basically get a salad, cannoli, and drink for an additional $1. (The exception is the Guissepe lasagna with Portobello. It costs $11 a la carte and $12 with the combo special.)

Everything was done well, and the ingredients were of good quality. I wouldn’t say that BT’s food is unique enough to reach the level of “food you absolutely must try,” but if you’re going to get lunch anyway and want a good meal for your money, then head over to BT’s truck and bring a Hamilton with you for the combo special.

A final note: BT readies and bags the customer’s meal very quickly (about a minute), so don’t let a long-looking line scare you away.

Affirmed. It is so ordered.

In the opening to King Creole, the King sings soulfully of the “sweet meat” of the bayou crawfish. “He’s gonna [sic] look good in your frying pan,” he chants. “If you fry him crisp or you boil him right, he’ll be sweeter than sugar when you take a bite,” he belts out. While we often opt for the boiled variety—with its eminently slurpable, heady ambrosia—today we opted for the frying variety—battered and deep-fried, that is, high atop a po’boy.

We granted cartiorari on the question of Willie’s Po’Boy’s (“WPB”) crawfish po’boy. When I approached the mobile gastronomic enterprise (“MGE”) for oral argument, I was struck by the long line that stretched nearly a quarter of a block along the sidewalk. Ever mindful of the TaKorean effect (i.e., the consequences of hype), I read this as a good sign and waited with great eagerness for a po’boy I could call my own.

Willie’s Po’Boy

WPB makes several variants on the classic po’boy. In the past, we have applauded MGEs who stick to limited, focused menus. We do so again today. Of the several varieties—oyster, shrimp, shrimp and oyster, catfish, etc.—we opted for crawfish. Like the catfish, the crawfish po’boy does not appear on WPB’s online menu but came recommended as crawfish were then in season. While the crawfish was excellent, in the end, we affirm in part and remand in part on the question of the bread.

Under our analysis, we must first address whether WPB’s crawfish po’boy constitutes “street food.” See In re Eat Wonky, 2 Catt. 5 (2011) (“[S]treet food is “the kind[] of food[] that can be cooked in front of you and [is] mean to be eaten with your hands, without forks, while standing up.”).  A po’boy is a sandwich. We have twice held that a sandwich is per se street food. In re Rolling Ficelle, 6 Catt. 3 (2012); In re Big Cheese, 6 Catt. 2 (2012). Therefore, “a presumption arises that the case should be affirmed,” and “the burden of proof lies entirely with the Supreme Cart to prove that the case should be remanded to [WPB] for revision.” Big Cheese, 6 Catt. 2.

As we often do, we consider each aspect of the crawfish po’boy separately. See In re TaKorean, 1 Catt. 4 (2011).

Crawfish Po’Boy

The crawfish was superb. It was indeed “sweeter than sugar,” as Elvis promised, and perfectly cooked. Most importantly, perhaps, it tasted fresh. The batter, too, was crisp, flavorful, and well seasoned, but without overpowering the crawfish.

While simple, the dressing—remoulade, lettuce, pickle, tomato—added a welcome brightness.

Finally, we arrive at the bread. WPB gets its bread from Leidenheimer Baking Company, a century-old New Orleans establishment. You could tell the bread was once a very good bread. And while I applaud WPB’s importation, and its dedication to authenticity, in the end, the bread was, unfortunately, a wee bit stale.

Overall, the po’boy was, I thought, quite good. Given our presumption in favor of affirming proper “street food,” we must, I feel, affirm. But there remains the issue of the stale bread, and here arises the question of severability. May the court sever the crawfish and dressing from the bread, affirming the former and remanding the latter? We find that, at least in this case, we can. Therefore, we affirm the crawfish and the dressing and remand the bread to WPB for revision, and it is so ordered.

Now if only I had had an ice-cold Dr. Nut to wash my po’boy down with, perhaps I could have prevented my pyloric valve from slamming shut so suddenly.

AFFIRMED in part and REMANDED in part to Willie’s Po’Boy for revision.

CATTLEYA, J., concurring.

My brother reaches a fair conclusion. WPB’s crawfish was well executed, but the bread fell short.

I want to stress how well WPB battered and deep-fried the crawfish. WPB first dipped the crawfish in buttermilk and then delicately applied a cornmeal batter. Since WPB did not pre-fry the crawfish but rather fried it to order, I was met with crispy, not soggy, seafood bites. And despite the inevitable grease stains on my takeaway paper bag, my po’boy did not feel overly greasy.

Even though I visited WPB on a different day than my brother, my bread too was stale. It would have been much better a day or two before, and unfortunately the light toasting could not hide the dryness.

At $9, the crawfish po’boy seemed on the pricey end. However, considering that Pearl Dive Oyster Palace*–a newcomer on Washingtonian‘s 100 Best Restaurants 2012 list– charges $13 for a similar po’boy plus fries, WPB’s po’boy is reasonably priced.

*I recognize that this brick-and-mortar restaurant is outside the Cart’s jurisdiction. My reference to the restaurant should not be construed as a review of its po’boy. Rather, I only offer it as a price comparison. Furthermore, I recognize that my brother introduced the pricing of a brick-and-mortar restaurant in another review of a costly seafood sandwich. See In re Red Hook Lobster Pound, 2 Catt. 1 (2011). At the time, I called this evidence “irrelevant.” See Red Hook Lobster Pound, 2 Catt. 1 (Cattleya, J., concurring). I retract that statement now, as the pricing of a similar foodstuff as offered by a brick-and-mortar restaurant can inform us about the reasonableness of a food truck’s pricing.

We granted cartiorari to Lemongrass, a food truck specializing in Vietnamese cuisine, on three menu items: (1) slow roasted pork banh mi; (2) lemongrass chicken taco; and (3) Thai tea with bubbles. The Washington Post upheld the quality of these three items. It described the banh mi as “addictive.” It found that the taco was “a surprisingly great twist on the [banh mi].” And it concluded that the bubble tea was “a sweet, milky way to wash it all down.” We now affirm, but with more elaborate reasoning.

Lemongrass

I. STREET FOOD

Before we address Lemongrass’s offerings, we must settle the question of whether they constitute “street food.” This Cart has defined “street food” as “the kind[] of food[] that can be cooked in front of you and [is] meant to be eaten with your hands, without forks, while standing up.” In re Eat Wonky, 2 Catt. 5 (2011). We further explained that under the Eat Wonky test,

a dish must (1) be cooked or be capable of being cooked in front of the customer, i.e., aboard the mobile gastronomic enterprise (“MGE”); (2) is meant to be eaten with one’s hands, i.e., without forks or other cutlery; and (3) is eaten or is capable of being eaten while standing up.

In re Big Cheese, 6 Catt. 2 (2012). However, this test is “intended only to be a multifactor test to guide and direct our analysis.” In re Hot People Food (The Hot People Dumplings Case), 6 Catt. 4 (2012).

It is clear that the banh mi—a sandwich—satisfies the Eat Wonky test. Time and time again, this Cart has declared sandwiches to be true “street food.” See, e.g., In re Rolling Ficelle, 6 Catt. 3 (2012); Big Cheese, 6 Catt. 2.

Today we find that tacos, like sandwiches, are “street food.” Similar to sandwiches, taco can be cooked and assembled in front of the customer. Moreover, tacos share the finger-food quality of sandwiches. They are meant to be eaten without utensils, and the customer can easily eat tacos while standing up.

Thai tea with bubbles—a drink—can similarly be characterized as “street food.” Requiring only the boiling of tapioca pearls and the mixing of black tea and condensed milk (plus another step or two), Thai tea is capable of being prepared in front of the customer. Furthermore, it is capable of being consumed without the use of any gadget or tool. Although bubble tea is usually served with a large straw (straws enhance the eating experience of tapioca pearls), the presence of the straw doesn’t change this result. See Hot People Food, 6 Catt. 4 (finding that dumplings were “street food” because they could be eaten with one’s fingers, even though a fork was provided). Finally, there is no doubt that the customer can perform the task of drinking while in the standing position. (The Chief Justice’s clerks, who are still doing double duty to assist me as well, tell me that young people regularly exhibit this skill at bars and other social establishments.)

Because Lemongrass’s offering constitute “street food,” this Cart presumes that they should be affirmed, and the burden to show that they should be remanded lies with the Cart. See Big Cheese, 6 Catt. 2. For the reasons stated below, we find that the burden is not met for any of the three food items before us; therefore, we affirm.

Thai Tea with Bubbles, Pork Banh Mi, and Chicken Taco

 II. SLOW ROASTED PORK BANH MI ($7.50)

Another reviewer—the Washington Post—called Lemongrass’s pork banh mi “addictive.” WaPo, however, did not explicitly state what made the sandwich addictive. Was it the pork? The spicy mayo? The baguette? The pickled carrots and radish?

The pork was tender, but while one might have expected it to take the spotlight, it did not. The flavor of the spicy, creamy Sriracha mayo was stronger than the pork. The mayo was very tasty though and gave a nice kick to my palate, so I didn’t mind that the pork fell into the background.

The pork was also overshadowed by the pickled carrots and radish. The pickled topping nicely balanced out the spicy mayo. Texturally, it provided a nice crunch. Taste-wise, the acidity was very refreshing. This is a pickled condiment done very, very, very well.

The element which made the biggest impact on my food memory was the baguette. According to WaPo, Lemongrass gets its bread from a Vietnamese bakery in Falls Church. Lemongrass’s choice of bread is perfect. Like another bread that’s being sold on the street, see In re Rolling Ficelle, 6 Catt. 3 (2012), the baguette was crusty on the outside and soft on the inside. Each bite into it made me want another . . . and another . . . and another. It’s a very good thing that the baguette was large in size, so that I could keep having another, another, and another bite. (Initially, I was going to save half of my sandwich for dinner, but there was no stopping me from eating every crumb of this bread as soon as I could.)

In the end, I really didn’t care that the pork was merely a supporting player in the banh mi. The baguette and pickled vegetables were so exceptional that Lemongrass could sell them together as a new sandwich and would see me in front of the truck every week.

N.B.: There was also cilantro on the banh mi, but I will leave any comment on this herb to my brother. As I have noted before, I do not like cilantro. See In re Salt and Pepper Grill, 6 Catt. 1 (2012). But it’s not my fault.

III. LEMONGRASS CHICKEN TACO ($7.50 for 3; $4 for 1)

Lemongrass styles its tacos as the “carb friendly sister” to the banh mi. It includes the same ingredients but serves them on a flour tortilla instead of a baguette. WaPo concluded that the taco was a “great twist on the [banh mi].” I disagree on the grounds that there is no need to find an alternative to the banh mi, but I still affirm.

Although I can accept that a flour tortilla may be a lighter option than a large baguette, the flour tortilla was not anything special. On the other hand, the baguette was so very special, see discussion infra Part II, that I would recommend eating Lemongrass’s baguette for lunch and finding a carb-friendly dinner later. Do as I say. Really. You’ll thank me later. 

As with the pork in the banh mi, the chicken in the taco was overshadowed by the pickled carrots and radish. By this I do not mean to say anything negative about the preparation of the chicken. WaPo determined that Lemongrass marinated its chicken in “lemon grass, sesame oil, garlic and shallot.” The chicken was not bad. It was not dry either. It’s just that the pickled vegetables were spectacular. It was all that I tasted and all that I wanted to taste.

IV. THAI TEA WITH BUBBLES ($4)

Lemongrass’s Thai iced tea tasted like . . . Thai iced tea. In the words of WaPo, it was “sweet” and “milky.” To this I must add that it was very sweet. The kind of sweetness that you crave every minute as a kid but must space out once you hit a certain age for the sake of your teeth sensitivity. Also, I must note that the bubbles—pearls of tapioca—had the perfect texture: gummy and chewy. (A tip from someone who has imbibed many bubble teas: If the tapioca pearls make prolonged contact with the ice cubes floating in your cup, the pearls are going to lose their delightfully gummy texture. So don’t wait too long to finish your bubble tea.)

V. MATHEMATICAL CONSIDERATIONS

If you’re planning to get the pork banh mi and Thai tea with bubbles (which you absolutely should), consider making it a meal. Lemongrass’s “meal” option adds bubble tea and a taco to your banh mi order for an additional $4.25. I’m not a judge (you need not address me as “Justice”) who pretends to be a math whiz, but this appears to be a good deal. An a la carte taco is $4. Bubble tea is $4. Under the “make it a meal” option, you get both for $4.25. (This trio—banh mi, taco, and bubble tea—will seem like a lot, too much for a single lunch, and it probably is, and I definitely thought it was excessive, but I finished it all anyway. And very happily so.)

VI. CONCLUSION

For the reasons stated in this opinion, the case is

AFFIRMED.

*Erratum. The original version of this opinion used “Thai Bubble Tea” to describe Lemongrass’s bubble tea flavor of Thai tea. While Lemongrass uses “bubble tea” and “Thai tea” on its menu, “boba” and “Thai iced tea” are also commonly used. We confusingly chose to call Lemongrass’s offering “Thai Bubble Tea”. Although the drink is a popular one, there does not appear to be a standard name for it. Variant names include “Thai Tea Bubble Tea”, “Thai Iced Tea Bubble Tea”, and “Thai Tea Boba”. After considering the options, we changed “Thai Bubble Tea” to “Thai Tea with Bubbles”. We hope this is less confusing, but are prepared to issue another correction if it is not.

JEREMY, C.J., concurring.

I concur in my sister’s mostly well reasoned opinion. I write separately only to note once more that my sister is ever willing to convolute plain language to sit her interpretative needs. In In re China Garden, 5 Catt. 1 (2012), she was eager to overlook the plain meaning of the Judiciary Act of 2011 (Cartiorari Act) and our own Rules of Procedure in order to find that a dim sum cart is not a “food cart,” an “other transitory alimentary establishment,” or a “mobile gastronomic enterprise.” Her rejection of the plain meaning of legal texts reaches a new nadir today. In the case before us, she willfully subverts the plain meaning of “food” to suit her whims, finding bubble tea–undoubtedly a beverage, not a foodstuff, albeit brimming with food-like pearls of tapioca–to constitute “street food.” See Part II, supra. Nevertheless, because the bubble tea was delicious, I am willing to overlook my sister’s transgression.

In this opinion, I must consider the question of Doug the Food Dude’s (“DFD”) parmesan-crusted salmon over cabana rice, a $9.00 heaping helping of lettuce and “the Dude’s cabana rice” beneath a salmon fillet and a “pineapple mango sauce.” Initially, I was leery of trying this particular dish, for four reasons:

1. One should never eat any dish whose name contains the word “fiesta” (e.g., fiesta meatloaf, fiesta chicken dinner, fiesta pie, and fiesta fondue). Usually “fiesta” is code for Velveeta, Ro-Tel, and an entire packet of taco seasoning. Usually “fiesta” dishes are billed as a party in one’s mouth. Unfortunately, the party usually turns south and, in my experience, ends in a rather abrupt scurry to the nearest restroom. “Cabana,” while certainly not equivalent to “fiesta,” comes perilously close to “fiesta” in connotation.
2. I like pineapple. I like mango. However, I am not a fan of pineapple salsa, nor am I fan of mango salsa. As if to taunt me, this dish is topped with a sauce containing both pineapple and mango. God help us all.
3. Food trucks are very good at many things. I would not be Chief Justice of the Supreme Cart if I did not respect the mobile gastronomic enterprise. And indeed, during my tenure as Chief Justice, this Cart has handed down a good many affirmations of a good many food truck creations. However, the food truck, by its mobile and confined nature, lends itself better to certain dishes over others. My sister said it best: “What I would like to see coming off trucks are the kinds of foods that can be cooked in front of you and are meant to be eaten with your hands, without forks, while standing up.” In re Eat Wonky, 2 Catt. 5 (2011); see also In re Dangerously Delicious Pies, 4 Catt. 4 (2011); In re Sâuçá, 4 Catt. 3 (2011); In re PORC, 4 Catt. 1 (2011);  In re Hula Girl, 3 Catt. 7 (2011). A salmon fillet, while well and good, (1) is not ordinarily cooked in front of you, (2) is not ordinarily meant to be eaten with one’s hands, (3) is ordinarily eaten with a fork, and (4) is not ordinarily eaten while standing up. Thus, this dish, from the outset, fails to meet any single element of our Eat Wonky test for determining whether street food, is, in fact, “street food” as we understand that term.
4. The Dude is known as “The Dude.” I half-expected an unkempt Jeff Bridges, in a dirty robe and sunglasses, serving me salmon, glugging from a milk carton.

Nevertheless, my clerks informed me that, if I am to sample DFD, I absolutely must try the Dude’s parmesan-crusted salmon over cabana rice. And so, ever faithful servant to the cause of Justice that I am, I did just that.

I really wanted to like this dish, if only because the Dude is such a nice and personable guy. In fact, he is nothing like his Big Lebowski comrade-in-moniker. Even on a drab and drizzly day, the Dude was friendly and exuberant and eager to converse with his customers. Moreover, there was no robe and no milk carton. And so, I’ll begin with a positive: the price-to-quantity ratio. For $9.00, you get a lot of food. A hell of a lot.

So there’s that.

Parmesan Crusted Salmon over Cabana Rice

But now, regrettably, I must pass to less pleasant holdings. As we often do, I evaluate each element of the dish separately, before concluding. See, e.g., In re TaKorean, 1 Catt. 4 (2011).

Lettuce. Lettuce sat in pieces at the bottom of my clear plastic container, beneath the warm cabana rice. Unfortunately, the warm cabana rice caused the lettuce to wilt considerably. The lettuce was at best extraneous and at worst distracting.

Cabana Rice. I am happy to report that a “cabana” dish need not carry the same consequences as “fiesta” dish. The rice was well cooked and sufficiently flavorful. Much to my pleasure, I have nothing negative to say about the cabana rice.

Salmon Fillet. Dry. Quite dry and overcooked, as I expected it might be. Also underseasoned. Non-street food (i.e., food that does not satisfy our Eat Wonky test) is often ill-suited for this milieu. At best, to prepare and purvey non-street food in a street food setting is a considerable risk. In this case, the gamble did not pay off.

Parmesan Crust. Also dry. In my experience, a parmesan crust is ordinarily made from grated parmesan and plays a role similar to flour in the dredging process. Unfortunately, the Dude seems to have used shredded parmesan instead. Parmesan is not particularly a melting cheese, and so the parmesan crust ended up a leathery overcoat.

Pineapple Mango Sauce. As I have said before, I am no fan of pineapple-based sauces, nor of mango-based sauces, and so I am certainly no fan of pineapple mango sauces. I am thus not a good judge of whether DFD’s pineapple mango sauce was, in fact, a good pineapple mango sauce for those who enjoy such things, and so I will reserve judgment.

Though I very much enjoyed the person of the Dude, I did not enjoy his gastronomy nearly so much. Therefore, it is with considerable regret that I must cause this dish to be

REMANDED to Doug the Food Dude for revision. It is so ordered.

We granted cartiorari to Sâuçá under Rule of Procedure 2-4(a), according to the petition of Anonymous, on the question of its pork bánh mì.

Besides the aforementioned petition for cartiorari, what drew me to this “mobile gastronomic enterprise” initially were the copious and gratuitous diacritics which grace its moniker. I am particularly fond of diacritics, especially of the kind intended only for gratuitous effect, and so I had high hopes for Sâuçá.

Sâuçá

I also particularly like the ethos behind the enterprise: “Experience street food on a new level, inspired by snack vendors in India, railroad station vendors in Europe and the mobile taquierias [sic] of South America . . . .” This description seemed to hold great promise. It seemed to adopt our own Eat Wonky test, which finds that the best truck food is true street food, which we have defined as of “the kind[] . . . that can be cooked in front of you and [is] meant to be eaten with your hands, without forks, while standing up.” In re Eat Wonky, 2 Catt. 5 (2011). Unfortunately, this ethos also tends toward the usual result of fusion cuisine: “confusion.” See In re TaKorean, 1 Catt. 4 (2011). Indeed, Sâuça’s flavors were, I’m afraid, confused.

Sâuçá describes its pork bánh mì as follows: “Props to the Vietnamese street vendor—mouth-watering flavors of ginger, soy and chili with tender pork, pickled veggies and our Peanut and Thai Coconut sauces.” Given the proliferation of bánh mì about the metropolitan area, I was eager to try Sâuçá’s rendition.

First off, we can discard the “pickled veggies.” While there were pickled vegetables, the members of this Cart were unable to taste them. We will therefore limit our discussion to two elements: (1) the pork itself, and (2) the wrap which served as its vehicle. I will consider the latter first, and the former last.

Wrap. Once more, we find a fusion establishment confusing the dishes which comprise its repertoire. Cf. TaKorean, 1 Catt. 4 (where a raw-cabbage slaw was termed kimchi-style). Bánh mì requires a sort of baguette. In fact, one of my clerks informs me that the term “bánh mì” in Vietnamese has come to refer specifically to this type of bread. But Sâuçá’s bánh mì’s grain-based envelope is not in the least baguette-like. It is, instead, a Greek pita or Turkish pide, i.e., a somewhat chewy flatbread. A flatbread, no matter its chewiness, is not a baguette, no matter how much one wants it to be. Cf. LEWIS CARROLL, ALICE’S ADVENTURES IN WONDERLAND 124 (1897) (“‘When I use a word,’ Humpty Dumpty said in a rather scornful tone, ‘it means just what I choose it to mean –neither more nor less.'”). Thus the dish is, in fact, not bánh mì at all.

Pork. The pork was without significant texture. It had been pulled and pulled such that it no longer resembled pork at all. It was, instead, a gloopy pork-based sauce wedged inside a pita. “Tender,” as Sâuça terms it, is a euphemism. This gloopy pork-based sauce was terribly sweet. I suppose the sweetness derived from the “mouth-watering flavors of ginger, soy and chili.” It tasted, instead, of a mix of hoisin and tamarind. While I enjoy both hoisin and tamarind, this dish was a one-note samba. All one tasted was sweet, and a rather off-putting sweetness at that.

Pork Bánh Mì

Once more, we find only confusion in fusion. We are greeted again by the failings we first noted in TaKorean: a mediocre truck hiding behind hype, flashy graphics, and a laundry list of seemingly exotic dishes that only indirectly resemble their namesakes. See TaKorean, 1 Catt. 4. Cf. In re El Floridano, 2 Catt. 2 (2011). For these reasons, this case is

REMANDED to Sâuçá for revision.

CATTLEYA, J., concurring.

I concur with the Cart’s decision. I write to note three things. First, Sâuçá’s pork bánh mì presented the second case in this Cart’s history where the Justices did not finish the food before it. See In re CapMac, 1 Catt. 1 (2011). Although I could have eaten the whole thing had I been hungry enough and had I felt guilty enough for shelling out $8, I was neither sufficiently hungry nor guilty. As a result, half of the sandwich found its last resting place in a trash can. Second, once again, I would like to stress to my father, if he’s reading this, that “the consumption of pork occurred for the highest purposes of a full and fair adjudication.” See In re El Floridano, 2 Catt. 2 (2011) (Cattleya, J., concurring). Finally, for a second time, the Chief Justice mentions his law clerks. See In re Seoul Food, 3 Catt. 2 (2011). It appears that his clerks do more than polish silverware and fold swan napkins. At the very least, they conduct research for the Chief Justice. Do they draft his opinions, too? I note for the reader that I do not have any clerks, and I research and write my own opinions. Enterprising individuals interested in a clerkship may send applications to my chambers.

In an earlier opinion of this Cart, we noted that Yellow Vendor was another food truck within our jurisdiction that served traditional Korean fare. See In re AZNeats, 2 Catt. 3 (2011). We left open the following question: does AZNeats or Yellow Vendor dish out a superior galbi?

Before we answer that question, we note that AZNeats says “kalbi” while Yellow Vendor says “galbi.” Both spelling variations of the marinated beef are acceptable. We will use “galbi” in this opinion. This is an arbitrary spelling choice that does not reflect the choosing of sides at this preliminary stage.

1st Yellow Vendor

To refresh the reader’s mind, we start by summarizing our conclusions on AZNeats’s kalbi. The meat was good, although we noted that “nothing beats kalbi off the bone.” AZNeats, 2 Catt. 3. The rice was nice and sticky (a bit overcooked, but not enough to detract from the meal). Id. The dish was topped off with a healthy collection of vegetables. Id. And a side of pickle slices provided acidity to balance the drizzle of sweet sauce. Id. Overall, we highly enjoyed our dining experience with AZNeats.

We now turn to Yellow Vendor (“YV”). YV operates two trucks—the first truck (Yellow Vendor) and the second truck that’s called the first truck (1st Yellow Vendor). We visited the second truck.

YV’s galbi has proved this Supreme Cart wrong. We previously stated that “nothing beats kalbi off the bone.” AZNeats, 2 Catt. 3. Well, there is something that beats it: galbi off the bone, off a truck. We were so impressed that YV served galbi off the bone that the Cart’s first draft of this opinion looked like this: “Galbi served off the bone. Nothing else needs to be said on the matter.”

Although the galbi alone was enough to win over the Justices of this Cart, the supporting food elements matched the high-quality of the galbi. The devoted reader knows by now how I like my white rice: sticky but still chewy. See In re Seoul Food, 3 Catt. 1 (2011). That is exactly what YV scooped into my Styrofoam container. Moreover, YV’s kimchi was the real deal, meaning that it was fermented and not simply vinegared. Cf. In re Takorean, 1 Catt. 4 (2011). Although the side of lettuce was unnecessary, we still ate it.

Galbi

So the question must be answered: AZNeats or Yellow Vendor? Here’s how the individual components of their respective dishes compared:

• Kalbi/galbi: YV had a slight edge for its galbi off the bone, even though AZNeats’s kalbi was a bit tastier.
• White rice: YV’s chewier rice came out ahead of AZNeats’s softer rice.
• Vegetables: AZNeats’s broccoli, cauliflower, baby carrots, and yellow pickled radish beat YV’s plain lettuce.
• Garnishes: YV’s traditional kimchi defeated AZNeats’s pickle slices, although the pickles were an imaginative addition.
• Price: YV and AZNeats tied in this category, as their dishes were both priced at $8.

Bottom Line: If forced to choose, the Justices of the Cart would line up in front of Yellow Vendor. But the Justices hope never to choose. We would like to eat kalbi/galbi twice a week (at least)—once at Yellow Vendor and once at AZNeats.

AFFIRMED.

*Erratum. It appears that Yellow Vendor and 1st Yellow Vendor are two separate, unaffiliated food trucks. On November 7, 2011, Yellow Vendor tweeted that “Yellowvendor and 1stYellowvendor is [sic] totally different.” References in this opinion to “Yellow Vendor” and “YV” refer to 1st Yellow Vendor, and not Yellow Vendor.

JEREMY, C.J., concurring in part and in the result.

Firstly, my sister marvels at the non-distinction between “kalbi” and “galbi.” I won’t bore her (or you, dear reader) with the intricacies of Korean phonology.

Secondly, I wish to reiterate that YV sported a perfect flanken cut. (I adore the word and delight in its significance.)

Thirdly, while I concur with my fellow Justice’s consideration of YV’s preparation, I object to an adversarial opinion in the guise of a non-adversarial one. My sister should not continue to so flaunt the dictates of due process. There is a time and a place for an adversarial proceeding, but there are notice and hearing requirements, lacking in this case, which must first be adhered to. For this reason, I concur in the result of my sister’s decision, and in her findings as to YV, but find myself forbidden by my duties as Chief Justice of this Supreme Cart from joining in her comparisons with AZNeats.

CapMac is a food truck specializing in “America’s favorite pasta dishes.” This Cart has previously reviewed CapMac on the issue of its Classic CapMac’n Cheese. We did not find CapMac’s cheddar and pimento sauce to our liking, and we surmised that CapMac’s al dente macaroni would be more successful with a different sauce. See In re Cap Mac, 1 Catt. 1 (2011). So we tried Marco Bolo, a beef Bolognese sauce. Although the Bolognese was a much better accompaniment to CapMac’s mac, it still wasn’t satisfying.

CapMac

CapMac describes Marco Bolo as a “[t]raditional beef Bolognese w[ith] fresh herbs, parmesan and a touch of cream.” The Bolognese sauce is paired with spirali (pasta shaped like a spiraling tube).

Marco Bolo

The pasta. The pasta was prepared perfectly. It had a firm and chewy texture. (This was also true of the macaroni that I was served on my first visit to CapMac. I doubt that overcooked and mushy pasta ever comes off this truck.) Moreover, the spirali was a good choice for the Bolognese, as the pasta shape absorbed the meaty sauce very well.

The sauce. CapMac’s Bolognese sauce was not bad at all, but it didn’t appeal to my tastes. The sauce was overly sweet. I couldn’t help but wonder whether salt and pepper had been passed over for sugar. I probably would have enjoyed Marco Bolo very much during my younger years, when I still enjoyed Filipino-style spaghetti (very sweet spaghetti made with banana ketchup or sugar).

The price. Although I got a hearty portion for $8, it just didn’t seem worth it for a dish that I could have made at home. (What might be worth $8 though is a take-home container of CapMac’s perfectly cooked pasta, especially since I hear it’s made from scratch. I’d pick that up after work to toss with my own sauce because, frankly, it beats dry pasta out of a Barilla box.)

Bottom line: If you like sweetened Bolognese, you’ll like Marco Bolo. But I don’t, so I didn’t.

REMANDED to CapMac for revision.

JEREMY, C.J., concurring.

I, like my sister, do not “like sweetened Bolognese,” and so, like my sister, did not like CapMac’s Marco Bolo. I must therefore concur in my sister’s sound opinion. I write separately, however, to note my additional consternation at CapMac’s choice in nomenclature.

In my opinion in DC Empanadas, I noted, with one exception, that while “[c]heesy empanadas [are] very good, cheesy names [for empanadas are] not so good.” In re DC Empanadas, 1 Catt. 3 (2011). Here, too, I must reiterate my belief that corny sobriquets—like CapMac’s “Marco Bolo”—are best avoided. While by no means fatal to CapMac’s case (after all, we affirmed two of DC Empanadas’s cheesily named selections), the name “Marco Bolo” certainly does CapMac’s case no favors.

Some weeks ago—never mind how long precisely—I looked up from the Tupperware perched atop my dress pants, having just finished a ham and cheese sandwich and two clementines, to see a bright pink truck parked across the street. Knowing well my duties as a Justice of this Cart, I donned my robe, donned my freshly-powdered wig, and dutifully resolved to eat a second lunch. Purely in the interests of law and justice, of course. The things I do for thee, o, gentle reader!

We granted cartiorari in this case to once more review Seoul Food (“SF”), a “mobile gastronomic enterprise.” My sister has previously reviewed SF’s Korean Superbowl in chambers. See In re Seoul Food, 3 Catt. 1 (2011). Though that case ended in a remand, my sister noted there that, in the future, “[she] will return again, but when [she] do[es], [she]’ll stick to the more traditional bibimbap on the menu.” Id. We follow that wisdom in the present case, limiting ourselves to the question of SF’s “more traditional” bibimbap.

SF’s bibimbap is described as a “large bowl of sticky rice topped with mixed baby greens, carrots, daikon radish, red radish, a cage free sunny side up egg, and your choice of meat.” (A lovely Thai chili, whose skin shimmered bright red in the midday sun, also graced the inside of my Styrofoam container.) Your protein choices are three: (1) “Korean marinated local grass fed skirt steak” ($8.50), (2) “Korean marinated local chicken” ($7.50), and (3) “Korean marinated organic tofu” ($7). (Once again, “tofu,” though at times quite delicious in this Justice’s experience, is wrongly denominated “meat.” Cf. In re TaKorean, 1 Catt. 4 (2011).) Your bibimbap “includes your choice of mild soy sauce based sauce or spicy pepper paste sauce.” (The latter is alternatively described as “Korean chili” on the side of the truck.) We opted for the skirt steak, paired with SF’s alluring “spicy pepper paste sauce.”

Beef Bibimbap

I begin with the verdict. In a word: Fantastic. And two more for you: Highly recommended.

Egg. I’ll begin with the egg, because the egg is the star of the dish. I am quite a fan of the egg. I like mine runny. My perfect egg is perfectly poached. A 63-degree egg is a thing of near unrivaled beauty in the pantheon of proteins. But a precisely executed sunny side up, with its gently crisped underbelly and a still runny yolk is likewise a marvel of ovoid mastery. SF’s egg was marvelous. Since first tasting it, I have not ceased speaking of its wonders to the eager clerks who crowd the marble halls of this Supreme Cart. The underbelly of the egg was the result of an exquisite fry. The yolk flowed, upon puncturing, like the mighty Yellow River, unleashing its viscous, golden treasure o’er the sticky rice and the skirt steak. I stand in awe of any egg that good. I stand in even greater awe that such an egg could be so perfectly prepared within the limited physical confines characteristic of a “mobile gastronomic enterprise.”

Beef. The beef, as we indicate above, is “Korean marinated local grass fed skirt steak.” It is also delicious. It is tender, but has some of the chew expected of Korean-style beef. It is marinated in a delightful Korean barbecue marinade.

Rice. The glutinous rice was nicely glutinous, with a bit of crunch around the edges. I am certain my sister, renowned as she is for a certain childhood foible involving sticky rice paired with a certain American tomato-based condiment, will have more to say about the quality of SF’s preparation. See, e.g., In re AZNeats, 2 Catt. 3 (2011).

Korean Chili. The “Korean chili” derives from a “spicy pepper paste sauce.” It is, I believe, gochujang, a sweet and spicy chili-based condiment and yet another example of the wonders of fermentation. Cf. TaKorean, 1 Catt. 4. Gochujang may very well become the next Sriracha. You heard it hear first. (It is also reputed to have certain health benefits, so, here’s to your health!)

Namul. As noted above, the dish comes with “mixed baby green, carrots, daikon radish, [and] red radish,” in addition to a Thai pepper for garnish. I sensed some pickling. The freshness and the crunch of the vegetables pairs nicely with the rest of the dish, providing a welcome brightness and an interesting contrast.

Seoul Food

Other Considerations. The dish is quite sizable. (Though I had already eaten a full lunch of a sandwich and two clementines, I still managed to devour the entire dish. It is that good. It is so good that one eats past that little voice in one’s stomach which, in a soft, sweet voice, insists, “Stop eating, sir! You’ve had quite enough for one afternoon, your Honor!”) At $8.50, I’d say it’s a good deal, considering the quantity, the quality of the ingredients, and the loving expertise of the preparation. (And considering that egg, dear God, that perfect egg!)

As I’ve said before, and as I’ll say again, SF’s bibimbap is “highly recommended.” It is fantastic, amazing, incredible. It is emphatically the province of this Cart to decide the case or controversy before it, “to say what the law is.” Marbury v. Madison, 5 U.S. (1 Cranch) 137 (1803). It is perhaps well beyond the scope of those duties with which we are charged to dictate those precise future actions individuals not now before this Cart shall take. Nevertheless, I feel I must say to our readership: Get thee to SF come noontide next!

AFFIRMED.

CATTLEYA, J., concurring.

Seoul Food’s beef bibimbap was “fantastic, amazing, incredible.” As much as it pains me to agree with the Chief Justice, I must. But it comforts me to know that he would not have discovered this food truck treat had I not suggested it in an earlier in-chambers opinion. See In re Seoul Food, 3 Catt. 1 (2011). My dear Chief Justice, you are very welcome.

Now, Chief Justice, I have one small question. Your opinion talks of the “eager clerks who crowd the marble halls of this Supreme Cart.” I do not have a single clerk serving in my chambers. Have you assigned them all to yours? Do they polish your silverware and fold your napkins into swans?

Seoul Food (“SF”), run by a husband-and-wife duo, dishes up Korean and Japanese fusion cuisine. With a menu of items like caramelized kimchi rolls and kalbi burritos, I approached this truck hesitantly. As this Cart has seen in the past, fusion can be a disaster. See In re TaKorean, 1 Catt. 4 (2011). But positive reviews elsewhere convinced me to give fusion another chance, and so I found myself in front of SF’s brightly-painted truck one afternoon.

Seoul Food

SF’s owners were about to leave as I approached the truck, but they were very kind and stayed to make me a Korean Superbowl first. The $8 superbowl consisted of “sticky rice, bulgogi marinaded [sic] steak, . . . jalapeño & Serrano relish, caramelized kimchi, scallion, queso fresco, cheddar, [and] Korean salsa roja.” (Note to non-red meat eaters: You can select chicken instead of bulgogi.)

Korean Superbowl

All of the individual ingredients in the superbowl were of the highest quality. When mixed together, however, too many ingredients got lost. Here’s how everything broke down:

Bulgogi. The superbowl was topped with a fair number of thick bulgogi strips. When I bit into the meat, I could feel from its tender texture that it had been cooked perfectly. This skilled preparation, however, was a bit wasted because I couldn’t taste the bulgogi. The heat of other ingredients (see below) overpowered the bulgogi’s flavoring.

Sticky rice. The rice was just the way I like it: sticky and chewy. Cf. In re AZNeats, 2 Catt. 3 (2011). At first, I thought that there was too much rice and too little of everything else—but that was before I realized that I would need the rice to neutralize the heat of other ingredients (see below).

Kimchi, Serrano relish, Korean salsa roja, jalapeños. SF’s kimchi tasted like it came from a Korean family’s kitchen. This was real kimchi, fermented and all. Cf. TaKorean, 1 Catt. 4.  Combined together, the kimchi, Serrano relish, Korean salsa roja, and jalapeños were fiery hot. I’m talking about watery-eyes-and-runny-nose kind of heat.

Cheddar, scallion. The sprinkling of shredded cheddar and chopped scallion contributed very little to the superbowl. In fact, the only thing these ingredients added was color. I could not taste them—not even a little—over the heat of other ingredients (see above).

All I got from SF’s Korean Superbowl was a whole lot of heat. Even if you like spicy food, I suggest approaching this dish armed with a box of tissues and without any water nearby. For me, SF’s superbowl went the way of many Korean fusion creations that came before it: confusion. See TaKorean, 1 Catt. 4.

(I want to note that, despite the confusion of fusion, it was evident SF used top-quality ingredients and prepared them well. For this reason, I will return again, but when I do, I’ll stick to the more traditional bibimbap on the menu.)

I remand to Seoul Food for revision. It is so ordered.

AZNeats, as its name indicates, offers up Asian eats. The menu is simple. You have four meat options:

1. Kalbi (beef short ribs “marinated in . . . AZN Kalbi sauce then char-grilled to perfection”);

2. Bulgogi (“thinly sliced rib eye beef marinated in . . . special AZN sauce, cooked on a grill”);

3. Spicy pork bulgogi (“American Kurobuta Pork marinated in . . . special spicy gochu-jang (red pepper paste) sauce”); or

4. Teriyaki chicken (“[b]oneless, skinless chicken marinated and char-grilled in . . . special sauce”).

Each choice is served over white rice and with a mix of vegetables. We opted for AZN Kalbi™. Although, at $8, it is more expensive than the other $7 meats, the kalbi is billed as AZNeats’s “favorite” dish. (And, honestly, who would eat anything else when kalbi is on the menu? See In re Red Hook Lobster Pound, 2 Catt. 1 (2011) (“[N]o one in their right mind orders shrimp over lobster.”); In re El Floridano, 2 Catt. 2 (2011) (“[N]o one in their right mind orders [tempeh] over [pork].” (internal quotation marks omitted) (quoting Red Hook, 2 Catt. 1)). As is often done in Cart opinions, I will address each element separately.

AZN Kalbi

Kalbi. Authentic. This is good, not just for off a truck, but by Annandale’s Korean restaurant standards. The hands in this truck’s kitchen know Korean cuisine. Of course, nothing beats kalbi off the bone and hot off the grill. But this is a good option when it’s just not practical to drive out to Annandale (or to enlist a licensed driver, who has a car and the actual ability to drive) to satisfy your Korean BBQ cravings. As an added bonus, you can satisfy your cravings without having to smell like a Korean BBQ restaurant when you return to work. (Korean marinade has the special ability to seep into the fabric of your clothing. But it’s a very small price to pay for the deliciousness that is called kalbi.)

Rice. Almost perfect. AZNeats’s white rice reminded me of the slightly sticky Kokuho Rose rice on which I was raised. It would have been perfect had it been a bit less soft; it verged dangerously close to the consistency of rice porridge. (Ok, admittedly, I’m exaggerating a bit. But I prefer that my sticky rice still have some chew to it.) The best part of the rice, for me, was the drizzle of sweet sauce that accompanied it. Given my childhood preference for sticky rice paired with certain condiments, I’m sure you’ll understand why.

Vegetables. Good enough. A collection of steamed broccoli, cauliflower, baby carrots, and yellow pickled radish. Obviously, these were supporting players to the kalbi’s starring role, but they were decent. Not overcooked and still had some bite. Plus, they made me feel a bit healthier.

Side of sliced pickles. Surprisingly important. Initially, the pickles appeared out of place. For one thing, they were the kind of pickle slices that you would expect to see on your McDonald’s hamburger. Which is to say that they were very American and not very Asian (or AZN). However, the pickles had a purpose. They provided an enjoyable source of acidity with which to balance the sweetness of the so-named AZN Kalbi sauce.

In the end, AZN Kalbi™ did not disappoint. It was a well-executed dish. Moreover, it was a great deal. For $8, you get top-quality meat and a very generous serving of rice, plus fresh veggies. You even get it all in a reusable plastic container a la Chinese takeout. (At least this Justice plans to use it again for tomorrow’s packed lunch.) If this Cart were in the business of handing out awards, AZN Kalbi™ would get Best Bang for Your Buck (of the foods sampled thus far).

On a side note, it is beyond my understanding why AZNeats does not have the same following of another truck that offers up Korean cuisine, albeit Korean fusion.* Is it because AZNeats’s truck is red instead of blue? Is it because its name does not roll off the tongue as easily? (By the way, is the name pronounced as “Asian eats” or “A-Z-N eats”?) In any case, I hope these are not the reasons. Food should speak for itself. See El Floridano, 2 Catt. 2 (“Mediocre food can easily hide behind hype and slick graphics.”). If you let the food speak here, you’ll hear it saying great things.

AZNeats

Finally, I will address my brother’s unfounded remarks regarding my mental state by saying this: Sir, I am no Henry Baldwin.

*This Cart recognizes that perhaps it is less than fair to compare traditional Asian fare with Asian fusion. It might be more appropriate to use Yellow Vendor as a comparison here. We’ll leave that for another day.

AFFIRMED.

JEREMY, C.J., concurring.

I concur generally in the opinion of the Cart, with only two minor quibbles. Firstly, not having myself been raised on Kokuho Rice, I do not possess the requisite knowledge to pass judgment upon its comparative virtue. Secondly, and more seriously, in the final sentence of the opinion of the Cart, my sister writes: “If you let the food speak here, you’ll hear it saying great things.” Outside the veritable œuvre of The Mothers of Invention, foodstuffs have only rarely and infrequently been known to speak up, much less to “say[] great things.” If my sister’s mental state yet degenerates, such that she continues communing with comestibles, I may insist upon her recusal, as she so insisted of me in an earlier opinion of this Cart, see Metro Halal Food v. Tasty Kabob, 1 Catt. 2 (2011), despite the fact that I find the rest of her opinion eminently (dare I say, surprisingly) cogent.

We granted cartiorari in this case to review TaKorean, a “mobile gastronomic enterprise” purveying “Korean BBQ Tacos.” TaKorean’s menu is mercifully brief, including only three items (with minor variations thereon). In this arena, brevity is a plus; better to make a few very good dishes rather than lots of mediocre ones. I applaud TaKorean for that, but in the end we still got mediocre.

TaKorean

Ordering at TaKorean is a three-step process:

1. Choose preparation: taco (one for $3.50, or three for $9.00) or bowl ($9.00).
2. Choose meat: bulgogi steak, tangy chicken, or caramelized tofu.
3. Choose slaw: “spicy kimchi style slaw” or “napa-romaine slaw.” (By default, both tacos and bowls come with Sriracha, lime crema, fresh cilantro, and sesame seeds, any or all of which can be excluded.)

Simple enough.

We ordered three tacos, with all the default toppings: (1) bulgogi steak with spicy kimchi style slaw, (2) tangy chicken with napa-romaine slaw, and (3) caramelized tofu with spicy kimchi style slaw. We were informed that these are the recommended pairings. Let’s dissect the tacos element-by-element.

Bulgogi Steak, Tangy Chicken, and Caramelized Tofu Tacos

Bulgogi Steak. Bland. Described as “thin sliced fresh ribeye steak marinated in a sweet and spicy soy-based sauce,” the steak gave off little sense of sweet, spice, or fermentation. At the very least, it required a bit of salt and pepper. It had none of the subtle balance of true bulgogi, and, more importantly, none of the caramelized crispy pieces that lingered too long on the cooking surface. The steak had no hope against the combined force of the slaw, the default toppings, and two corn tortillas. The completed taco tasted of corn tortilla, Sriracha, and cilantro. While fresh testing, the proportions of the ingredients were off. For $3 a taco, I expect more than Sriracha and cilantro.

Tangy Chicken. Also bland. Described as “chicken marinated in sweet chili sauce, ginger, and soy,” but, like the steak, none of the items listed on the menu seem to have actually made it into the finished product. The completed taco tasted exactly like the bulgogi taco above: Sriracha and cilantro wrapped in two corn tortillas.

Caramelized Tofu. Surprisingly good. Despite its not deriving from the carcass of some creature, the tofu was by far the best of the three “meats.” The tofu was firm, as promised, marinated with hoisin, and pan-seared. The resulting product was flavorful and balanced. The tofu even held its own against the Sriracha and cilantro. The taco included a proper amount of tofu, which never got lost.

Spicy Kimchi Style Slaw. Misleading. There are many varieties of kimchi. 187, by one count. But, as far as I know, all of them share one key component: fermentation. TaKorean’s “spicy kimchi style slaw” is not fermented, but rather “fresh cabbage dressed with a kimchi style sauce.” What seems to have gone overlooked is that what makes a sauce distinctively kimchiesque is the fermentation. The slaw is better described as shredded cabbage with the tiniest bit of vinegar.

Napa-Romaine Slaw. Forgettable. Described as “shredded lettuce and cabbage dressed with a rice vinegar, lime, and sesame oil vinaigrette,” once again we are treated to shredded cabbage with the tiniest bit of vinegar.

The verdict: Mostly bland, with a surprisingly decent tofu taco. The ingredients tasted fresh, but that’s about all one tastes. At $3.50 per taco, or $9 for three, TaKorean is priced identically to other food trucks. See In re DC Empanadas, 1 Catt. 3 (2011). But it hurts to pay that for a Sriracha-and-cilantro taco, much as I love both ingredients. TaKorean’s flavors go the way of most fusion: confusion.

REMANDED to TaKorean for revision.

CATTLEYA, J., concurring in the result and the opinion, except for the way that it is written.

The Chief Justice admires how TaKorean’s menu is “brief” and (correctly) recognizes that “brevity is a plus.” Yet, he can’t manage to be brief with his own opinion. Surely, the members of this Supreme Cart can do better.