The sole question before the Cart today is whether we have jurisdiction to review the L.A. Food Truck Salad from Chop’t Creative Salad Company. Chop’t, as the reader probably knows, is not a food truck or cart. It is a chain restaurant found on urban street corners and in suburban shopping malls. There are a number of Chop’t locations throughout D.C. and Northern Virginia.

This fall season, Chop’t featured on its menu a dish called the L.A. Food Truck Salad as a seasonal special. The salad consisted of panko-fried chicken, ginger pickled shishito peppers, scallions, carrots, and romaine lettuce, all tossed in a creamy Sriracha dressing. The special was available for about two months.

L.A. Food Truck Salad

JURISDICTION

The Judiciary Act of 2011 (Cartiorari Act), our guiding legislation, grants the Supreme Cart “exclusive jurisdiction of all food carts, trucks, and other transitory alimentary establishments.” Our Rule of Procedure 1-2 explains that this grant extends 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.”

Beyond food trucks and carts, our case law has extended jurisdiction to non-mobile, brick-and-mortar restaurants when certain conditions have been met. We have granted jurisdiction to a brick-and-mortar’s dishes when the restaurant shared a sibling relationship with a food truck and served its dishes under the same branding. See In re SUNdeVICH, 22 Catt. 2 (2013). We have also granted jurisdiction to review a food truck’s dish that was served by an unrelated brick-and-mortar restaurant when the food truck and restaurant entered into a formal agreement and the restaurant served the dish in the original form intended by the food truck. See In re Captain Cookie & The Milkman at Thomas Foolery, 23 Catt. 3 (2013).

In the present case, Chop’t does not have a sibling relationship with a food truck. To the best of this Court’s knowledge (meaning as far as our law clerks’ research shows), Chop’t does not include in its operation any food truck or mobile gastronomic enterprise of any kind.

The remaining way for this Court to have jurisdiction over the L.A. Food Truck Salad is if it can be shown that Chop’t entered into an agreement with a food truck to serve that truck’s salad in Chop’t restaurants. This cannot be shown. Again, to the best of this Court’s knowledge, the L.A. Food Truck Salad is not the creation of any L.A.-based food truck. It appears that the L.A. Food Truck Salad is Chop’t’s original dish inspired by its interpretation of mobile gastronomy in Los Angeles. While we must assume that Chop’t meant this Asian fusion dish to be a compliment to L.A. food trucks, we must also assume that this confused, incohesive dish is an affront to L.A., the home of mobile gastronomic masterpieces like Kogi’s Korean tacos, otherwise known as the Korean tacos.

Because the L.A. Food Truck Salad is not the creation of a food truck, either related or not to Chop’t, we do not have the authority to review it.

MOOTNESS

Finally, I note that while a finding of mootness would also preclude our jurisdiction, this case is not moot even though the L.A. Food Truck Salad is not currently on the Chop’t menu. There is nothing to prevent the salad from returning in the future, and the 60-day limit on Chop’t seasonal specials makes it difficult for this Court to address in time. See Southern Pacific Terminal Co. v. ICC, 219 U.S. 498 (1911). I also note that it’s a very good thing for the reader that the L.A. Food Truck Salad’s 60-day debut has expired. The regular reader will know that another confused fusion dish reviewed by this Court left us wanting something more than “Sriracha and cilantro.” See In re TaKorean, 1 Catt. 4 (2011). Similarly, this fusion salad left the palate wanting something more than romaine lettuce and (diluted) Sriracha.

DISMISSED.

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

Ridiculous. Spurious judicial activism. My sister is up to her old tricks again, slamming shut the doors of the Hall of Justice. After victories in SUNdeVICH and Thomas Foolery, I was certain the tides were changing. Sure, Mothership and Shanghai Lounge gave me some pause, but things were, in general, going so well. And then this. But what would you expect?

My sister finds that we lack jurisdiction in this case because Chop’t’s “L.A. Food Truck Salad” is not food truck fare under the laws and jurisprudence that guides this court. But really how much plainer could it be, Justice? L.A. FOOD TRUCK Salad. It’s right in the name. Right there, plain as day.

Surely my sister has heard of the basic interpretive doctrine of plain meaning? But maybe I shouldn’t make that assumption. See In re China Garden, 5 Catt. 1 (2012); In re Lemongrass, 7 Catt. 1 (2012). See also her nasty, spiteful comment in the headnote of my cogent opinion in Brennan’s. Dear Justice Cattleya: please reread Caminetti v. United States, 242 U.S. 470 (1917). Kthxbye.

Of course, if I find jurisdiction in this case, I must proceed to consider the merits of Chop’t’s L.A. Food Truck Salad. Will I spend my hard-earned judge’s dollars at Chop’t for naught? Hell no. For this reason, and this reason alone, I join in the result of my sister’s opinion, agreeing the case is appropriately dismissed.

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.

There is a wonderful Indonesian restaurant in a fascinatingly diverse strip mall off Van Dorn Street in Alexandria: Satay Sarinah. They offer a fried duck which, as you might imagine, I am quite fond of. They also offer a chocolate avocado smoothie which I adore. And, if you’re in the mood, they offer kopi luwak 100%.

Satay Sarinah has done us all a favor and opened up a food truck, Saté Truck, which roams the streets of the District. According to their website, they are the first food truck in the United States to feature Indonesian food. I don’t know offhand whether this is or is not true, but it could very well be. It’s not as though there are a lot of Indonesian restaurants in the metro area to begin with. (But, really, there should be. It’s delicious.)

Saté Truck

Saté Truck (“ST”) offers a variety of dishes: chicken sate, mie ayam (egg noodles, chicken, oyster mushrooms, sesame sauce, bok choy, and crispy wonton), and a combo platter (coconut rice, beef rendang, chicken sate, vegetable stew, and corn fritters). A vegan menu is purportedly “coming soon,” but that is not the subject of this review.

The name of the truck is Saté Truck and so, naturally, I opted for the chicken sate (the diacritic may or may not be optional; it may apparently also be grave or acute). It came with coconut rice, peanut sauce, and vegetable stew.

Our first inquiry is whether sate/saté/satè/satay is “street food” under our jurisprudence and thus entitled to the presumption of affirmance. See In re Big Cheese, 6 Catt. 2 (2012); In re Eat Wonky, 2 Catt. 5 (2011). We have defined “street food” to be food that (1) is cooked or capable of being cooked in front of the customer; (2) is meant to be eaten with one’s hands; and (3) is eaten or is capable of being eaten while standing up. In re Big Cheese, 6 Catt. 2; In re Eat Wonky, 2 Catt. 5. Served on skewers, the chicken sate is, clearly, “street food” as we have defined that term. Besides, it is classic street food in its place of origin.  See In re Hot People Food, 6 Catt. 4 (2012). The fact that it is also served with less mobile accoutrements need not alter this determination. See In re OoH DaT ChickeN, 16 Catt. 3 (2013). Therefore,  ST’s chicken sate is entitled to the presumption of affirmance.

I affirm.

Chicken Saté

As noted above, the dish is composed of four parts. As is our practice, see In re TaKorean, 1 Catt. 4 (2011), I consider each in turn.

Chicken Sate. Sate, of course, is “seasoned, skewered, and grilled meat.” Chicken, of course, is chicken. (Or is it?) Chicken sate, then, is “seasoned, skewered, and grilled [chicken].” The chicken was well seasoned (turmeric?) and quite flavorful. It was well grilled, with a beautiful smokey char but still entirely succulent. (I suppose the chicken was well skewered, as well, but that’s no great feat so far I can tell.)

Peanut Sauce. The peanut sauce renders probably involves soy sauce, sambal, and shallots, but I could be wrong. The sauce was wonderful, savory and sweet, and complemented the succulent chicken magnificently.

Vegetable Stew. While only a side, the vegetable stew was exquisite: a mixture of green beans, carrots, cauliflower, etc. simmered in a seasoned (turmeric?) broth.

Coconut Rice. The jasmine rice was well prepared and flavored with coconut.

For these reasons

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.

SUNdeVICH is a sandwich shop that runs out of a converted garage in Naylor Court. It started out as a brick-and-mortar operation in 2011, and last year it launched a food truck.  This Court undoubtedly has jurisdiction to review sandwiches from SUNdeVICH’s food truck, but do we have jurisdiction to review sandwiches from the original brick-and-mortar shop?

SUNdeVICH (food truck)

JURISDICTION

Our case law tells us that the answer must be yes. In In re Pupatella, 8 Catt. 4 (2012),  we declined to extend jurisdiction to a brick-and-mortar restaurant that previously, but no longer, operated as a food cart. In that case, we “[left] open the question of whether this court’s jurisdiction extends to a brick-and-mortar restaurant that concurrently operates a food cart” or food truck. We revisited a variation of that question in In re Curbside Cupcakes Kiosk, 20 Catt. 4 (2013). There, we were confronted not with a traditional brick-and-mortar establishment, but with an indoor kiosk at a food court. We granted jurisdiction to the kiosk because Curbside Cupcakes “simultaneously operates food trucks within our jurisdiction and the kiosk vends the same cupcakes as the food trucks.”

SUNdeVICH (brick-and-mortar)

Today, we finally hold 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. Here, the SUNdeVICH brick-and-mortar and food truck both offer gourmet sandwiches inspired by flavors found in cities across the globe. Although the food truck only offers about half of the brick-and-mortar’s twenty sandwiches, a visit to the food truck is representative of the brick-and-mortar and vice versa.

BRICK-AND-MORTAR v. FOOD TRUCK: MILAN SANDWICH

Having determined that we may properly review the sandwich offerings of SUNdeVICH’s brick-and-mortar, naturally we must ask whether the brick-and-mortar or the food truck is better. We address this question in the context of the Milan sandwich, which we ordered from both the permanent and mobile locations. SUNdeVICH classifies the Milan sandwich as a breakfast sandwich because it includes eggs, but it is appropriate at any time of the day. We had it for lunch twice. In addition to eggs, the Milan sandwich is comprised of pancetta, gorgonzola, arugula, and garlic mayo. It is served on a French style demi-baguette.

Milan sandwich (food truck)

Wow. The combination of flavors was perfect, and the sandwich was downright phenomenal. The bread was wonderfully crusty, the pancetta was salty, the arugula added pepperiness, and the gorgonzola was strong and creamy. And the egg! My brother and I are big fans of eggs. See In re Seoul Food, 3 Catt. 2 (2011) (affirming bibimbap with a perfectly-executed sunny side up egg). SUNdeVICH — both the brick-and-mortar and the food truck — met our high expectations for eggs. It made every bite a joy to eat.

So who made the better Milan sandwich? I am pleased to say that the brick-and-mortar and food truck executed the sandwich equally well. Consistency is highly valued in the food industry, and SUNdeVICH gets high marks. That being said, the Milan sandwich from the food truck wins out as a better deal. While the sandwich from the food truck was a little smaller in size, it was still a good-sized lunch portion. It was also cheaper, priced at $7 instead of the brick-and-mortar’s $10. Until Congress approves appropriations to pay for the business-related meals of the members of this Court, $10 will forever seem to me like a high price for a sandwich.

CONCLUSION

SUNdeVICH’s Milan sandwich is a masterpiece of delicious, fresh flavors. Get it for a reasonable $7 from the food truck if you can. If you can’t, the higher-priced (and larger) version from the brick-and-mortar is still worth it. You must try this at least once.

I granted cartiorari to BBQ Bus (“BBQB”).

I. PETITION FOR CARTIORARI

A petition for cartiorari was submitted by Julia pursuant to Rule of Procedure 2-3(a). The petition asks whether “a food cart catering experience [can] be as amazing as a street-side food cart experience.” In support of the petition, Julia contends the following:

1. The question presented is of exceptional importance: the BBQ Bus catered our wedding and no one could shut up about how awesome the food was. Some were heard to express that the overall experience of having a food cart cater a bumpin’ party was even better than eating in the park at lunchtime on a sunny day. In the alternative, the experience was at least equal to eating in the park at lunchtime on a sunny day.

2. The BBQ Bus is clearly a superior vehicle [N.B. pun noted and appreciated] for addressing the question presented. It is, after all, bright yellow like a school bus, but with flames.

The petition presumes “the High Cart” should accept for review the BBQ Bus, particularly the pulled pork BBQ sandwich, the potato salad, and the corn salad, and, by relying on record evidence and testimony from the wedding of Brad & Julia, compare the overall experience to that of eating the same food in the park at lunchtime on a sunny day.

The petition, in essence, asks this Cart to determine (a) whether a wedding food cart experience is preferable  to—or, in the alternative, equal to—a lunchtime, park-based food cart experience; and (b) the merits of BBQ Bus in particular.

While we must deny the petition for cartiorari (Rule of Procedure 2-3(b)) for the reasons given below, we ultimately take this opportunity to grant cartiorari sua sponte pursuant to Rule of Procedure 2-2.

A. Question 1: Wedding Reception Food Truck v. Park at Lunchtime Food Truck

As a preliminary matter, the Cart must deny the petitioner’s first question as it is presented, that is, whether “the overall experience of having a food cart cater a bumpin’ party [is] even better than eating in the park at lunchtime on a sunny day,” or, in the alternative, whether it is an experience of equivalent worth.

A food truck wedding reception is a novel and intriguing idea. Apparently, it is also a growing trend. See, e.g., here and here and here. It seems to have been a hit at Brad and Julia’s wedding, and we applaud the success and foresight of their avant garde sensibilities. (We of the Supreme Cart of course also congratulate Brad and Julia on their wedding and wish them all the best in their life together!)

However this Cart, like other courts of federal jurisdiction, is limited by the first clause of section 2 of Article III of the United States Constitution, which restricts “the judicial Power” to “cases” and “controversies.” U.S CONST. art. III, § 2. In particular, a federal court is forbidden from issuing a mere advisory opinion in an instance in which there is no actual controversy. Muskrat v. United States, 219 U.S. 346 (1911). The first question asks only whether a non-lunchtime food truck experience is better than or equal to a lunchtime food truck experience. The breadth of this question exceeds the institutional capacity and democratic purpose of this Cart. Because it is not limited to a single food truck, or a controversy between multiple specific food trucks, it must be dismissed as a request for an advisory opinion.

B. Question 2: BBQ Bus in the Context of Question 1

The second question specifies that BBQB is a “superior vehicle” for addressing the first question. While this question is sufficiently specific, it, too, must be dismissed given an insufficient record.

The petitioner invites this Cart to “rely[] on record evidence and testimony from the wedding of Brad & Julia” to compare the wedding reception food truck experience to a more standard lunchtime food truck experience. This we cannot do.

As a federal court established by Congress, we are bound by the Federal Rules of Evidence. Under those rules, hearsay is not admissible unless otherwise provided by a federal statute, the rules of evidence themselves, or other rules prescribed by the Supreme Court. FED. R. EVID. 802. “Hearsay” is defined to mean “a statement that (1) the declarant does not make while testifying at the current trial or hearing; and (2) a party offers in evidence to prove the truth of the matter asserted in the statement.” FED. R. EVID. 801.

The statements at issue here—that “no one could shut up about how awesome the food was” and that “[s]ome were heard to express that the overall experience of having a food cart cater a bumpin’ party was even better than eating in the park at lunchtime on a sunny day”—clearly satisfy both prongs of the definition of hearsay. As for the former, the statements were made at the wedding described, not “while testifying at the current trial or hearing.” As for the latter, the statements are clearly offered to prove the truth of the matter asserted, not, for example, to show constructive knowledge. Finally, we find no federal statute, other rule of evidence, or other rule prescribed by the Supreme Court which would allow us to admit these statements into the record. Accordingly, because there is no record on which to assess the relative worth of the wedding reception food truck experience, we must deny cartiorari with regard to the petitioner’s second question.

(As an aside, had the Justices of this Cart been invited to Brad and Julia’s wedding, the outcome may have been different. But we’re not bitter. Not at all. Besides, there are issues of proper judicial conduct to consider.)

Therefore, because neither question of the petitioner presents  a proper basis for granting cartiorari, we must deny the petition under Rule of Procedure 2-3(b).

II. GRANT OF CARTIORARI

Nevertheless, we take this opportunity to nevertheless grant cartiorari under the procedure prescribed by Rule of Procedure 2-2. We grant cartiorari to consider the BBQ Bus Sampler, a platter composed of “smoky pulled pork,” “spiced chicken,” “sliced brisket,” “BBQ bus beans,” “crispy slaw,” and a “buttermilk cornmeal biscuit.”

While we cannot grant cartiorari based on the petition of Julia, Rule of Procedure 2-6 provides that “would-be commenters, who feel some urge to opine on any aspect of any proceeding may do so as an amicus (or amica) curiae by so commenting on the relevant grant of cartiorari or grant of reconsideration.” While the petition of Julia, phrased as a petition under Rule 2-3, does not comply with the specific amicus requirements of Rule 2-6, it would offend justice to give no consideration to the arguments presented. Therefore, we hold that a petition for cartiorari submitted under Rule 2-3 that is denied under Rule 2-3(b) may serve as a constructive amicus brief under Rule of Procedure 2-6, subject to consideration by the Supreme Cart upon grant of cartiorari. The text of the petition of Julia was considered in the adjudication of this case.

BBQ Bus By Night

III. HOURS

Before proceeding to the question of BBQB’s food, I must pause a moment on the enterprise’s hours. Argument took place in the evening hours on an otherwise quiet, leafy, residential stretch of Calvert Street Northwest. BBQB must be applauded for its “dinner” and “late-night” hours. We have previously  touched on the merits of food trucks open outside of lunch hours. See, e.g., In re Choupi, 18 Catt. 2 (2013) (on the question of breakfast). Other metropolises feature vibrant evening street food scenes, for example the famous night markets of Taiwan. The closest we have, perhaps, is Truckeroo, but that is a monthly, somewhat artificial event arguably divorced from surrounding street life. Perhaps BBQB signals a move toward an around-the-clock street food culture. That is to be applauded. On that point alone, I must affirm BBQ, at least in part.

IV. FOOD

A. “Street Food”

I must first ask whether BBQB’s cuisine is properly “street food.” If it is, the jurisprudence of this Cart requires that it be affirmed absent some other 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. Case law defines “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). While this test should not be taken to define the scope of “street food,” it provides a useful starting point. See In re DC Ballers, 19 Catt. 1 (2013) (quoting In re Hot People Food, 6 Catt. 4 (2012)). The bulk of the container containing my meal verifies that it was not meant to be eaten by hand, without forks, or while standing up. Therefore, it cannot meet the strict requirements of the Eat Wonky inquiry. I find no other historical or cultural reasons to find BBQB’s platter to constitute “street food.” It is really nothing more than streetside carry-out. Therefore, the BBQ Bus Sampler must stand entirely on its own inherent worth.

B. The Food Itself

Smoky Pulled Pork. I have written previously of a certain, not entirely fruitful relationship with pulled pork. See In re El Floridano, 2 Catt. 2 (2011); In re DC Empanadas, 1 Catt. 3 (2011). While I have no strong dislike for pulled pork, I tend to find that there are more delectable preparations of pork in barbecue’s repertoire. I say this only to provide honesty in my opinion and to avoid needless claims of hidden bias. See El Floridano, 2 Catt. 2 (affirming a pulled pork sandwich). In the interests of justice, I sampled BBQB’s smoky pulled pork. As far as pulled pork goes, BBQB’s was decent. While not the best I’ve had, even in the DC street food scene, it was good, better even than pulled pork I’ve sampled in more southerly regions of the country. The pork was nicely smoky, as promised, moist, and not shredded into oblivion. A bit of hot sauce, while not necessary, proved helpful.

Spiced Chicken. My clerk and I agree that, of the three meats sampled, the spiced chicken was, surprisingly, the best. It was tender, juicy, and flavorful, quite flavorful in fact, in almost a jerk manner.

Sliced Brisket. Normally fans of barbecue brisket, my clerk and I found BBQB’s sliced brisket the least successful of the three meats sampled. It was somewhat tough and somewhat bland. While not bad, it was not exciting, inspired, or extraordinarily well-executed.  It ranked somewhere slightly below mediocre.

BBQ Bus Beans. BBQB’s beans were average, which is really all I can say about them. BBQB contends they are “[p]acked with more sweet & spicy flavor than you thought could fit in a bean,” though I’m afraid I’ve encountered beans packed with significantly more of both.

Crispy Slaw. BBQB’s slaw is more aptly described as “crisp” than “crispy.” It is composed of “[s]hredded red & green cabbage & carrots tossed in [BBQB’s] house vinaigrette.” My grandfather used to say you could judge the quality of a restaurant by the quality of its coleslaw. Judging by this standard, BBQB is somewhat uninteresting. Luckily for BBQB, this aphorism has never been adopted as a legal standard by this Cart.

Buttermilk Cornmeal Biscuit. I enjoy cornbread, and I enjoy buttermilk biscuits. I do not think I enjoy buttermilk cornmeal biscuits. The cornmeal takes away from the velvety butteriness of the biscuit. The biscuit preparation detracts from the corny grittiness of cornbread. It is not the happiest of mediums.

VI. CONCLUSION

I would enthusiastically affirm the spiced chicken and otherwise affirm the smoky pulled pork, BBQB Bus Beans, and crispy slaw. I would remand the sliced brisket and buttermilk cornmeal biscuit to BBQB for revision. For these reasons, the case is

AFFIRMED in part and REMANDED in part to BBQ Bus for revision. It is so ordered.

Opinion of JEREMY, C.J., in chambers.

When the cat’s away, the mice will play. Today, with Catt away for the holiday, I shall gladly play mouse.

After a long night alone in my wood-paneled chambers, where I sat reading long hours from dusty and yellowed tomes by the greenish light of a banker’s lamp before dozing off, I awoke to find that Thanksgiving had arrived. It being Thanksgiving, I naturally harbored a certain yen for that particular bird we celebrate on this joyous day: the duck. And so I set out from my chambers to find some duck.

I found the streets and the avenues of the District lonely and desolate and deserted. Stoplights blinked on and off with no car in sight. Shops and restaurants were shuttered. There was not a food truck to be found amid the streets and the avenues—not even a duck truck. See In re PORC, 4 Catt. 1 (2011); Metro Halal Food v. Tasty Kabob, 1 Catt. 2 (2011) (Jeremy, C.J., concurring).

And so I plodded silently back to my chambers along sad and lonely streets, my long, black judicial robes brushing fallen leaves. I collapsed into my mustard-colored, velveteen chair—the one with the brass tacks—and lit a cigar. I sat puffing away, legs crossed, pondering in the gloom and the silence, when a notion hit me on the head like a glossy Braeburn apple. I knew where I could find my Thanksgiving duck truck. I knew of a place where such a mobile gastronomic enterprise would be parked curbside: in my dreams and my imagination.

I stamped out my cigar and ran out of my chambers and into the street, my long, black judicial robes flowing behind me like the wings of a bat. I gasped. There, in front of me, was the duck truck of my dreams gleaming in the mid-autumn sun like a fresh-picked lemon. The truck was covered with emeralds and rubies and lapis lazuli. Its mirrors were of silver; its wheels were of gold. A chandelier hung within. I ran to the truck and ordered a pan-seared duck breast in a gauzy, crimson reduction of red wine and orange. In exchange for two twenties, it came to me on bone china with a toile print and gilded edges. A cloth napkin was handed to me along with a fork and knife of purest gold. I sat on the curb, napkin tucked in the collar of my judicial robes, and slowly and deliberately devoured my duck magret. I washed it down with a champagne of exquisite vintage sipped from a hand-blown flute.

There is likely to be some question as to whether this Cart has jurisdiction over a Cart found only in the imagination of one of its justices. Under our Rules of Procedure, our jurisdiction extends 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.” That test in no ways speaks of physicality. It so happens I have imagined a mobile gastronomic enterprise in the District of Columbia reasonably proximate to public transportation. The test is satisfied, and so the Cart must be found to have jurisdiction over a Cart found only in the imagination of one of its justices. If that is not enough, the potentiality of such an establishment within the bounds of our jurisdiction should satisfy even my sharpest critic.

Before describing the beauty of the duck, I realize I must pause and determine whether my Thanksgiving feast constituted “street food.” We have defined “street food” time and time again, and our definition bears no repetition here. We have also made clear that that definition is a balancing test. I have conducted the requisite balancing and find the subject of consideration to be “street food.”

The duck was succulent. Its center was a beautiful shade of ruddy pink. Its layer of fat, crisscrossed with the knife marks of a deft hand, had rendered itself to a crisp veneer of char and seasoning. The duck was carved on the bias into quarter-inch slices and placed atop a painted stroke of reduced red wine. A layer of the sauce was poured atop the slices of duck, enough to taste the sauce, but never so much as to detract from the meat itself. What else can I say? The duck was all I had hoped for. It was perfect. My duck truck was a marvelous idea, if I may be so bold as to say so myself.

I picked myself up from the curb, brushed the fallen leaves from my long, black judicial robes, and returned the bone china plate and the golden utensils to their purveyor. I began to walk back up the walk to my chambers. Halfway to the door, I realized the cloth napkin hung still from my neck. I pulled the napkin from my collar and turned around to return to the truck and return the napkin. But I saw that my duck truck had dissipated into the mid-autumn air like a happy phantom.

I stood there for a moment, staring, pondering, before awaking in my chair of mustard velveteen—the one with the brass tacks. Perhaps I had dreamed. But, oh, what a dream!

AFFIRMED. It is so ordered.

I. INTRODUCTION

Gather ‘round, children, and the Chief Justice will tell you a story. Once upon a time, in a land far, far away, there lived two little pigs, Puerquito and Cochinito.

Puerquito was a black Iberian pig. Puerquito lived in a glade of the forest in the hills above Jabugo. While a wee piglet, Puerquito was fed barley and maize. After a time, Puerquito was allowed to roam among the oak trees and feast only on the sweet and delicious acorns that lay scattered among their ancient and gnarled roots. He imagined always he was destined for great and wondrous things.

Cochinito was of a Landrace breed of white pig. Cochinito lived on a larger farm near Treveléz. While Cochinito never knew the taste of the sweet and delicious acorns of the hills above Jabugo, Cochinito was nonetheless a contented pig, one destined always for great and wondrous things.

Little Puerquito and little Cochinito had big dreams of one day going to America, to find their ways in the land of opportunity. Little Puerquito saw himself a magnate of industry, with a sleek office high in the clouds. Little Cochinito saw himself in pictures.

Time went by, and little Puerquito and little Cochinito grew fatter and fatter until they were no longer so very little. Then along came a day so rainy and misty and cold that even the big dreams of little piggies grew obscured. Puerquito sat in the glade of the forest nibbling on acorns. Cochinito napped in his stall, a trough of feed at his side. But along came a mean old man who struck down Cochinito as he rested. Some distance away, Puerquito, too, met his demise, leaving behind amid the ancient and gnarled roots of the oak trees a single, half-eaten acorn of especial sweetness.

Puerquito and Cochinito were covered with salt and left to cure for a time. After several months, they were rinsed and left to dry for several more. Then, one day, they were placed in cartons marked with stickers that bore the word “America,” and though their eyes had long since grown glassy and caked with salt, they knew, from wherever they were, that their dreams were coming true.

They arrived one day in a great metropolis of Corinthian columns and marble domes and granite pillars, where a man named José Andrés purchased them for his food truck, Pepe. They were carved and sliced and seared and paired with aioli and roasted green peppers and caramelized onions atop so many ficelles, when along came the members of the Supreme Cart with, it so happens, a $20 bill. And so it came to pass, dear ones, that I, the Chief Justice, along with my sister came to grant cartiorari to Pepe’s $20 “Pepito de Ibérico.”

Pepe

II. STREET FOOD

Since at least the days of Big Cheese, our first task must always be that of determining whether the subject of our critique constitutes “street food.” See In re Big Cheese, 6 Catt. 2 (2012). It is well settled that the sandwich represents perhaps the clearest form of “street food.” See, e.g., id. Therefore, as a sandwich, unless we find the Pepito de Ibérico so flawed as to preclude affirmance, we must affirm. In this case, we find we must.

III. PRICING

Before passing to the sandwich itself, we must take pause to consider perhaps the most notable thing about the Pepito de Ibérico—that is, its price.

The faithful reader may recall that, a year or so ago, we of the Cart sampled Red Hook Lobster Pound’s $15 lobster roll. At the time, that was the metropolitan region’s dearest food truck offering. We remarked that Red Hook was “no everyday food truck.” In re Red Hook Lobster Pound, 2 Catt. 1 (2011). That it was “a special occasion food truck—an anniversary and graduation food truck,” or “[b]etter yet, an expense account food truck.” Id.

Well, it seems Red Hook has been surpassed by $5. The Pepito de Ibérico comes in at a hefty $20, which is not so very hefty after all given that it features a rather healthy helping of not inexpensive Ibérico ham. In the end, I would find the Pepito de Ibérico to be reasonably priced, although, at $20, it is firmly a “special occasion” buy.

Pepito de Iberico

IV. PEPITO DE IBERICO

And now, some 700 words into this frankly long-winded decision, we pass finally to the question of the sandwich itself. As we have done many times now, before analyzing the whole of the offering, we address each of its constituent parts.

Roasted Green Peppers. First, there are the green peppers which are roasted and flavorful and provide a verdant counterpoint to an otherwise fleshy sandwich. I have nothing much to say about the peppers individually except that they are delicious and not at all extraneous.

Caramelized Onions. Then there are the onions. “Caramelized” is one of those words that is bandied about and quickly loses its significance. Cf. Big Cheese, 6 Catt. 2 (2012); In re TaKorean, 1 Catt. 4 (2011). But Pepe’s onions are caramelized in the truest sense: golden, sweet, succulent, and mere seconds from burnt.

Aioli. As every schoolchild knows, an aioli is an emulsion of garlic, olive oil, and egg yolk. But Pepe’s aioli lent an almost cheese-like note to the sandwich, heightening the sensation that you are eating a cheesesteak—only much, much, much better.

Ficelle. The ficelle, see In re Rolling Ficelle, 6 Catt. 3 (2012), was fresh in the right places and crunchy in the right places and soft in the right places and all around a perfect vehicle for the sandwich’s other components. It held up mightily to the viscous aioli and the dripping grease of the two hams.

Jamón, Jamón. Finally, we arrive at the hams—little Puerquito and little Cochinito. Am I expert at distinguishing the intricacies of the Serrano from those of the Ibérico? Not really. I know intellectually that the latter is richer and fattier and a bit sweeter than the former. In the Pepito de Ibérico, there is no real opportunity to say, ah, so this is the Ibérico and, ah, so this is the Serrano. The two mingle and complement each other to form a deep and complex tapestry of porcine delicacy. And that is how it should be.

V. CONCLUSION

Given these artful components, it comes as no surprise that the sandwich as a whole is masterful. Pardon my Spanish, but it is damn tasty. And while it’ll run you a pretty Jackson, we of the Cart hold that it is okay to treat yourself to a street sandwich worth more than saffron once in a blue moon. Puerquito and Cochinito have done well in this land of opportunity—this land of office towers and moving pictures, this land of $20 street meat—, and there’s nothing more inspiring than that.

AFFIRMED.

CATTLEYA, J., concurring.

Ah, at long last the Chief Justice recognizes that he’s long-winded! Dare I hope that he will finally take tips from the wise Mr. Wydick, who has much to teach the Justice about concise writing?

On the subject of the $20 Pepito de Ibérico, I wish only to say that the sandwich, though very delicious,  is most certainly a dish to save for when someone else is picking up the bill.

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.

“Excuse me, sir, but is that really $15?” the bespectacled gentleman — a Congressional staffer, I presume (always a safe guess) — asked me as I waited for my lobster roll. I nodded. “It is,” I said. He shook his head and walked away.

We granted cartiorari in this case to review Red Hook Lobster Pound (“RHLP”), a “mobile gastronomic enterprise” purveying lobster rolls, a New England and Maritime Canadian delicacy. See Estate of Siebert, 739 A.2d 356, 367 (Me. 1999).

The first thing you notice about RHLP is the price of a lobster roll. One can’t help but notice it. In the world of mobile gastronomy, where Mr. Hamilton is all you ordinarily need, the company of Mr. Lincoln tends to turns heads.

You ask, “Is it worth it?”

You can get a whole lobster on (aptly-named) Maine Avenue, steamed and ready for the dissecting, for the same price, you say. (I suggest you do visit the Fish Wharf, but whole lobster is a bit messy for a lunch-break repast.) And you can get a lobster roll at America Eats Tavern for only $16, you say.* (Quite delicious, if you have the time. And consider tax and tip. Unless, of course, you’re Rachael Ray.) And a lobster roll surely costs less in Boothbay Harbor, you say. (But factor in the plane ticket and the L.L.Bean buys, see generally L.L.Bean, Inc. v. Drake Publishers, Inc., 811 F.2d 26 (1st Cir. 1987), and you arrive at a figure far, far greater than a mere $15.)

And so, is RHLP’s lobster roll worth the $15 they ask for it? Yes.

Red Hook Lobster Pound

The customer is offered two choices: Maine or Connecticut. See In re TaKorean, 1 Catt. 4 (2011) (“brevity is a plus”). (In addition to the lobster rolls, there is also a “Shrimp Roll.” While shrimp is all well and good, and while it certainly has its place in the wider universe of crustaceans, no one in their right mind orders shrimp over lobster.)

A Maine-style lobster roll is “fresh Maine Lobster meat mixed in with our homemade light lemon based mayo.” Like a Mainer’s disposition, it is cold and acerbic. A Connecticut-style lobster roll is “fresh Maine Lobster meat poached in butter.” It is served warm, for a Nutmegger’s warmth is notorious.

(Notice, a moment, RHLP’s own capitalization of “Lobster.” Such reverence can lead only to good and delicious things.)

Without questioning Mr. Rockefeller’s sensibilities, we opted for the Connecticut preparation, to which we limit our review in this case. Simplicity in a dish, like brevity in a menu, is a plus. See TaKorean, 1 Catt. 4. The Connecticut-style lobster roll is a simple dish, indeed. Unlike the tuna salad-like consistency of the more familiar (to me) Maine-style preparation, RHLP’s Connecticut roll features large pieces of fresh, perfectly poached, ever succulent lobster meat enveloped in a light sheen of melted butter. A garnish of green onion and the buttery piece of toast surrounding it all complete the dish.

Connecticut-Style Lobster Roll

The proportions are right. Cf. TaKorean, 1 Catt. 4. The flavors are right. Cf. In re CapMac, 1 Catt. 1 (2011). No ingredient is lost, and there are no unnecessary flourishes to detract from the lobster or to obscure faulty technique.

And, given the quality of both the lobster and its caring preparation, and even the quantity of lobster provided, the price is not exorbitant. Make no mistake: At $15, this is no everyday food truck. This is a special occasion food truck – an anniversary and graduation food truck. Better yet, an expense account food truck. (Or better still, a food truck by which to secure the good graces of a Justice of the Supreme Cart.)

Finally, to address my sister’s concern that I “focus[ ] on the price of RHLP’s Connecticut-style Lobster Roll much more than its merits,” I add only two points. Firstly, that this is a dramatic shift from my sister’s own comments during conference. And secondly, that my sister’s apparent lack of concern with what is, at first and second glance, a steep price only validates those who would cast off this august body as reflecting only the voice of an élitist legal culture. Though, in the end, we agree as to the relative reasonableness of RHLP’s pricing, my sister’s galling initial lack of concern with the opprobrium that has traditionally attached to a high price tag shows just how out of step with the workaday Everyman she truly is.

AFFIRMED.

*Erratum. My sister rightly informs me that the lobster roll at America Eats now costs $21, not $16.

CATTLEYA, J., concurring.

I concur in the judgment. Although the Cart’s reasoning is not wrong, it focuses on the price of RHLP’s Connecticut-style Lobster Roll much more than its merits. In fact, in an opinion of over 600 words, only two sentences provide useful information on the taste and texture of the roll.

Unlike the tuna salad-like consistency of the more familiar (to me) Maine-style preparation, RHLP’s Connecticut roll features large pieces of fresh, perfectly poached, ever succulent lobster meat enveloped in a light sheen of melted butter. A garnish of green onion and the buttery piece of toast surrounding it all complete the dish.

This is not nearly enough to describe the taste, and certainly not the textural quality, of the roll. My brother has previously noted my concern with food texture, see In re DC Empanadas, 1 Catt. 3 (2011), and he is absolutely right about this. The feeling of the roll—against the fingers, teeth, and tongue—was an exceptional experience.

As soon as I picked up the roll, I knew that RHLP didn’t overlook the bread component of the sandwich, which is an easy mistake to make. 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.

The lobster filling was fresh and flavorful, especially with a squish of fresh lemon. The butter sauce was applied delicately. Too often, cooks use butter sauce to drown (and hide) overcooked and rubbery meat. This was not the case here. The lobster chunks were large and meaty, and they melted on my tongue.

My brother is correct to note that this roll comes at a steep price, though he need not have noted it in such detailed length. I do not mean to appear so little concerned with the price. Rather, I think it would be enough to say that at $15, this is by no means an everyday option. The issue I take with the Cart’s opinion are my brother’s unnecessary, and more importantly, irrelevant details regarding such things as America Eats Tavern (which is outside this Cart’s jurisdiction), Boothbay Harbor (which, obviously, is not even an option for the reader, unless he has a private jet and an extended lunch break), and Rachael Ray (whom I can’t even say anything about because there is nothing I could say that would be very nice).

The bottom line is, of all the dishes that I have tried so far in my capacity as a Justice of the Supreme Cart, RHLP’s Connecticut-style Lobster Roll was by far the best. Certainly, it is not at everyday treat. But I do not regret handing over, in the words of my brother, a Mr. Hamilton plus a Mr. Lincoln. And the next time I find a semi-legitimate reason to treat myself, I will eagerly return to try out RHLP’s Maine-style Lobster Roll. (What’s more, I plan to pay for my next $15 roll by skipping TaKorean’s disappointing taco trio ($9), see In re TaKorean, 1 Catt. 4 (2011), and CapMac’s sour mac & cheese ($6), see In re CapMac, 1 Catt. 1 (2011). I would advise the reader to do the same.)

Finally, I must ask my brother to respect our discussions during conference. The Justices of this Cart must have room to speak openly and freely with each other. Until I donate my papers upon my death to a worthy institution (say, for example, the Manuscript Division of the Library of Congress), I expect that my conference notes will remain confidential. (And even when I do make my papers public 50 years after my death, I will reserve the right to keep any autopsy records closed, as Justices of other high courts have done.)