The writ of cartiorari is dismissed as improvidently granted.

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.

This month, exactly one year ago, classic and comforting fare came to Washington, D.C. courtesy of Capital Chicken & Waffles (“CCW”). I speak, of course, of chicken and waffles. On a very cold winter day—the sort of day when only comfort food could warm you up—the Justices of this Cart turned to CCW to do just that.

Capital Chicken & Waffles

Thus far, comfort food has had a bumpy ride on the streets of the nation’s capital. The Peanut Butter Jelly Time truck, for example, closed just after two months of business. More recently, the macaroni-and-cheese-making CapMac closed after three years last November, though the truck plans to reopen this year under new ownership. The history of comfort food trucks before this tribunal is perhaps even bumpier. CapMac’s Classic CapMac’n Cheese was the first dish that this court ever remanded for revision. See In re CapMac, 1 Catt. 1 (2011). Then, not one but two versions of the classic grilled cheese from the Big Cheese truck were remanded by the Chief Justice. See In re Big Cheese, 6 Catt. 2 (2012).

This should not be interpreted to mean that we Justices dislike comfort food. For my part, I am incapable of saying no to chicken fried steak with sausage gravy. And while the regular reader might think that the Chief Justice’s tastes are too highbrow for classic comfort food, many a times we met over corned beef hash when we first crossed paths in law school all those years ago. No, we have no aversion to comfort food. How could we when we have dedicated our life’s work to food and the justness of its preparation?

That being said, it does not need to be said that we approached CCW with eagerness (but, look, I have said it anyway). Although CCW offers other comfort food fare like chili, we Justices went for and wanted nothing but chicken and waffles. Upon walking up to CCW’s menu board, however, we encountered an unexpected delay in getting what we wanted. The words “chicken and waffles” were confusingly absent from the menu. Instead, the menu spoke of a “Classic Combo,” a “Boat Combo,” and a “Meal Combo.” One might argue that the words need not appear on the menu, as they are in the truck’s name. (I note that this argument would not entirely satisfy because, on the flip side, “fish sandwich” and the aforementioned chili appear on the menu, but they are not in the truck’s name.)

Without any descriptions of the combos, we (i.e., first-timers) could not make an informed meal selection. After some discussion with CCW’s fine staff, we learned that a Boat Combo offered a smaller portion of chicken and waffles than a Classic Combo, and a Meal Combo was a Classic Combo but with the addition of two sides and a drink. I imagine from the staff’s speedy response that we were not the first to ask about the differences between the combos. I would suggest, if only to save the staff the trouble of answering the same question daily, that CCW might want to explain on the menu board exactly what comes with each combo (e.g., how many pieces of chicken).

Boat Combo

We opted for a Boat Combo ($6.39 plus sales tax), which consisted of three pieces of chicken over a long, oval-shaped waffle. Because chicken and waffles are not “street food” under our jurisprudence, no presumption in favor of CCW’s chicken and waffles arises and CCW bears the burden to prove 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).

Let’s start with the chicken. The fried chicken in CCW’s chicken and waffles were of the boneless strip variety, and not of the breast/wing/thigh/leg variety. Although the chicken strips were underseasoned, generous applications of our accompanying sauce (we chose honey mustard) hid this oversight. Less easy to ignore was the thin breading on the chicken. CCW didn’t quite achieve the crisp, bite-worthy exterior that one looks for when eating battered, deep fried chicken.

Textural issues were experienced with the waffle as well. Although we topped the waffle with a generous amount of maple syrup, the waffle, unfortunately, was soft and somehow soggy before we added the syrup. Part of the issue seemed structural — the long, oval-shaped waffle boat did not maximize its number of potential pockets (each pocket ran the length of a full row of the waffle boat). Thus, CCW’s waffle boat did not maximize its potential for wonderfully crisp surface space. For the eater who likes her waffles to be soft in the center and crispy on the outside, with pockets and pockets to be filled up with maple syrup, CCW’s waffle boat missed the mark.

To be clear, CCW’s chicken and waffles weren’t bad. They were edible, more than edible, and indeed, we ate it all. CCW’s version just wasn’t that great. It felt less like homecooked food and more like reheated food, less like mom and pop shop and more like IHOP.

REMANDED to Capital Chicken & Waffles for revision.

Our maître d’hôtel, courtesy of Flickr user sfxeric.

JEREMY, C.J., delivered the opinion of the Cart. CATTLEYA, J., wrote a separate concurrence.

Christmas Eve in the chambers: not a creature was stirring, not even a clerk. We, the Justices, sat alone in our wood-paneled chambers, reading by candlelight from ancient treatises. The cause of justice, you see, allows for no holiday. But even a Justice is human, and a human must eventually succumb to slumber. Visions of sugar-plums danced in our heads.

Morning arrived, and with it delicious cookies and candy in a stocking marked “Jeremy” and a mound of coal in a stocking marked “Cattleya.” Come Christmas afternoon, we, the Justices of the Supreme Cart ventured out of our chambers, a light breeze in the air as chilling as my sister’s activism. Our wigs and long, black robes billowed as we stood there, together, on the marble steps of 1 First Street SW.

“Where shall we eat?” we asked aloud, our voices piercing the District’s haunting silence. A food truck, naturally, but none could be found. We ran to Union Station, to L’Enfant Plaza, to Farragut Square and Franklin Square Park, to the State Department. We even ran across the blustery Potomac bridges to Arlington, our freshly powdered wigs coming loose in the wind and floating downstream to the Chesapeake. There was not a food truck to be found.

CBO, fries, and fancy ketchup.

But a Justice must eat. And there, before us, shining brightly like a diamond, gleaming luminously like the holy grail freshly polished, lustrous and radiant, we spied one golden arch and a second. McDonald’s, the sign said. And it was open. There was the scent of frying McNuggets, the sizzle of a grilled onion cheddar burger, the sacred promise of an apple pie. And so we approached, slowly, cautiously, guardedly walking toward that happy bosom of gold.

We opened the door and paused beside the case of sample Happy Meal toys. We looked warily at each other. Would we have jurisdiction to eat here?

Under the statute and our rules, we have jurisdiction over “mobile gastronomic enterprises,” including trucks and carts and the occasional three-course brunch in New Orleans. We have even found ourselves to have jurisdiction over non-mobile gastronomic enterprises where they offer the same menu items as a mobile gastronomic enterprise or different menu items under the same branding, or where some contract between the non-mobile gastronomic enterprise and the mobile gastronomic enterprise whose fare it purveys.

But a Justice must eat. And no such enterprise could be found. We find today that emergency jurisdiction exists over any gastronomic enterprise where there can be found within our district no mobile gastronomic enterprise or non-mobile gastronomic enterprise aligned with a mobile gastronomic enterprise. This Christmas Day, no such enterprise could be found. Therefore, we find we validly had jurisdiction over McDonald’s.

Half-eaten Big Mac.

I ordered the following culinary delights:

• A cheddar bacon onion quarter-pounder.
• A grilled onion cheddar burger.
• Two Big Macs.
• French fries.
• A limited edition holiday pie.

The appeal of the grilled onion cheddar burger cannot be overstated. The subtle seasoning of the burger patty, salty and savory. The melting cheese enveloping the patty, tangy and custard-like. The perfectly caramelized onions, brown and sugary sweet. We were fanatics.

The cheddar bacon onion (or “CBO,” as in the Congressional Budget Office) we found to be less successful. The peppery burger and smoked bacon were intriguing, but the denser, more substantial roll detracted from the otherwise intense interaction of flavors and textures.

The Big Mac is quite simply a classic: two all-beef patties, special sauce, lettuce, cheese, pickles, onions, on a sesame seed bun. The smack of the special sauce—mayonnaise, sweet pickle relish, yellow mustard with vinegar, garlic powder, onion powder, and paprika—enchants the palate, setting it to dance like the Sugar Plum Fairy. The sesame seeds were an inspired touch.

Holiday pie, for a limited time only.

Question: How do you spot Ronald McDonald at a nudist colony? Answer: By his sesame seed buns. (What? That killed in second grade.)

The French fries were warm and crisp and pillowy, as a good fry should be. A very good fry, in fact. An always surprisingly good fry. A miracle, perhaps, fittingly. They paired beautifully with packets of sweet, bright red fancy ketchup.

The holiday pie was pure Christmas: a sprinkled sugar cookie dough enveloping a sweet egg custard, lovingly cradling it like a child holding a prized present found beneath an ornamented tree. It tasted like waking up Christmas morning, like a day spent around a fire with family and friends.

Sated and satisfied, we retreated back to 1 First Street SW, back to our wood-paneled chambers, where we donned new pairs of wigs and settled into our oversized, swiveling leather chairs for a long night of deliberation. (Or a nap, in Justice Cattleya’s case.)

Happy Christmas to all, and to all a good bite!

AFFIRMED.

CATTLEYA, J., concurring.

I write separately because I wish to call special attention to the opinion authored by the Chief Justice. No matter what the Chief Justice writes in any opinion in the future, this one will be forever remembered as his most significant. For it is in this opinion that the Chief Justice followed his heart—or maybe his stomach?—to open the door for this court to review any gastronomic enterprise under “emergency jurisdiction.”

The reader may have heard that the Justices of another high court in this land, one that shares the same street address as ours but in the Northeast quadrant, are being honored one by one with their own bobbleheads. Yes, bobbleheads. Four of the current nine Supreme Court Justices, plus more than a handful of Justices from the past, have inspired works of bobbling, ceramic artistry that show their likeness and highlight their significant opinions through clever symbols. For example, the bobblehead of Justice David H. Souter wears a gold chain around his neck like the members of 2 Live Crew, a reference to the Justice’s opinion in the copyright case Campbell v. Acuff-Rose Music, 510 U.S. 569 (1994). For more on the bobbleheads of the Supreme Court Justices, see here if you like videos, here if you like articles, and here if you like Buzzfeed.

Well, this opinion is so important to the Chief Justice’s jurisprudence of judicial activism that one day when he is honored with his very own bobblehead, as I am sure all of the Supreme Cart Justices will be, his bobblehead makers will seek to somehow symbolize this very opinion in ceramic form. But how to do so? The obvious idea would be to depict the Chief Justice with the famous Golden Arches, but surely that idea would be quickly rejected due to the trademark issues involved.

Personally, I would suggest to the bobblehead makers that they allow their eyes to pause over the Chief Justice’s description of his first sight of the Golden Arches: “And there . . . shining brightly like a diamond . . . .”

Shining brightly like a diamond.

Shine bright like a diamond.

Shine bright like a diamond.

The bobblehead makers will, I trust, recognize this for what it so plainly is—a reference to lyrics from the song “Diamonds” by the artist Rihanna. (Truly, contrary to popular belief, the Chief Justice dislikes opera and I swear that I so often can hear Rihanna’s records playing through the doors to his chambers.) So there it is. A clue to the perfect symbol to represent the Chief Justice’s opinion in In re McDonald’s.

But a real diamond, of course, would be much too expensive to include in the design of the Chief Justice’s bobblehead. And a synthetic diamond would offend his fancy tastes. Is there a less costly, but recognizable object that would represent Rihanna, and thereby, the important McDonald’s decision?

“Yes,” I hope the bobblehead makers will think, remembering Rihanna’s critically acclaimed, Grammy Award winning single “Umbrella.” Of course!

And that is how one day the Chief Justice will end up as a bobblehead with a beautifully sculpted umbrella propped under his ceramic arm. I so hope, bobblehead makers. I so hope.

Chief Justice Jeremy of the Supreme Cart, with Justices of the Supreme Court

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.

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.

The question before the Cart today is whether we have jurisdiction to review Shanghai Lounge (“SL”), an Asian fusion restaurant located on Wisconsin Avenue in Georgetown. The owner of SL is not wholly unfamiliar to the Justices of this court. SL’s owner comes from Hot People Food, a food truck that we have twice reviewed. See In re Hot People Food (The Hot People Dumplings Case), 6 Catt. 4 (2012); In re Hot People Food (The Sassy Chicken Case), 7 Catt. 2 (2012).

I. Governing Authority

Although the Judiciary Act of 2011 (Cartiorari Act) limits the Supreme Cart’s jurisdiction to “food carts, trucks, and other transitory alimentary establishments,” we have exercised jurisdiction over non-mobile, brick-and-mortar (B&M) establishments on the basis of “[a] relationship with a mobile gastronomic enterprise . . . within our jurisdiction.” SUNdeVICH v. SUNdeVICH, 22 Catt. 1 (2013).

In In re Curbside Cupcakes Kiosk, 20 Catt. 4 (2013) and SUNdeVICH v. SUNdeVICH, 22 Catt. 1 (2013), we reviewed two permanent locations (a stationary kiosk inside a shopping mall and a B&M shop, respectively) because the owners operated food trucks and the permanent locations served the same menu items as the food trucks. Then in In re SUNdeVICH, 22 Catt. 2 (2013), we expanded our jurisdiction to review different menu items served by a B&M that was affiliated with a food truck, so long as the new menu items were presented under the same branding as the food truck. Most recently, in In re Captain Cookie & The Milkman at Thomas Foolery, 23 Catt. 2 (2013), we granted jurisdiction to a B&M that was unaffiliated with a food truck but had entered into an agreement to serve the food truck’s dishes. Jurisdiction was appropriate because the unaffiliated B&M served the food truck’s dishes to customers in the original form intended by the food truck.

Under our case law, a gastronomic enterprise need not be mobile to fall within our jurisdiction if the nature of its relationship with a food truck is sufficient to warrant review. A “sibling” relationship can qualify. This type of relationship exists when the food truck and B&M come under the same ownership or are part of a single business model. For the Cart to have jurisdiction over the sibling B&M, two conditions must be satisfied. First, the food truck must be in operation along with the B&M; that is, the food truck cannot be defunct. Second, the B&M must either serve the same menu items as the food truck, or if it serves different menu items, it must do so under the same branding as the food truck. However, a B&M might still fall under our jurisdiction even without a “sibling” relationship with a food truck. A B&M, without any prior relationship with a food truck, may enter into an agreement to serve the food truck’s menu items. In this situation, the court may exercise jurisdiction if the B&M serves the food truck’s menu items in the original form intended by the food truck.

II. Analysis

In the present case, the B&M (Shanghai Lounge) and food truck (Hot People Food) have a sibling relationship, as they share a common owner. See Jessica Sidman, Owner of Hot People Food Now Operating Georgetown Chinese Restaurant, Young & Hungry (May 2, 2013). Because a sibling relationship exists here, our analysis must proceed to determine whether the two conditions required by our case law are satisfied.

Does Hot People Food operate concurrently with SL? In order to exercise jurisdiction over SL, Hot People Food cannot be defunct. While Hot People Food has not been in service for several months, the owner has said that the food truck will be back on the road. Id. Because the food truck has not been shut down, this first condition is met.

Does SL serve the same menu items, or different menu items under the same branding? SL’s menu is different from Hot People Food’s. Neither Hot People Food’s “Bikini Beef” nor “Sassy Chicken” appears on SL’s menu. Admittedly, we do not know for sure that none of SL’s beef or chicken dishes is the same as “Bikini Beef” or “Sassy Chicken.” This is because we received multiple versions of “Sassy Chicken” on different days and so we do not know what “Sassy Chicken” is. However, SL does not call any of its dishes “Bikini Beef” or “Sassy Chicken.” In addition, it has been reported that SL’s “menu is completely separate from Hot People’s menu.” Id. Thus, we conclude that the menu items are different.

Because SL’s menu items are different from Hot People Food’s, we may exercise jurisdiction over SL only if SL presents these different menu items under the same branding as the Hot People Food truck. It does not. The Hot People Food name does not appear anywhere on SL’s website. The “About Us” section of the website introduces the owner but makes no mention of the owner’s experience in the mobile food business. Moreover, the record shows that the owner considered changing SL’s name to Hot People but ultimately chose not to adopt the name. Id. It seems clear to us that SL’s menu is not branded under the Hot People Food name and that this decision was made purposefully. Therefore, because SL’s distinct menu does not fall under Hot People Food’s branding, the second condition is not satisfied.

III. Conclusion

The Cart does not have the power to review SL’s Asian fusion cuisine. Although the B&M is related to a food truck that is within our jurisdiction, the relationship is not the kind that permits us to expand our powers of review. The case is

DISMISSED.

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.

We granted cartiorari on the question of the “Guac Pop” by Pleasant Pops. (N.B.: Generally we abbreviate the mobile gastronomic enterprise’s name. For obvious reasons, and out of respect for the cart at issue, I will not do so here.)

Pleasant Pops began a few years ago when its co-founders sought to “combine the Mexican tradition of fresh fruit ice pops [‘paletas’] with local and sustainable agriculture from the greater D.C. area.” Their ensemble has since grown to 100 flavors, which appear to be trotted out on a seasonal basis.

The enterprise has since expanded to a brick-and-mortar (“B&M”) on Florida Avenue just off in a U Street, to a somewhat out-of-the-way stretch of shops which includes a gallery, a “streetwear boutique,” and Locolat—a Belgian restaurant outside of our jurisdiction otherwise notable for its snail-topped herb waffles (a favorite of a clerk of mine) and a waiter who may or may not be my doppelgänger (dobbeltgænger?). The creation story of the B&M is a testament to the popularity of Pleasant Pops: the co-founders had reached their fundraising goal eight days into a 30-day Kickstarter campaign to raise $20,000 to open a B&M.

Pleasant Pops

We encountered Pleasant Pops at a farmer’s market off McPherson Square on a stuffy day in late Spring. Looking for a frozen treat, we spied a diminutive cart purveying a variety of dairy and non-dairy iced confections (see above). Scanning its menu, we settled for the “Guac Pop.” But first we must answer two preliminary questions:

1. Is a cart at a farmer’s market within our jurisdiction?
2. Is a “paleta” street food, as defined under our Eat Wonky test?

Both questions prove easy to answer.

Jurisdiction. First, while we have never considered whether a cart at a farmer’s market is within the jurisdiction of this Supreme Cart, we have gone so far as to find a Dippin’ Dots cart at a private event to lie within our jurisdiction. See In re Dippin’ Dots, 10 Catt. 5 (2012). If anything, its location at a farmer’s market, in the middle of Vermont Avenue, only places the Pleasant Pops cart more firmly within our jurisdiction.

Street Food. Second, while we have never addressed the precise question of whether a paleta, or even a popsicle more broadly, is “street food,” we have held that ice creams and sorbets do constitute “street food.” See In re Sinplicity, 9 Catt. 3 (2012). If anything, the nature of the popsicle—requiring no utensil, as compared with the spoon accompanying a cup of ice cream—only serves to strengthen the argument that the paleta and the popsicle are properly “street food.” Further, given our emphasis at times on historicity, the fact that the paleta is a Latin American street food tradition concludes the matter. Because the “Guac Pop” is “street food,” we must affirm it unless it bears some fatal flaw. See In re Big Cheese, 6 Catt. 2 (2012).

Guac Pop (Avocado & Lime)

Having answered these questions, we may safely move to the question of the “Guac Pop” itself. We were confronted with a menu filled with other intriguing options, among them Chongos and Hibiscus. Why, then, did we opt for the Guac? While my sister and I agree on few things, we do agree that, when at the Eden Center, the best bubble concoction to order is the sweetened guacamole smoothie. It’s delicious. I am also particularly fond of the traditional Indonesian chocolate and guacamole smoothie at Satay Sarinah in Alexandria. (N.B.: Satay Sarinah’s new truck Satè is on our radar.) There is a wide and delectable world of avocado-based desserts out there (see here and here, for examples). Even purveyor of fine living Martha Stewart agrees. And so, we opted for the avocado and lime paleta above all others.

We affirm.

The Guac Pop’s flavor is relatively subtle, with the taste of its key components never overpowered by sugar. It is a fresh, refreshing, and inexpensive treat on a hot day (or, I imagine, on any other day). We were particularly fond of the lime flavor, which actually tasted like lime rather than artificial lime or Rose’s lime cordial which, while delicious in a gimlet, would not have complemented the avocado as well as more or less unadulterated lime. (But a gimlet paleta? Hm.) This is a non-dairy pop, but the creaminess of the avocado mimics the unctuousness of a milk-based product without its heaviness.  We’ll be back for more and look forward to trying more of Pleasant Pop’s 100-strong repertoire.

AFFIRMED.

CATTLEYA, J., concurring.

I share my brother’s enthusiasm for the Guac Pop and wholeheartedly agree with the opinion he has authored, except for the unfortunate construction of the first sentence of the third paragraph. (Or is it the Chief Justice’s law clerk who deserves blame for faulty writing and proof-reading?)

We granted cartiorari to Caribbean Cafe Truck (CCT), a downtown mobile gastronomic enterprise, on the question(s) of its beef patty and coco bread.

As a point of introduction, we had initially decided to grant cartiorari only to CCT’s beef patty. The beef patty–a bright golden affair filled with seasoned ground beef–is a staple of Jamaican street food. (No further explanation is needed to determine that a Jamaican patty, like an empanada, pasty, and other stuffed pastries, meets our test for “street food” and is therefore entitled to the presumption of affirmance. See, e.g., In re Rolls on Rolls, 13 Catt. 3 (2012) (a samosa is “street food”). We were eager to sample CCT’s take on this classic street food.

Caribbean Cafe Truck

In preliminary research, my clerk happened upon a fascinating image: a beef patty ensconced in coco bread. Coco bread is a fairly heavy, fairly starchy bread made with a bit of coconut milk (or maybe it’s just split open like a coconut) and imparting a subtle touch of sweetness, cut in half and, apparently, often stuffed with a Jamaican beef patty. That’s right: a pastry-filled sandwich. Articles on both the Jamaican patty and coco bread corroborated this image. There were many more images. The Grey Lady reported on it back in 2005. An online Jamaican grocery verified it. So there you have it: a carb sandwich.

And why not? It makes some intuitive sense as street food. Bread, like my sister’s talk, is relatively cheap and, though generally lacking in substance, fills you up quickly wanting no more, as we found out. So why not wrap a pastry in more bread? And so we ordered a beef patty and a coco bread from CCT and assembled for ourselves a park-bench meal.

Coco Bread & Beef Patty

The predominant flavor of the beef patty sandwich is heavy–given the nature of our work, the Justices of this truck are no strangers to heaviness–but the sandwich was, I daresay, gastronomically harmonious: the cakiness of the coco bread, the turmeric-tinted flakiness of the patty crust, and the stewed beef core. A Red Stripe probably would have helped wash it down. (On second thought, I should have ordered a ginger beer.) Overall, the patty sandwich satisfied more traditional goals of street food: quick, simple, moderately satisfying food that is sold cheaply ($5) and fills you up fast. See, e.g., In re Street Vendor Near National Mall, 9 Catt. 5 (2012).

Coco Bread Stuffed with Beef Patty

As for the patty itself, the crust was very good–just flaky enough and a beautiful color. It held up without giving way to the filling. The filling–the spiced ground beef–was good. It was perhaps not as hot as I might have expected of a cuisine I associate with the Scotch bonnet pepper–having lived my entire childhood with an ancient bottle of Bajan pepper sauce in my refrigerator, I might have unreasonable expectations of West Indian heat–but it was nicely flavored. Not a complex profile, but certainly a satisfying one.

Coco Bread & Beef Patty Sandwich

Given the presumption of affirmance for true street food, I would certainly affirm both the patty sandwich and the beef patty by itself. Even without the presumption, however, I would affirm. Beside the relative novelty of a carb sandwich, this is a decent presentation of world street food at its most prototypical. It’s nice to see that nod to tradition in a scene that seems increasingly taken with what is essentially streetside take-out.

AFFIRMED.

CATTLEYA, J., concurring.

Despite the unprovoked attack in my brother’s words, he reaches the same conclusion that my “cheap talk” would, except he talked in circles before finally arriving to the point: “the patty sandwich satisfied more traditional goals of street food: quick, simple, moderately satisfying food that is sold cheaply . . . and fills you up fast.”

Curbside Cupcakes (“CC”) bills itself as DC’s “first mobile cupcake truck.” Since it joined the mobile food scene in 2009, it has grown to three trucks and two indoor kiosks. While there is no question that CC’s trucks are in the Cart’s jurisdiction, it is less clear whether its kiosks are. The question before us today is whether the Cart may properly exercise jurisdiction and review the red velvet and carrot cake cupcakes from CC’s kiosk located in the food court at the Pentagon City Mall.

Curbside Cupcakes Kiosk at Pentagon City Mall

 JURISDICTIONAL TEST

We first turn to our guiding legislation and rules. The Judiciary Act of 2011 (Cartiorari Act) grants the Supreme Cart “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.” Rule of Procedure 1-2 expands this to explain that the Cart’s 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.”

From the Cartiorari Act and our own Rules of Procedures, we learn that the Cart’s jurisdictional test contains three elements. First, the establishment under consideration must be located in DC, Arlington, or Alexandria. Second, it must be a mobile gastronomic enterprise. Third, it must be reasonably proximate to public transportation of a reasonably rapid and efficient character.

ELEMENTS ONE & THREE OF JURISDICTIONAL TEST

We easily see that the first and third elements are satisfied in this case. CC’s kiosk is within the geographic jurisdiction of the Cart. The kiosk is located in the Pentagon City Mall, which is in Arlington. Thus, CC’s kiosk is “located in DC, Arlington, or Alexandria.” Moreover, CC’s kiosk is reasonably proximate to public transportation. The Pentagon City Mall is near the Pentagon City metro stop and is accessible by either the Blue or Yellow Lines.

ELEMENT TWO OF JURISDICTIONAL TEST

The reviewability of the cupcakes from CC’s kiosk depends on whether the kiosk is a “mobile gastronomic enterprise.” By no stretch of the imagination or misinterpretation of our case law may CC’s kiosk qualify as a mobile gastronomic enterprise. In In re China Garden, 5 Catt. 1 (2012), we held that to be a mobile gastronomic enterprise, the enterprise selling the gastronomy had to be mobile. Here, it is clear that a stationary kiosk inside a shopping mall’s food cart is not mobile.

However, this finding does not end our analysis. Even if a gastronomic enterprise is not mobile, the Cart may exercise jurisdiction over it by virtue of its relationship with a mobile gastronomic enterprise that is within our jurisdiction. In In re Dippin’ Dots, 10 Catt. 5 (2012), we had jurisdiction over a pushcart that operated inside a building because it was affiliated with a food truck that was within our jurisdiction and vended the same ice cream product. In other words, the Cart’s jurisdiction extends to a gastronomic enterprise if (1) it is affiliated with a concurrently operating mobile gastronomic enterprise that is within our jurisdiction; and (2) it vends the same gastronomy as that mobile gastronomic enterprise.

CC’s kiosk meets both prongs. First, the kiosk is part of CC’s enterprise and is related to CC’s trucks, and, as stated before, CC’s trucks are mobile gastronomic enterprises within the Cart’s jurisdiction. This is because the trucks operate in DC and Arlington; are mobile and sell foodstuff in the form of cupcakes; and may be found near many metro stops in the area. Second, CC’s kiosk at Pentagon City Mall sells the same cupcakes as the food trucks. Indeed, they sell the same flavors on the same days. For example, on May 3, CC’s trucks and the kiosk offered the following flavors: red velvet, vanilla bean, black cupcake, carrot cake, vanilla mocha, peanut butter cup, tequila sunrise, and strawberry delight.

Today we hold that the Cart has jurisdiction over the red velvet and carrot cake cupcakes from CC’s stationary kiosk at the Pentagon City Mall because CC simultaneously operates food trucks within our jurisdiction and the kiosk vends the same cupcakes as the food trucks. To be clear, we hold only that our jurisdiction extends to the cupcakes under our consideration in this case. Our jurisdiction should not be interpreted to extend to CC’s cake truffles, which may be purchased from the kiosk but not the trucks. As the question of CC’s cake truffles are not before us today, we decline to decide that question and leave open the possibility that different menu items may be reviewed by this court.

Curbside Cupcakes Kiosk

CUPCAKES: RED VELVET AND CARROT CAKE

Because we have jurisdiction over the red velvet and carrot cake cupcakes from CC’s kiosk at the Pentagon City Mall, we may properly review the cupcakes. Our regular reader knows that before we can address the merits of the cupcakes, we must first determine whether CC’s cupcakes are “street food.” Street food is 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). If a dish qualifies as street food, we presume that it should be affirmed. If not, then the burden lies with the mobile gastronomic enterprise to prove the worth of the dish. See In re Big Cheese, 6 Catt. 2 (2012). Our case law makes clear that cupcakes are not street food, see, e.g., In re Sweetbites, 10 Catt. 1 (2012), so CC’s cupcakes are not entitled to the presumption of affirmance.

Carrot Cake and Red Velvet

Even so, CC’s red velvet and carrot cake flavors were good. The red velvet cake was sufficiently rich with the right hint of cocoa powder. The carrot cake was pleasing texture-wise, as shredded carrots, chopped walnuts, and raisins were mixed into the soft cake. Each cupcake was topped with a generous amount of thick cream cheese frosting. The frosting was perfectly tangy instead of sweet. Now, my only complaint: while the cupcakes were moist, the exteriors were much too sticky. Perhaps the result of air-tight storage which trapped in moisture? I would have preferred a less sticky cupcake, but overall I enjoyed both cupcakes and, even at $3 per cupcake, would not object to having one of each again on a “I need a cupcake” kind of day.

CONCLUSION

The Cart’s jurisdiction extends to the red velvet and carrot cake cupcakes from CC’s kiosk at Pentagon City Mall because CC’s concurrently operating food trucks offer the same cupcakes. Thus, a review of the kiosk’s cupcakes is essentially a review of the food trucks’ cupcakes, and such a review serves the needs of our readers. CC’s red velvet and carrot cake cupcakes were tasty, moist, and topped off with a wonderfully tangy frosting. Unfortunately, they were too sticky, and for that reason the case is

AFFIRMED in part and REMANDED in part to Curbside Cupcakes for revision.

JEREMY, C.J., concurring in the jurisdictional question.

I concur in my sister’s application of this Cart’s jurisdictional test. I have long been of the opinion that this Cart’s jurisdiction extends to non-mobile gastronomic enterprises associated with mobile gastronomic enterprises. See, e.g., In re Pupatella, 8 Catt. 4 (2012).

I must recuse myself, however, from the question of the quality of CC’s wares. In In re Dangerously Delicious Pies, 4 Catt. 4 (2011), I wrote that, “given my severe aversion to cupcakeries,” I would recuse myself from the case of any “cupcake truck.” See also In re Sweetbites, 10 Catt. 1 (2012); In re Sinplicity, 9 Catt. 3 (2012). While the case before us is not one involving a cupcake truck, there is no principled distinction to be made between enterprises purveying primarily cupcakes–whether truck, cart, or brick-and-mortar.

The only possibility of not recusing myself would arise from adopting a more neutral opinion of cupcakeries, such that I may assess individual cupcakeries on their merits. However, on a lazy Sunday afternoon not so very long ago, a clerk and I decided to finally wait in the unnecessarily long line at Georgetown Cupcake. I left unimpressed, blinded by pink, and, frankly, vengeful. Clearly my “severe aversion” has not abated. Far from it. (For encouraging news, though, see here!) And so I do the only ethical thing and recuse myself from the substance of this case.

(N.B. I also hate shopping malls. Clearly I was not meant to adjudicate this case. Lest you think me a complete curmudgeon, I will remind you of my love of duck and poutine and pie.)

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.

We granted cartiorari to Stella*s PopKern (“SP”), which describes itself as “DC’s first Gourmet Popcorn . . . food truck.” SP’s menu includes flavors like butter with Brazilian sea salt, zesty white cheddar, and French white chocolate infused with cherry and sea salt. We opted for one of SP’s classic and most popular flavors: salty caramel.

Stella*s PopKern

STREET FOOD

Under our case law, we presume that street food should be affirmed by this court. In re Big Cheese, 6 Catt. 2 (2012). Street food is “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). Although popcorn has never before come before the Cart, we can easily say that popcorn is street food. SP makes its popcorn daily in front of customers, and customers can (and in fact do) eat SP’s popcorn with their hands immediately as they stroll away from the truck. Because popcorn is street food, the Cart has the burden to prove a serious misstep. As explained below, the Cart finds a misstep in the lack of salt in SP’s salty caramel popcorn.

Salty Caramel Popcorn

SALTY CARAMEL POPCORN

SP prepares its popcorn flavors daily, and it recommends eating the freshly-made popcorn within one to two hours after purchase. (If immediate eating is not possible, SP conveniently provides re-crisping instructions on its website.) Different flavors come at different prices, and flavors may be purchased in either small or large. Small bags are generally in the $3-$6 range and large bags in the $6-$9 range. A small bag of salty caramel popcorn was $4.75 with tax.

When I opened the bag and saw the salty caramel popcorn, I excitedly exclaimed to the Chief Justice, “Oh, this is like Cracker Jacks!” The good news is that eating a handful of popcorn confirmed the comparison: SP’s salty caramel popcorn was much like Cracker Jacks. However, the bad news is that the salty caramel popcorn was not much better than Cracker Jacks.

This was an enjoyable snack, but I was still a little disappointed. The popcorn had an even coating of caramel and a nice crunch. However, I wished the very light hint of salt was more like an Emeril “Bam!” — I didn’t detect the saltiness until halfway through the bag.

Overall, I just expected something more. Something that differentiated it from a ballpark snack. Something that screamed, “This was worth your money!” I suspect, based on the long line of repeat customers, that I chose a flavor that just didn’t suit me. And I suspect that I would have enjoyed the French white chocolate infused with cherry and sea salt, or another more-than-basic flavor combination. So, despite my disappointment, I will visit SP again to try another flavor.

CONCLUSION

The salty caramel popcorn was more “caramel” than “salty caramel”. It was very similar to Cracker Jacks, except it didn’t have any peanuts or come with a toy. Still, the popcorn was fresh and the good ingredients were obvious, so it’s probably just best to order a different flavor.

AFFIRMED in part and REMANDED in part to Stella*s PopKern for revision.

JEREMY, C.J., concurring.

It is precisely a case such as that now before the Cart that demonstrates the power of the presumption that proper “street food” should be affirmed. While, given the presumption, I concur in the decision of the Cart, I would add only that I was rather underwhelmed by this bag of toy-less, peanut-less Cracker Jacks.

One sunny but blustery morning in early Spring, we granted cartiorari on the question of the poutine at DC Ballers (“DCB”). My peculiar penchant for the Canadian slop is well documented, see In re Eat Wonky, 2 Catt. 4 (2011), andour clerks had heard wonderful things about DCB’s poutine. We awaited DCB’s poutine with great anticipation.

And so it was with some degree of shock and dismay that we found a menu affixed to DCB’s vehicle sans poutine. Nevertheless, having already positioned ourselves before the mobile gastronomic enterprise, and presented with a menu replete with other fried-potato offerings, we resolved to put our dreams of poutine behind us and forge ahead in our judicial duties, granting cartiorari instead on the question of “Greek Fries.”

Greek fries, as the name might suggest, pairs feta and oregano with seasoned fries. The presentation is a brown lunch bag, oil-stained.

DC Ballers

I. STREET FOOD

Our first inquiry always is to determine where the burden of proof lies in a particular case. This Cart has long presumed that, absent grievous error, “street food” should be affirmed. See In re Big Cheese, 6 Catt. 2 (2012). Street food is defined by this Cart 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).

This Cart has held that many things constitute street food: sandwiches, tacos, etc. However, this Cart has never addressed whether French fry-based dishes are inherently “street food.” Coincidentally, the last case of this Cart’s jurisprudence prior to our adoption of the Eat Wonky test concerned just that. See Eat Wonky, 2 Catt. 4.

French fries, of course, are generally cooked in front of you, are meant to be eaten with your hands, without forks, while standing up. However, that realization cannot end our inquiry. In the case of DCB’s Greek Fries, we found that the scale and scope and presentation of the oil-soaked bag of fries, covered in globs of feta and loose seasonings, is most easily enjoyed with a fork. Moreover, as discussed below, we found the dish to also read better as a fork-based dish. Therefore, I find that DCB cannot meet the letter of the Eat Wonky test even though the basis of the dish—French fries—are generally “street food.”

However, we have held that the Eat Wonky test 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). Because the dish is best eaten fresh off the truck, because it is quite easily eaten while in motion or while sitting on a park bench, and because it tends to embody a certain spirit of street food, I would find that, despite use of a fork, DCB’s Greek fries constitute “street food” and are thus entitled to the presumption of affirmance.

In this case, that presumption cannot be rebutted.

Greek Fries

II. GREEK FRIES

As noted above, Greek fries present a rather simple notion: (1) French fries, (2) feta, (3) oregano, (4) seasoning. We of the Cart tend to admire simplicity, as with a simple dish the question becomes one of execution. In this case, DCB’s Greek fries, while not a perfect dish, are reasonably well executed.

Flavor. The combination of warm, fried potato; crumbles of salty feta; and aromatic oregano is delightful. I’m sure it should remind me of the Peloponnese or of some remote Mediterranean islet, but, unfortunately, I have no such frame of reference. Nevertheless, the classic combination of flavors is flawless and well-balanced and provided a warm and sunny respite on a brisk and blustery day.

Fries. The fries are good but not perfect. We have spoken well of fries that are “fresh and hot and crisp with a pillowy center.” See Eat Wonky, 2 Catt. 4. While DCB’s fries were most certainly fresh, most certainly hot, and featured, one might say, a certain pillowiness to their interiors, a true crispness was disappointingly lacking. For this reason, we found that the dish was best enjoyed with a fork—in other words, as a sort of Greek hash brown. And, really, in that manner, the dish was quite delightful. (I believe we commented, in an uncharacteristic moment of youthfulness, that it would make decent drunk food, but the late-night food truck scene has not yet caught on.)

Quantity and Value. For $5, you get a bag of fries that could easily feed two-to-three people. In our case, it fed two rather ravenous Justices, but we are perhaps not entirely representative. Regardless, at $5, this is a good deal and could easily make a meal unto itself (albeit an entirely unhealthy one).

For the reasons above, this case is

AFFIRMED.

We granted cartiorari to Yumpling, which describes itself as “DC’s first and finest dumplings coming fresh out of [a] tricked out truck.” This Cart has previously tried dumplings from a food truck, one based in Arlington, VA. At the time, I wished (to no avail) that the food truck, called Hot People Food, would change its menu to focus exclusively on dumplings—steamed dumplings, fried dumplings, and soup dumplings. See In re Hot People Food, 6 Catt. 4 (2012) (Cattleya, J., concurring). I wanted a dumpling truck on our streets then, and almost a year later, I’m still looking for a dumpling truck. Is Yumpling that dumpling truck?

Yumpling

I. Street Food

Our first order of business is to determine whether Yumpling’s dumplings are “street food” as the Cart has defined the term. This is an issue of who bears the burden of proof in this case. Street food, defined 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), is entitled to the presumption that it should be affirmed by this court, unless we can show that the food suffers from a significant flaw. See In re Big Cheese, 6 Catt. 2 (2012). It is the well-settled case law of this judicial body that dumplings are street food. See Hot People Food, 6 Catt. 4. Thus, we have the burden to prove a flaw or else we must conclude that Yumpling’s dumplings belong on the streets.

Beef Dumplings

II. Yumpling’s Beef Dumplings

When we visited Yumpling, it was serving beef, chicken, and vegetable steamed dumplings. It has since added pork and shrimp dumplings to the menu. You can get six pieces for $5 or 10 pieces for $8. Any order can mix and match the different fillings. We opted for six beef dumplings. For the New Year’s calorie counters among us (which includes me), Yumpling advertises that six dumplings are less than 300 calories. You also have the option to pair your dumplings with a side of lobster bisque or edamame. As we were looking for dumplings as an appetizer to start off a long day of oral arguments, we passed on the add-ons. (Plus, our palates—prepared for Asian-style dumplings—were a bit confused by the inclusion of a creamy French-style soup.)

As we explained when we granted cartiorari to a dumpling meal in a previous case, there are two principal considerations of a dumpling: (1) the skin and (2) the filling. See Hot People Food, 6 Catt. 4. In Yumpling’s case, the skin was done well. It was chewy and not too thin. For the most part, it held up to the steaming process (only one dumpling in our container of six was not intact). The beef filling was mild but nice. The problem was that there was so little of it inside each dumpling. I wish there had been more so that the beef flavor came through in every bite. Overall, the dumplings were like the dumplings from your everyday cheap takeout restaurant. Not amazing, but not bad.

In the end, Yumpling is not the dumpling truck of my dreams. I’m still waiting for a food truck to pull up in front of the court with a menu of steamed, fried, and soup dumplings. Dumplings of different textures and different flavors. Dumplings to fill the stomach and warm the soul.

III. Conclusion

For the reasons above, the case is

AFFIRMED in part and REMANDED in part to Yumpling for revision.

JEREMY, C.J., concurring.

I agree with every line of my sister’s well-reasoned opinion. I write separately only because it would pain me not to have the last word.

Make My Cake (“MMC”) is a food truck based in New York City. On Monday, January 21, 2013, for the second inauguration of President Barack Obama, MMC drove from Harlem to Washington, DC to serve cupcakes and cheesecakes to inauguration attendees. MMC was permitted by the inauguration committee to serve the District’s streets for one day. The question before us today is whether this Supreme Cart has jurisdiction over MMC’s cakes.

I. Jurisdictional Test

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.” Our Rule of Procedure 1-2 provides that “[t]he jurisdiction of the Cart shall extend 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.”

Thus, our jurisdictional test contains three elements. First, the establishment under consideration must be located in DC, Arlington, or Alexandria. Second, it must be a mobile gastronomic enterprise. Third, it must be reasonably proximate to public transportation of a reasonably rapid and efficient character.

II. Located in DC, Arlington, or Alexandria

At the center of the present case is the first element, which requires the mobile gastronomic enterprise under consideration to be located in DC, Arlington, or Alexandria. The second and third elements are not in dispute. So, is MMC—a NY-based truck that served DC’s streets for one day—“situated” in DC?

We have once before met with a mobile gastronomic enterprise that served food in DC for a limited time. In In re Amtrak Café Car, 14 Catt. 1 (2012), we denied jurisdiction to a regional train that sold food to its passengers because, inter alia, it left the Cart’s geographic jurisdiction.

MMC’s case, however, is not identical to Amtrak’s. Amtrak happened to serve food to its passengers in DC. It served food while the train moved from Boston to New Haven to New York to Philadelphia to DC to Richmond to Norfolk. MMC, on the other hand, purposely traveled from New York to DC to serve its cakes. Its intention was to serve cakes in DC. It applied for a special inauguration permit, it underwent health and safety inspections by DC officials, and it followed DC officials’ instructions to set up along Pennsylvania Avenue on Inauguration Day. Unlike Amtrak which just passed through DC, MMC purposefully came to DC.

I find that the analysis to settle the question before this Cart (i.e., whether a mobile gastronomic enterprise that temporarily enters our geographic region is “situated” in our geographic region) is similar to the personal jurisdiction analysis of federal civil procedure. A court in Place A has personal jurisdiction over a party from Place B if the party has “minimum contacts” with Place A. International Shoe Co. v. Washington, 326 U.S. 310 (1945). Minimum contacts can arise from the party’s activities within Place A. The court in Place A, for example, has jurisdiction over the party from Place B if the party purposefully avails himself of the laws of Place A. World-Wide Volkswagen Corp. v. Woodson, 444 U.S. 286 (1980).

Similarly, a mobile gastronomic enterprise that temporarily enters our geographic region is located in our region for the purposes of our jurisdictional test if it purposefully avails itself of the resources of our region. By availing itself of the resources of our region, it establishes sufficient “minimum contacts” to be considered “situated” in our region, even if it is ordinarily based in another place. Concluding that the Cart has jurisdiction over such a mobile gastronomic enterprise is consistent with the notions of “fair play” and “substantial justice.” International Shoe, 326 U.S. at 316.

In the present case, MMC left New York and entered the Cart’s geographic jurisdiction for one day. While here, MMC purposefully availed itself of the resources of DC. It benefited from DC’s special rules allowing non-local food trucks to serve the District’s streets on Inauguration Day, and it enjoyed the advantages of being permitted by DC officials to serve its cakes at a prime spot along Pennsylvania Avenue. Since MMC purposefully availed itself of DC’s resources, it is fair to find that the NY-based MMC was located in DC for the purposes of the Cart’s jurisdictional test.

The first element of our jurisdictional test is satisfied. And since neither element two nor three is at issue, MMC meets all three elements of the test. Thus, this Cart holds that it has jurisdiction to review MMC, a NY-based food truck that temporarily entered DC and established sufficient minimum contacts with DC by purposefully availing itself of the resources of DC.

III. Mootness

Despite the finding that the Cart has jurisdiction over MMC, the case of MMC must be dismissed on mootness grounds. Under Article III of the U.S. Constitution, our judicial power extends only to actual cases and controversies. If a case does not present a live controversy, the case is moot and must be dismissed.

Here, the controversy is not live. MMC received a permit to serve its cakes in DC for one day, on January 21. Today, on January 30, MMC is no longer selling its cakes in DC, or anywhere else within our geographic jurisdiction. What’s more, MMC has not demonstrated an intention to return to sell its cakes. For example, if MMC made regular bi-monthly trips to serve its cakes in DC or Northern Virginia, or otherwise established a pattern of travelling here for events throughout the year, then the controversy might still be live. But as it is, MMC’s service in DC was one-time and is now over, so there is no controversy to settle.

Plus, it would be cruel to tell our readers all about a cupcake or cheesecake that they might never have the chance to try for themselves.

IV. Conclusion

For the reasons above, the case is

DISMISSED.

JEREMY, C.J., concurring.

I agree with my sister’s conclusions in the present case. I write separately only to register once more my discomfort with my sister’s wanton and reckless interpretation of the precedent of this Cart in In re Amtrak Café Car, 14 Catt. 1 (2012), upon which my sister relies in reaching her conclusions. When she says “we” found X in that case, she speaks only in the most royal sense of the pronoun. But my discussion of the matter is already set forth in my opinion concurring in the result of Amtrak.

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.

On a bright and brisk afternoon, we granted cartiorari to Dangerously Delicious Pies (“DDP”), the mobile maker of sweet and savory pies. DDP has once before been reviewed by this court. On our first visit DDP’s blackberry pie didn’t satisfy, but we ordered it at the end of an all-day food truck festival and the Chief Justice surmised that our slice would have been less disappointing had we ordered it earlier in the day. He left open the question of “whether a lunchtime pie [would] provide[] a more pleasurable experience.” In re Dangerously Delicious Pies, 4 Catt. 4 (2011). Truth be told, I was less enthusiastic than he to return to DDP’s window. In the words of Pride and Prejudice’s Mr. Darcy, “[m]y good opinion once lost, is lost for ever.” But like Jane Austen’s hero, I recognize this is a folly in my character, and so I put my past feelings aside and returned to DDP for chicken pot pie.

Dangerously Delicious Pies

 I. STREET FOOD

Before reaching the merits of the pie, first I address whether chicken pot pie is “street food.” Pie fails our Eat Wonky test for street food. Dangerously Delicious Pies, 4 Catt. 4 (concluding that pie is not street food); 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”). Because pie is not street food, there is no presumption of affirmance in this case, and DDP’s chicken pot pie must stand up on its own merits. See In re Big Cheese, 6 Catt. 2 (2012).

II. CHICKEN POT PIE ($7.50)

I hate to admit when the Chief Justice is right, but right he was to want to give DDP another try. DDP’s chicken pot pie was indeed a pleasurable experience, one with several surprises along the way. The first surprise was that it was actually a pie, with a top and bottom crust. This was no “cheat” pie made with a meager square of puff pastry on top. The second surprise was that the pie was stuffed (I mean, stuffed) with filling. I even blinked twice to make sure that I was seeing what I was seeing. Oh, I thought, a chicken pot pie that doesn’t require me to go fishing in a lake of thick cream sauce for a few chunks of chicken and a handful of once-frozen peas and carrots! Finally, a pie of substance! My hopes were high. But would it taste as good as it looked? Gasp! It did.

Chicken Pot Pie with Side Salad

DDP’s chicken pot pie was made with “roasted chicken, potatoes, carrots, peas, corn, cream, and herbs.” The filling was delicious. The chicken was juicy and well-seasoned. It tasted of rosemary and sage. (I’m not sure whether there was marjoram too, but there should have been. Marjoram, most unfortunately, is an underused herb.) The potatoes were hearty, the corn was sweet, the peas and carrots were comforting. It was exactly what I needed on a chilly day.

Now about that pie crust. It wasn’t as buttery and flaky as I expected from a pie that was once featured on “Paula’s Best Dishes” (as in the Food Network’s Paula Deen), but it was good. It held up against the thick filling and didn’t sog. And unlike our first experience, the crust tasted fresh, not old and stale. Bottom line: The crust did its job well as a supporting player; it let the filling be the star.

As a final note, DDP’s served its chicken pot pie with a side salad (as it does for all of its savory pies). The salad consisted of mixed field greens with a balsamic vinaigrette dressing. I would call the salad deceptively simple. The dressing was sweet and rich and better than your average balsamic vinaigrette. I enjoyed it almost as much as the pie.

III. CONCLUSION

Sometimes first impressions are wrong. I ordered and ate DDP’s chicken pot pie without regret. Darn fine pie. Even without the presumption of affirmance for true street food, the case is

AFFIRMED.

JEREMY, C.J., concurring.

This is perhaps my sister’s most cogent decision for it is in this decision she admits I am right. Indeed, I am generally right when it comes to matters of pie. I would add only that savory, like marjoram, is, “most unfortunately,” an “underused herb.”

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.

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.

A long day of hearing cases already behind us, we arrived at Rolls on Rolls (“ROR”) to sample its “delicious BAKED samosas.” The truck’s name, “Rolls on Rolls,” refers to the “kathi,” or “kati,” roll, a typical Kolkatan street food. However, judgment of ROR’s kathi roll will have to await the light of another day. In this instance, we granted cartiorari to consider the samosa.

Rolls on Rolls

First, we must consider whether the samosa is “street food.” If it is, we must affirm ROR’s samosa unless we can show it is a significantly flawed dish. 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). The samosa clearly meets this test. Because we find no significant flaw with ROR’s samosa, we must affirm.

Samosas

ROR’s samosa is a not atypical samosa. It is as good a samosa as any I have had. It gave the impression of a fried samosa, but I am informed by ROR’s Facebook page that is baked instead. I am therefore pretending it is an entirely healthy snack. The samosa’s filling, primarily potato, was tasty and well seasoned. The accompanying chutney was fresh and complementary. Service was adequate, and the price ($2 each) was reasonable.

In the end, this is a rather lilliputian decision, primarily because ROR’s samosa was a competent samosa without discernible flaw. A $2 samosa is a quick and delightful mid-day treat — in other words, everything street food should be.

AFFIRMED.

CATTLEYA, J., concurring.

All too often, baked versions of foods that are meant to be fried pale in comparison to the real thing. Baked Cheetos, for example, are mealy and lack the hard crunch of real Cheetos. And the powdered cheese sticks more to the fingers than to the actual snack piece. For these reasons, Baked Cheetos can never replace original Cheetos in my heart, mouth, or stomach.

ROR’s baked samosa, on the other hand, did not have me rushing out to find a fried version. There was crispness. There was flavor. There was even some grease. If the Chief Justice hadn’t repeatedly pointed out that we were eating a “healthy snack,” I wouldn’t have noticed that the samosa was baked.

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).

Before the Supreme Cart is Choupi, a crepe cart in Arlington, VA. We made a sua sponte appearance on a mild, breezy afternoon under Rule of Procedure 2-2, which permits Justices of the Cart to choose food trucks and carts within our jurisdiction to be subject to adjudication. Choupi sets up on the corner of North Lynn Street and 19th Street North in Rosslyn every weekday from the morning to late afternoon. We showed up at the tail end of the lunch hour rush, and there was still a line of people. Hoping that the length of the line correlated with the quality of the crepes, we waited for our turn.

Choupi

 I. TRUE “STREET FOOD”

Before we turn to a review of Choupi’s crepes, the Cart must determine whether crepes are “street food.” If crepes are street food, then we must affirm Choupi’s crepes unless we can show that they are not worthy of being served on our streets. 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). We have also recognized that food that has traditionally been consumed as street food around the world usually satisfies our own definition. Cf. In re Street Vendor Near National Mall, 9 Catt. 5 (2012). Because crepes not only are something of a national dish in France but are also served as street food, we hold that crepes are street food under our definition. Therefore, Choupi’s crepes are entitled to the presumption of affirmance by this court. However, for the reasons below, we would affirm Choupi’s crepes even without this presumption. The crepes are just that good.

II. CHOUPI

Choupi is operated by one person, probably because the cart is so small that it only fits one person, plus two crepe griddles. The two griddles, of course, mean that only two crepes can be made at a time. Perhaps those in a rush will consider this arrangement to be inconvenient, but we found comfort in the personal service and made-to-order meal. There are no shortcuts that sacrifice quality, there is no lazy warming up of stale, pre-assembled parts.

The menu is simple. The base price for a crepe is $3.50. Each filling is an additional 50 cents. There are “savory” meat fillings (like ham and turkey), vegetable fillings (like mushroom and spinach), and cheese fillings (like mozzarella and feta). There are “sweet” fruit fillings (like banana and apple cinnamon), nut fillings (like pecan and almond), and sauce fillings (like nutella and caramel). You can mix and match however you like. If you can’t decide, there’s a list of Choupi’s favorite crepe combinations for breakfast, lunch, and dessert. One of Choupi’s recommended desserts is a crepe with nutella, bananas, and pecans. We opted to try a version with walnuts in place of pecans.

Crepe with nutella, bananas, and walnuts

III. CREPE WITH NUTELLA, BANANAS, AND WALNUTS

I was twelve years old when I tried my first crepe. I was in Paris without my parents, and I nearly died on the spot when I saw that I could have something stuffed with nutella and bananas for lunch. Ever since then, every crepe that I’ve ordered has included nutella and bananas. Simple, but highly satisfying.

That twelve-year-old wondered about two things that I still haven’t figured out. First, why would you eat a savory crepe when you could indulge in a sweet crepe? Second, how can a nutella-and-banana crepe ever come out bad? Choupi’s nutella-banana-walnut crepe was so good that it did nothing to help me solve these very important questions.

The batter was made into the perfect crepe pancake. Don’t get me wrong–this was no thick, fluffy Aunt Jemima pancake. Choupi’s crepe was thin enough to develop a crispy–even flaky–outside, and yet it was still soft and chewy inside. As I said, it was perfect.

The fillings worked well together. There were large slices of bananas, not skimpy slivers. The nutella was generously applied, but it was not excessive. It melted just the right amount to bind the bananas and walnuts, but it did not messily ooze out and make a mess on the face or in the hands. The walnuts gave a nice bitter flavor to tone down the sweetness of the nutella.

The crepe was so good that I just wanted to keep eating and eating. And the best part was that the crepe was so large in size (huge, really) that the experience didn’t end too soon. We ordered this as a dessert, but it would have been more than enough to fill my stomach as a main course.

IV. CONCLUSION

Choupi’s made-to-order crepe with nutella, bananas, and walnuts was a great find in Rosslyn. The thin, crispy crepe was skillfully made, and the fillings satisfied my sweet tooth. It was a great deal, too. For $5, we got a huge crepe with three kinds of fillings. We left full and happy, and we will surely be back for more.

AFFIRMED.

JEREMY, C.J., concurring.

I heartily agree with my sister’s assessment of Choupi. I do, however, part ways with my sister in a certain decision she has made in writing her otherwise well-reasoned opinion. The subject of our present adjudication is properly represented graphically as crêpe and not as, my sister writes, crepe. For one, there is a certain ambiguity in the orthographic sequence ‘crepe,’ sans circumflex. Do I care to eat “a soft thin light fabric with a crinkled surface,” “rubber in sheets used especially for shoe soles, or, in Ireland, “a death notice printed on white card with a background of black crepe paper or cloth, placed on the door of a residence or business”? Indeed, I do not. More importantly, we have previously acknowledged the importance of diacritical marks, see In re Sâuçá, 4 Catt. 3 (2011), and so I am disappointed in my sister’s alarming nonchalance in this case. Our rôle should be always that of the respectful arbiter. A crêpe as good as Choupi’s has earned its hat and certainly deserves better treatment at my sister’s hand.

During my travels over the Supreme Cart’s summer recess, I came across a Mexican food truck (trailer, really) in Greenacres, Florida. Tacos al Carbon offered a wide variety of tacos. First, there were the options that you find at your local Chipotle chain, like steak and barbacoa. Then there were the choices typically found at Mexican restaurants, like carne molida (ground beef), al pastor (pork), and chorizo (pork sausage). And then–most interestingly to my palate–came the less usual options, like lengua (beef tongue), tripa (beef tripe), and chicharron (pork skin).

Tacos al Carbon in Greenacres, FL

Although the Florida-situated Tacos al Carbon fell outside the Cart’s jurisdiction, I stopped by to sample a taste of the larger food truck scene. I ordered a crunchy taco with carne asada (grilled steak), a soft taco with lengua, and another soft taco with tripa. My $5.99 three taco lunch special came with rice and beans.

Three Tacos with Rice and Beans

Upon my return to the Cart, I was pleased to discover a Mexican food truck within our jurisdiction — El Chilango (“EC”) in Arlington — that also served up tacos with unusual meat fillings. Even more exciting, the tacos were of the authentic Mexican kind, rather than the more common Tex-Mex variety. (Think cilantro, onion, lime and spicy salsa in place of tomatoes, cheese, sour cream, and guacamole.) The Justices of this Cart immediately granted cartiorari to EC.

El Chilango in Arlington, VA

  I. TRUE “STREET FOOD”

Because there is no question that tacos are “street food” as this court has defined the term, EC’s  tacos must be affirmed unless the Cart can meet the high burden to prove that EC’s tacos do not belong on the street. See 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”); In re Big Cheese, 6 Catt. 2 (2012) (explaining that street food is entitled to the presumption of affirmance); In re Sol Mexican Grill, 9 Catt. 4 (2012) (finding that tacos are street food). This Cart cannot even begin to rebut the presumption of affirmance.

II. EL CHILANGO

EC is a quiet member of Arlington’s food truck scene. It does not rely on splashy graphics or social media. It parks in the same spot in a residential neighborhood every Monday through Saturday from 11am to 8pm. Although it’s within walking distance (around 10 minutes) from the Rosslyn metro station, it’s out of the way to grab a quick lunch or dinner, especially considering the line of food trucks and carts that are conveniently parked right outside the metro station. EC is parked in an area (usually near 14th Street N. and N. Queen Street) that doesn’t benefit from heavy foot traffic, which means that most diners purposely go out of their way to get to EC. EC’s location might seem like a strike against it, but it’s actually a great sign in favor of it. When paying customers go out of their way just to get to an eating establishment, it’s usually an indication that the food is worth it. And, in EC’s case, it was. (Perhaps another sign of how good the food is, EC recently launched a brick-and-mortar location at 1119 V St. NW in the District.)

EC’s menu is simple. It makes tacos, and only tacos. There are six types:

1. pollo (chicken);
2. al pastor (pork);
3. carne asada (grilled steak);
4. chorizo (pork sausage);
5. mixto (mix of carne asada and chorizo); and
6. lengua (beef tongue).

EC’s tacos are soft, served on toasted corn tortillas. Tacos are topped with onion and cilantro. Fresh radish slices and chopped cucumbers are served on the side. EC provides lime wedges to squeeze on top of the tacos and sets out bottles of salsas verde and rojo on the counter for you to serve yourself. Each taco is a very affordable $2 (cash only). Cf. In re TaKorean, 1 Catt. 4 (2011) ($3.50 per taco or $9 for three tacos); In re Sol Mexican Grill, 9 Catt. 4 (2012) ($7 for three tacos).

Round 1: Tacos with Carne Asada, Pollo, Al Pastor, Chorizo, Lengua, and Mixtos

I ordered one of each. Then after I cleaned off my plate, I went back for another chorizo and carne asada.

Round 2: Tacos with Chorizo and Carne Asada

It is the tradition of this Cart to review each component of a food truck’s offerings, see, e.g., Takorean, 1 Catt. 4, and I see no reason to change that now.

Corn tortillas. Each taco came with two corn–not flour–tortillas. They were lightly grilled. It would be a mistake to view the double layer as a mere stomach-filler; it had an important purpose. Even if the meat juices soaked through one layer, and even if the sogginess caused that tortilla to tear, there was another layer to keep the taco neatly together. This double layer particularly saved the day for the chorizo taco, which came with the sort of eating experience that causes delicious juices to run down your chin and all over your hands.

Meats. All of the meats were well-cooked and tender. The chorizo, carne asada, and al pastor  were especially juicy and flavorful. The chorizo was spicy and salty, the carne asada was nice and beefy, and the al pastor was sweet and smokey. The first two meats left a stronger impression on my palate, as evidenced by my return for second helpings. My law clerk opted for seconds of the chorizo and al pastor. I confess that my preference for asada over al pastor might have more to do with my upbringing in a no-pork kitchen and less to do with the actual merits of the two meats. See In re Floridano, 2 Catt. 2 (2011) (Cattleya, J., concurring) (“Due to my father’s religious restriction on the eating of pork, my mother never cooked it . . . .). The easy agreement that my law clerk and I reached on the chorizo (in spite of my upbringing in a no-pork kitchen) should be a sign of just how delicious it was. Even though the pollo was seasoned sufficiently, it came off as bland in comparison to the pork and beef options. This was not surprising, given the relatively mild flavor of chicken. After all, who would want chicken when you could have chorizo? 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)).  If I were to do it again, I would eat the pollo taco first, so that my taste buds weren’t coated with the delicious memory of the other meats. Finally, the lengua wasn’t bad, but it didn’t shine either, as I know lengua can. The too-finely chopped lengua had lost most of its firm yet spongy texture and its deep flavor. If I hadn’t known that I was eating lengua, then I wouldn’t have known that I was eating lengua. (I leave it to the reader to decide whether that is a good or bad thing.)

Toppings. Cheese, sour cream, and guacamole were not on EC’s authentic Mexican menu, and they were not missed. The onion, cilantro, and lime provided a cool and fresh topping to balance the heat of the meat and spiciness of the salsas. Both salsas added a garlicky zing that kicked up the flavors of the tacos, though the salsa rojo had a hotter zing than the salsa verde. The more salsa there was, the better the taco tasted. The side of sliced radishes and chopped cucumbers also worked to cool down the heat. In addition, they gave a nice, crisp bite to set off the textural softness of the tacos.

III. CONCLUSION

EC knows how to make a taco. Sure, a couple of the meat fillings (chicken, lengua) didn’t stand out when compared to the excellent quality of the rest (chorizo, carne asada, al pastor), but it was like comparing filet mignon and lobster. One of them had to come in at the bottom of the rankings, but they were all still good. (If forced to rank, I would pick: 1. chorizo, 2. carne asada, 3. al pastor, 4. pollo, 5. lengua.)

The bottom line is this: EC made authentic tacos that didn’t disappoint my stomach or drain my wallet. EC’s tacos are exactly what should be coming out of a food truck’s kitchen. The tacos are meant to be eaten with your hands (even if I had wanted a fork, I didn’t see any). The tacos are meant to be eaten while standing up (in fact, you have to unless you want to sit on the sidewalk). What’s more, I want to go out to eat EC’s tacos because I can’t cook them myself at home. I could try, but it surely would not compare. I will return to EC — and soon.

AFFIRMED.

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).

Green papaya salad is one of those characteristic dishes by which one may assess the quality of an establishment which purports to purvey a particular cuisine. In French restaurants, I tend to sample crème brûlée. In Italian restaurants, tiramisù. In Greek restaurants, galaktoboureko. Of course, waiting till dessert requires one to first plod through a meal of unknown quality. Luckily, certain Southeast Asian cuisines—Thai, Laotian, Cambodian—have given us a salad of such ubiquity, of such delicacy, and of such simple finesse that we may assess an establishment’s quality from the onset. And so it was with an entirely scientific and objective curiosity that, one particularly muggy Spring day, we ordered green papaya salad from Sang on Wheels (“SOW”). We have recently adjudicated SOW’s drunken noodles, upon which my sister and I met with some disagreement. See In re Sang on Wheels, 11 Catt. 1 (2012). Today, we consider the case of SOW’s papaya salad.

I. STREET FOOD

I would find green papaya salad to constitute “street food” and thus be entitled to a presumption of affirmance. 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). While green papaya salad requires use of a fork and thus cannot meet all elements of this test so construed, 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). We have also held before that food that has traditionally been understood 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). Green papaya salad is a tried-and-true street food which satisfies the spirit, if not each exact element, of our Eat Wonky test. I would therefore find green papaya salad to constitute “street food” under our jurisprudence, despite the required use of a fork. As such, SOW’s green papaya salad is entitled to a presumption of affirmance unless this Cart can meet its heavy burden to rebut that presumption. See In re Big Cheese, 6 Catt. 2 (2012).

In this case, as explained below, the Cart rebuts the presumption of affirmance.

Papaya Salad

II. GREEN PAPAYA SALAD

Green papaya salad is a perfectly balanced dish, blending (a) young, unripe, shredded papaya (almost tart), combined with (b) lime (sour), (c) fish sauce (salty), (d) chili (spicy), and a touch of palm sugar (sweet). These competing flavors should be in equilibrium.

Each of these elements was present in SOW’s green papaya salad, but that all-important equilibrium was missing. In this Cart’s earlier decision with regard to SOW’s drunken noodles, my sister wondered “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.” See Sang on Wheels, 11 Catt. 1. With its green papaya salad, SOW again offered up a cloyingly sweet dish. Texturally, too, the dish was problematic. The shredded papaya was suspended in a gloppy, unidentifiable sauce. In the end, I was unable to take more than a few bites. Given my predilection for crème brûlée, tiramisù, and galaktoboureko, I may have a bit of a sweet tooth. But my sweet tooth was not nearly sweet enough for SOW’s papaya salad.

III. CONCLUSION

As with its drunken noodles, SOW’s papaya salad held a lot of promise. But because it was cloyingly sweet, unbalanced, and texturally awkward, this dish must be

REMANDED to Sang on Wheels for revision.

CATTLEYA, J., concurring dubitante.

My gut tells me that papaya salad is not street food. However, I cannot prove it. It’s nearly impossible to do so now that the Cart’s method for determining “street food” — once a bright-line test — has been reduced to a free-for-all where anything goes.

For example, I cannot reconcile how Asian noodles could be street food in my brother’s mind, see In re Sang on Wheels (The Drunken Noodles Case), 11 Catt. 1 (2012) (Jeremy, C.J., dissenting), but Italian spaghetti would not be. (My intuition tells me that the Chief Justice would not find spaghetti to be street food. To my knowledge, no food truck within the Cart’s jurisdiction even sells spaghetti.) But are Asian noodles and Italian spaghetti so very different? My brother would explain that it’s the spirit of our “street food” test that separates Asian noodles from Italian spaghetti. He relies on this spirit to classify papaya salad as street food:

Green papaya salad is a tried-and-true street food which satisfies the spirit, if not each exact element, of our Eat Wonky test.

I find this answer highly unsatisfactory because my brother relies on a spirit that he has in the past rejected. When he disagreed with my analysis not so long ago in In re China Garden, he wrote:

My sister invokes the spirit of a law over its text . . . willfully overlooking the fact that laws have no spirits. This is indeed a sad day for legal reasoning, a travesty of justice, a flaunting of the rule of law, and a return to the basest form of judicial activism there is.

China Garden, 5 Catt. 1 (2012) (Jeremy, C.J., dissenting).

According to the wise Chief Justice, the spirit of a law is sufficient even if not every element is satisfied, but invoking the spirit of a law over its text is the basest form of judicial activism because laws have no spirits. There is a fine line here, indeed. And clearly, I have not figured out how to walk it, while it seems that my brother has. To me, it sounds like laws have no spirits — except when the Chief Justice says that they do. But this cannot be. I know a fine legal mind such as his has a better explanation for what appears to be a gross inconsistency in his thinking. I know it must, just must, be a matter of my limited understanding.

Because I do not understand why papaya salad (or drunken noodles) is street food and the Chief Justice does, I must go along with my brother’s conclusion today — but with the gravest, gravest doubts.

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.

At the invitation of a community group, I recently attended an event during which the caterers arranged to bring a Dippin’ Dots ice cream cart into the reception hall for the enjoyment of the guests gathered there. The question before us today is whether this Dippin’ Dots cart is within the Supreme Cart’s jurisdiction. May the Cart review its ice creams?

Dippin’ Dots

I. JURISDICTION

At first glance, it appears that our first jurisdictional decision, In re China Garden, 5 Catt. 1 (2012), resolves the matter easily. China Garden interpreted the term “mobile gastronomic enterprise” from our Rules of Procedure. Rule 1-2 states the following:

 The jurisdiction of the Cart shall extend 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.

In China Garden, we found that “mobile” modified both “gastronomic” and “enterprise.” In other words, not only must the food be mobile, but the establishment selling the food must be mobile too. Thus, we did not have jurisdiction over a pushcart that was operated inside a fixed, brick-and-mortar restaurant. Even though the food was mobile, the restaurant was not.

Although it may seem that the instant case – a pushcart inside an event hall – is nearly identical to a pushcart inside a restaurant, China Garden does not answer our question or end our analysis. The most obvious distinction between the two cases – a pushcart inside an unaffiliated event hall versus an affiliated restaurant – could very well be significant. While the pushcart in China Garden was not equipped to serve customers outside the restaurant, the Dippin’ Dot cart was not affiliated with the event hall and easily could have been moved to another indoor or outdoor venue. Indeed, that is its purpose. (For example, Smithsonian features outdoor Dippin’ Dots carts during the warmer months.) Thus, China Garden’s pushcart was merely an arm of its enterprise. On the other hand, the Dippin’ Dots cart was an enterprise of its own.

Even if this reasoning were not enough to push the Dippin’ Dots cart into our jurisdiction, there is another basis – a stronger one – to find that the Supreme Cart has jurisdiction in this case. Dippin’ Dots is distributed throughout the country; its ice creams are sold at various franchised locations. Currently, one of its franchisees is a food truck that operates in DC. We unquestionably have jurisdiction over this Dippin’ Dots truck. Does that jurisdiction extend to the Dippin’ Dots cart at issue in this case?

In our second jurisdictional decision, In re Pupatella, we denied jurisdiction to a brick-and-mortar restaurant that previously operated as a food cart, but “we [left] open the question of whether this court’s jurisdiction extends to a brick-and-mortar restaurant that concurrently operates a food cart.” 8 Catt. 4 (2012). Before we answer that question, today we are faced with an easier question. Does this court have jurisdiction over a pushcart affiliated with a food truck that is in our jurisdiction?

The answer, of course, is yes. The pushcart vends the same ice cream products as the food truck. A review of the cart’s ice cream is a review of the truck’s ice cream. The substance is the same, and the substance should trump the form. Justice is served with this result because Dippin’ Dots gets its day before the Supreme Cart and the reader gets a review of Dippin’ Dots’s ice cream products.

II. STREET FOOD

Ice cream is true street food. In re Sinplicity, 9 Catt. 3 (2012) (finding that ice cream is street food); see also In re Eat Wonky (The Whoopie Pie Case), 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”). Because ice cream is street food, this Supreme Cart presumes that Dippin’ Dots’s ice cream should be affirmed unless we can rebut this presumption. See In re Big Cheese, 6 Catt. 2 (2012).

 III. DIPPIN’ DOTS ORIGINAL DOTS ICE CREAM

Our reader has probably come across Dippin’ Dots at an amusement park, a stadium, or another venue that attracts a youthful crowd. A serving of Dippin’ Dots – billed as “the ice cream of the future” – consists of tiny beads of ice cream. Dippin’ Dots explains that the beads are “cryogenically frozen” and the flash frozen beads must be stored at 40 degrees below zero. The bead shape allows “[k]ids (of all ages) [to] actually play with their food.” I tasted two flavors of original dots ice cream: (1) cookies ‘n cream and (2) bubble gum.

Cookies ‘n Cream

Cookies ‘n cream is vanilla beads with pieces of Oreo cookies. It tasted like classic cookies ‘n cream, but the cream was not very creamy on the tongue, since the ice cream component was broken down into many little pieces. The vanilla flavor was not very strong either. When the beads hit my tongue, I felt the coldness of the beads more than I tasted any flavor from them. The flavor came mostly from the Oreo bits. Still, I enjoyed the cookies ‘n cream. It was a different kind of ice cream and it would not be my first choice, but it wasn’t bad and I’d eat it again if it were there, and I were there, and the day were a hot one.

Bubble Gum

Bubble gum is a mix of blue, red, and yellow bubble gum. When I ordered this, I was mistakenly told that the flavor was called “rainbow” and I was unaware of its true name. As soon as I tried a spoonful, I thought to myself, “This tastes like bubble gum.” So, Dippin’ Dots nailed the bubble gum flavor. Unfortunately, the flavor was too sugary sweet and artificial for me. One bite was enough. I imagine, however, that sweet-toothed kids would appreciate it. Like the cookies ‘n cream, the bubble gum was not a very creamy ice cream. When the leftover beads in my cup melted, what remained were puddles of what looked like thin, watery (as opposed to something thick and creamy) puddles of food coloring. I suspect that the choice of ice cream ingredients, in addition to the bead shape, contributed to the less than creamy ice cream product.

IV. CONCLUSION

Dippin’ Dots was fun to try. It would not top my list of favorite frozen treats, but the reasons boil down to my personal preference for a creamier ice cream and not to any “bad” aspects of Dippin’ Dots. Because Dippin’ Dots is true street food, this Cart presumes that it should be affirmed and the Cart cannot rebut the presumption. Therefore, the case is

AFFIRMED.

JEREMY, C.J., concurring.

My God, we agree.

Reporter’s Note: The concurring opinion was not included in the first publication and was added on October 24, 2012 due to the Chief Justice’s failure to meet the publication deadline. (Apparently it takes a long time to compose four words.)

We granted cartiorari to That Cheesecake Truck (“TCT”), the mobile extension of Sweetz Cheesecake, a brick-and-mortar bakery. Cheesecake is not the preferred dessert for me or the Chief Justice. I like ice cream, and the Chief Justice is unashamedly a pie guy. Still, we have high expectations for cheesecake. I grew up in the Great State of New York, where cheesecake is creamy but dense. The Chief Justice, who has family ties in New York, similarly appreciates a dense cheesecake. When we think of cheesecake, we think of Junior’s original cheesecake. Rich and smooth. Without the fuss of any fruity or nutty mix-ins. And most importantly: dense, dense, dense. We believe that we are not alone in requiring a dense cheesecake. (Otherwise the word “cheesecake” on restaurant menus would not so often be preceded by “New York Style,” no?) So, the big question: did TCT dish out a worthy cheesecake to please the New York-style palates of the Cart Justices?

That Cheesecake Truck

 I. STREET FOOD

First, we must address our Eat Wonky test for street food, as it determines where the burden of proof lies in this proceeding. 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). Baked goods are not street food. See Eat Wonky , 2 Catt. 5 (a whoopie pie is not street food); In re Dangerously Delicious Pies, 4 Catt. 4 (2011) (a pie slice is not street food); In re Sweetbites, 10 Catt. 1 (2012) (a cupcake is not street food). Because cheesecake is not street food, TCT is not entitled to the presumption that its cheesecake should be affirmed, and TCT’s cheesecake must prove on its own merits that it belongs on the street. In re Big Cheese, 6 Catt. 2 (2012).

II. PLAIN (VANILLA) CHEESECAKE

Plain Cheesecake

TCT offers individual 4-inch cheesecakes for $4 each. TCT’s menu features rotating flavors like White Chocolate Raspberry, Apple Crumb, and Marble Fudge, but we ordered a plain (vanilla) cheesecake. Just as scrambled eggs are the true test of a chef, plain cheesecake is the true test of a cheesecake baker. To answer the question posed earlier (did TCT dish out a worthy cheesecake to please the New York-style palates of the Cart Justices?), we must honestly say, “No, but yes.” Huh?

Allow me to explain in a sentence: TCT’s vanilla cheesecake was yummy, but it wasn’t cheesecake.

Now allow me to elaborate: The taste of TCT’s vanilla cheesecake was spot on – clean, light, and not too sweet. As for the textural composition of the cheesecake, the moistness was there. The creaminess was there, too. The smoothness was also there. But – and this is a big but – TCT’s version was not dense. Not even a little. Not at all. Instead, it was fluffy and airy. It felt more like a mousse than a cheesecake. The graham cracker base added to the mouthfeel confusion. The graham cracker crumble did not combine together to form a crust. It functioned more like a finely crushed topping, but on the bottom of the dessert rather than on the top.

So, no, TCT’s cheesecake did not satisfy our hunger for cheesecake. But that doesn’t mean that we didn’t enjoy TCT’s dessert. We did. As we said earlier, it was yummy. We gobbled it all up. So, yes, we liked it.

III. CONCLUSION

In the end, we have nothing bad to say about the dessert’s qualities; we just take issue with its name. It wasn’t a cheesecake. We don’t know what it was. The best we can do is offer a suggestion: If TCT were to flip the dessert over and serve it upside down, the dessert could more accurately be described as “Mousse with a Crumbled Graham Cracker Topping.” Less marketable perhaps (That Mousse with a Crumbled Graham Cracker Topping Truck?), but we’d happily get in line for it.

AFFIRMED in part and REMANDED in part to That Cheesecake Truck for revision.

JEREMY, C.J., concurring.

I absolutely concur in the conclusion of my sister’s opinion, but I must take issue with the path taken to reach it. We begin always with the text. The subject of interpretation here is the word “cheesecake,” or the concept of cheesecakeness. We must determine whether TCT’s “cheesecake” is, in fact, a “cheesecake” as that term is commonly understood.

Merriam-Webster offers two definitions for “cheesecake,” reproduced here:

(1) a dessert consisting of a creamy filling usually containing cheese baked in a pastry or pressed-crumb shell

(2) a photographic display of shapely and scantily clothed female figures – often used attributively – compare BEEFCAKE

We may safely discard the second definition, for it clearly has no relevance in this context. I have no doubt such a mobile enterprise would run afoul of several municipal ordinances. Even the most ardent textualist can agree that language is, to some degree, contextual. And so context leaves us with the first definition. TCT’s offering does meet this definition. But I would find this definition overly broad and so of little utility as it does not bother to define the all-important texture of cheesecake.

TCT may point to a 1995 treatise, which notes that “[t]he texture of any cheesecake can vary greatly—from light and airy to dense and rich to smooth and creamy.” A federal court may judicially notice a fact that is not subject to reasonable dispute because it (1) is generally known within the court’s jurisdiction; or (2) can be accurately and readily determined from sources whose accuracy cannot reasonably be questioned. In this case, we could not reasonably take judicial notice of a definition of cheesecake encompassing a so-called “light and airy” “cheesecake.” Fed. R. Evid. 201 (2011). This definition is subject to dispute and easily questioned and so must be rejected.

Another learned treatise, Wikipedia, notes that a so-called “New York-style” cheesecake “is rich and has a dense, smooth and creamy consistency.” Much as only New York-style pizza properly qualifies as “pizza,” I would find that only New York-style cheesecake qualifies as “cheesecake.” It would seem that, among gastronomic scholars, “New York-style” translates into common parlance as something akin to “good” or “true.” I would thus accept Wikipedia’s definition of a “good” and “true” cheesecake—that is, one that is “rich” and “dense.”

TCT’s offering, while delectable, was certainly not “rich” or “dense.” Therefore, I must find that it fails to meet the definition of “cheesecake” as understood by a reasonable person. Because there is a degree of false advertising in TCT’s calling its otherwise tasty offering “cheesecake,” I agree with my sister that we cannot fully affirm that offering.

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.

We granted cartiorari to Borinquen Lunch Box (“BLB”), a food truck that serves Puerto Rican cuisine. We were lured in by the indulgent description of the Tripletas, a sandwich (as the name indicates) with three types of meat — roasted pork, skirt steak, and ham — plus lettuce, tomatoes, and potato sticks. We review the Tripletas in a companion case, In re Borinquen Lunch Box (The Tripletas Case), 10 Catt. 3 (2012). In the instant case, we review a side dish. While we were standing in line to place our order, an item called alcapurrias caught the attention of our growling stomachs. BLB’s website describes alcapurrias as “beef-filled plantain fritters.”

Borinquen Lunch Box

I. STREET FOOD

We easily find that this side dish satisfies our Eat Wonky test for 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, 2 Catt. 5 (2011). If a dish qualifies as street food, then this Supreme Cart must affirm the dish, unless we rebut the presumption and show that the dish should not be served on the street. See In re Big Cheese, 6 Catt. 2 (2012). Alcapurrias, like other deep-fried finger foods (e.g., corn dogs, mozzarella sticks, onion rings, fried Oreos®, jalapeno poppers) are street food. We cannot rebut the presumption of affirmance; alcapurrias belong on the street.

II. ALCAPURRIA

Like other trucks on the street, BLB needs a little time to prepare each order, so BLB asks for your name when you place your order. This always causes a bit of a conundrum for us Justices. For the sake of order and fairness, we prefer to eat under a shroud of anonymity and so we often assume pseudonyms. On the day of our visit, the Chief Justice provided the name “George.” You can see where BLB wrote “George” on our takeaway bag. (I was “Barbara.” This was a little more subtle than the day when the Chief Justice was “Sonny” and I was “Cher.”) See also In re Bada Bing, 5 Catt. 2 (2012) (also providing a false name to preserve anonymity).

Alcapurria

To begin, we note that despite the use of the plural on BLB’s online menu (saying “Alcapurrias” and “fritters”), BLB only serves one fritter per order. The attentive reader might catch on to this from reading the menu on the side of BLB’s truck, which describes “alcapurrias” (plural) as “green banana fritter stuffed with beef” (singular) (emphasis added). I was not reading carefully that day, so I was disappointed when there was only one alcapurria in our bag.

The verdict? The alcapurria was good — not great, but most certainly not bad. The ground beef filling was seasoned mildly. The resulting flavor was tasty, but nothing too very far from what salt and pepper achieves. The plantain fritter was thick and chewy. It contributed little to the flavor; its job was to contain the meat filling, which it did rather nicely (it did not crumble and fall apart in the hands). Unsurprisingly, given its deep-fried nature, this side dish was on the heavy side. Not an everyday item, that is for sure.

Although the Cart ultimately affirms BLB’s alcapurria, we also suggest an improvement. The alcapurria had one taste (the ground beef) and one overall texture (the combined softness of the ground beef and doughy fritter). An accompanying condiment, such as a hot sauce, would do much to enhance the eating experience. A fruity sauce might even do. Although the Chief Justice and I are skeptical of fruit-based sauces, it has been done well. See In re El Floridano, 2 Catt. 2 (2011) (excellent use of spicy guava sauce).

III. CONCLUSION

At $3, BLB’s alcapurria is a decent snack or appetizer. Its flavor is not out of the ordinary or particularly striking — it could even be improved with a condiment to deepen the flavor. But it satisfies the stomach in the way that other deep-fried goodies tend to be satisfying: it’s hot, filling, greasy, and comforting.

AFFIRMED in part and REMANDED in part to Borinquen Lunch Box for revision.

JEREMY, C.J., concurring.

I concur in my sister’s relatively sound opinion. I would only note that, once again, she fails to first address the text before reaching her conclusion. She prefers instead, it would seem, to invoke spirit and assumptions, in the tradition of Church of the Holy Trinity v. United States, 143 U.S. 457 (1892). So it was in this Cart’s decision in In re China Garden, 5 Catt. 1 (2012), and so it is here. My sister notes that an order of alcapurrias was described as a “green banana fritter [singular] stuffed with beef” and yet expected multiple fritters. I will admit that there is some ambiguity in the text to be construed, but that ambiguity is easily resolved in favor of the singular. In her defense, she writes that she “was not reading carefully that day.” But I am beginning to notice a disturbing trend in my sister’s jurisprudence: under scrutiny, her process of interpretation crumbles like the ground beef filling of a green banana fritter. I concur, but I must note also my disapproval.

The Chief Justice’s law clerk – no doubt under the instructions of the Chief Justice – sent to my chambers a newspaper article called “Forget cupcakes — pies are hot.”[1] Knowing as I do of the Chief Justice’s well-documented love for pie and hatred for cupcakes, his message was clear. The Supreme Cart had recently granted a writ of cartiorari, sua sponte, to review Sweetbites, a mobile café that serves cupcakes, and he regretted it. Well, Mr. Chief Justice, too bad. You of all persons should be aware of Rule of Procedure 2-2(b), which states that no grant of cartiorari “shall be subject to appeal or further review by this or any other tribunal.” Therefore, cartiorari is granted to Sweetbites on the question of its red velvet cupcake.

I. Chief Justice’s Recusal

First, I begin by calling upon the Chief Justice to recuse himself in this case. I trust that he will do so without any objection. Under 28 USC § 455, “[a]ny justice, judge, or magistrate judge of the United States shall disqualify himself in any proceeding in which his impartiality might reasonably be questioned.” If he is tempted to sit for this case, I gently remind him of his words in In re Dangerously Delicious Pies, 4 Catt. 4 (2011), a case in which we reviewed a mobile maker of his most beloved dessert, the pie. He stated, “[S]hould the case of any cupcake truck come before this Cart, I vow now, given my severe aversion to cupcakeries, to recuse myself.” Id. Mr. Chief Justice, you may do so now.

The Chief Justice has gotten it into his head that I, too, should recuse myself. He cites the same case, Dangerously Delicious Pies, as his support. Particularly, he points to my concurring opinion:

I list here, in advance, the elements that I look for in a cupcake: 1) a moist cake; 2) a buttercream frosting (fondant icing will never do); 3) a good cake-frosting ratio; and 4) a comforting flavor, like red velvet or chocolate hazelnut.

Dangerously Delicious Pies, 4 Catt. 4 (Cattleya, J., concurring). The Chief Justice points to my words as evidence that my impartiality is in question. To that I say: Pfui! It will be obvious to the reader that my words do not reflect any personal bias or prejudice. Saying that I will judge a cupcake by the moistness of its cake, creaminess of its frosting, and deliciousness of its flavor is merely a very, very specific way of saying that I will judge the cupcake by the standards of justice and fairness.

The Chief Justice calls for my recusal on other grounds as well. He has accused me of having a personal relationship with the party to this case. He describes an incident that I do not deny. One day, many months before this Cart granted cartiorari to Sweetbites, I was walking by the Sweetbites truck, which was parked in a metered parking space. The owner, having spotted me as the person closest to her truck at that very moment, handed me a couple of quarters and asked me to put them in the parking meter for her. I did, as any good Samaritan would have done. This interaction, which lasted no more than a few seconds, did not create a personal relationship and does not impair my ability to hear this case. Therefore, I do not recuse myself.

Sweetbites

II. Street Food

Like other baked goods that have come before the Supreme Cart, Sweetbites’s cupcake is not street food. See Dangerously Delicious Pies, 4 Catt. 4; In re Eat Wonky (The Whoopie Pie Case), 2 Catt. 5 (2011). As we have stated time and time again, 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.” Eat Wonky, 2 Catt. 5. Because a cupcake is not street food, Sweetbites has the burden to prove that its cupcake belongs on the street. See In re Big Cheese, 6 Catt. 2 (2012).

III. Red Velvet Cupcake

Red Velvet Cupcake

Sweetbites describes its version of a red velvet cupcake as “extra smooth, extra rich and extra velvety, topped with luscious just-sweet-enough vanilla buttercream frosting.” Sweetbites does not lie. Its red velvet cupcake checked off all the boxes on my list:

1) A moist cake.

The cake was light and fluffy, and its freshness was evident. This cupcake did not come from a huge batch that was baked days and days ago and has been aging on a shelf.

2)  Buttercream frosting.

No fondant here! The sweet, creamy frosting was airy and balanced the rich flavor of the cake.

3) A good cake-frosting ratio.

The cake was topped with enough frosting that I couldn’t take a bite without getting a little smear of frosting on the tip of my nose. At the same time, there was not too much frosting; I did not feel like I  had gotten a serving of frosting with a small side of cake.

4) A comforting flavor, like red velvet.

Red velvet is a popular flavor at present. (Even IHOP has turned it into a pancake flavor. There’s also a brick-and-mortar cupcakery named Red Velvet in the area.) Sweetbites does not unnecessarily tinker with this tried and true flavor. It does the red velvet flavor faithfully, and it does it well.

IV. CONCLUSION

Sweetbites’s red velvet cupcake does not disappoint. At $3, it’s priced comparably with other mobile and immobile cupcakeries. Curbside Cupcakes (another cupcake truck) likewise charges $3 per cupcake, and Red Velvet (a brick-and-mortar bakery) charges a bit more at $3.25 per cupcake. Although $3 may seem like a high price for a small baked good, it’s worth it if you don’t want to bake your own batch of cupcakes and you’re just looking for a once-in-a-while treat.

AFFIRMED.

[1] The newspaper article appeared in the Los Angeles Times. Los Angeles, California is outside the Supreme Cart’s jurisdiction, which is limited to (a) Arlington, Virginia, (b) DC, and (c) Alexandria, Virginia. In addition, the article was published in the beginning of 2011, well over one year ago. For these reasons and others, the newspaper article was easily dismissed as unpersuasive and, in fact, completely irrelevant.

How does one go about judging one of those all-too-classic half-smoke-hot-dog-egg-roll-pizza trucks that line Independence and Constitution Avenues, gilding the frame of the Mall with their hand-painted yellow signs? How does one go about judging one of those grandmothers and grandfathers of the food-truck scene, one of those vessels of a fleet which once comprised the entirety of the food-truck scene?

Surely, one does not judge such an establishment by the same standards one would use for one of the new guard. One doesn’t say, for example, that its half-smoke is not nearly peppery enough, or, alternatively, that the pepperiness overpowers.

No.

Street Vendor near National Mall

One doesn’t say that its egg roll is too big, too greasy, too inauthentic an offering, too Americanized. No.

One doesn’t say that its service was found wanting or that the price of its fare was surprisingly low or unfairly high. No.

You accept the truck, respect the truck, revere it, as you would Antoine’s, Delmonico’s, the Union Oyster House, the Old Ebbitt Grill, Joe’s Stone Crab, or any of the timeless dinosaurs of other food scenes.

Half-Smoke

In this case, we must do just that, without needless argumentation.

Our jurisdiction is limited to the “mobile gastronomic enterprise.” But it is all too clear that that definition of our jurisdiction includes that enterprise now before us. Even Publius admitted as much in Federalist No. 78.

In a line of cases, we have established what constitutes “street food.” See, e.g., In re Eat Wonky (The Whoopie Pie Case), 2 Catt. 5 (2011). But we needn’t restate that test here. It is simply too clear that D.C.’s original, proven street food—the noble half-smoke and her friends—constitutes “street food,” however that phrase may be defined by this Cart. Indeed no definition of “street food” that did not consider the offerings of these mobile gastronomic enterprises could properly be adopted by this Cart.

Egg Roll

Finally, where a mobile gastronomic enterprise’s dish constitutes street food, we must affirm unless the presumption of affirmance is rebutted. In re Big Cheese, 6 Catt. 2 (2012). But, of course, we could never hope to meet the burden of proving otherwise, or deciding that the case could be remanded on the ordinary grounds. Justice and, I daresay, plain and simple propriety demand that a randomly-selected, Mall-adjacent, yellow-signed, half-smoke-hot-dog-egg-roll-pizza truck be, by this Cart, wholeheartedly

AFFIRMED.

CATTLEYA, J., concurring.

We must affirm unless this Cart is to reject a long-standing tradition of street food in the District of Columbia. The question is not whether the half-smoke and egg roll were good, but whether the half-smoke and egg roll are true street food. They are, and there is nothing more to consider.

We granted cartiorari to Sol Mexican Grill on the questions of three varieties of taco: (1) steak with red sauce (hot), (2) chicken with green sauce (medium), and (3) carnitas with red sauce, each ensconced in corn tortillas and paired with pico de gallo.

Ordering at Sol is a multistep process. First, you must choose (1) three tacos, (2) two burritos, or (3) one bowl. Each costs a reasonable $7.00. We opted for the first choice: three tacos. Second, you must choose your principal filling. We opted for one steak, one chicken, and one carnitas. Third, you must choose your toppings. We opted for pico de gallo in each taco, and paired the steak and carnitas with spicier red sauce and the chicken with the milder green sauce.

The ordering process was hectic, and service was somewhat lacking, but, as a general rule, I care very little about service if the product is decent. Sol’s product was at least decent, and so there will be no more discussion of service.

Sol Mexican Grill

As an initial matter, we must decide whether tacos are “street food,” which we have defined 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). If a mobile gastronomic enterprise’s dish constitutes street food, we must affirm unless the presumption of affirmance is rebutted. In re Big Cheese, 6 Catt. 2 (2012).

In a recent case, we found that the burrito is properly considered “street food.” In re Pedro and Vinny’s, 9 Catt. 2 (2012). A taco is, in some ways, a small burrito. Therefore, for the same reasons that burritos are street food, we find that a taco is also street food. Therefore, Sol’s tacos must be affirmed unless this Supreme Cart finds the presumption of affirmance to be rebutted. The Cart finds the presumption not to be rebutted and therefore affirms.

Corn tortilla tacos with steak, chicken, and carnitas

All three meats—steak, chicken, carnitas—were well cooked. The steak had a welcome chewiness without being tough. The chicken and especially the carnitas were tender, almost buttery. All meats were well seasoned and sufficiently flavorful, which is more than can be said for similar enterprises in the metroplex. Cf. In re TaKorean, 1 Catt. 4 (2011). You could certainly taste the meats through the sauces, pico de gallo, and corn tortillas, which, again, is more than can be said for other, similar enterprises. Cf. id.

Both sauces—the spicier red and the milder green—were flavorful. Both were rather simple sauces but by no means one-note. The red was spicy, but there was some flavor behind the heat. The green tasted fresh and herby. The red complemented the steak and carnitas, and the green complemented the chicken, adding flavor and complexity without overpowering the palate.

The pico de gallo, which we added to all three tacos, was a standard pico de gallo—tomatoes, onion, etc.—but tasted quite fresh. It paired nicely with all three tacos.

Sol is by no means unique or original or extraordinary. It does what it does—street tacos—fast and well without trying to reinvent the wheel and without unnecessary gimmicks or hype. For these reasons, we find that we cannot rebut the presumption of affirmance and therefore affirm Sol’s tacos.

AFFIRMED.

CATTLEYA, J., concurring.

I concur with my brother’s reasoning in this case. Indeed, Sol makes a decent taco. I tasted no major mistakes. The meats were prepared well, the pico de gallo was fresh, and the corn tortillas weren’t stale. If you’re craving tacos when your lunch hour hits, I recommend giving Sol a try. On the other hand, if you’re looking for a meal that will leave a memory behind, that will surprise your palate with something new and different, that will make you mentally add the meal’s maker to your “must-try foods” list . . . well, then you ought to keep walking when you spot Sol near the curb. Admittedly, there are not many gastronomic enterprises – mobile or immobile – that fit this bill. So, setting the bar a bit lower, if you’re just looking for a meal that will fill you up and keep you satisfied until dinner, Sol’s tacos aren’t for you.

On a sunny Spring afternoon, we granted cartiorari to Sinplicity under Rule of Procedure 2-2 by making a sua sponte appearance at its truck. Sinplicity is a maker of hand-crafted ice creams and sorbets. I have been very open about my love of frozen treats, and the Chief Justice was willing to try Sinplicity’s desserts, since they were not cupcakes. See In re Dangerously Delicious Pies, 4 Catt. 4 (2011) (Jeremy, C.J.) (“[S]hould the case of any cupcake truck come before this Cart, I vow now, given my severe aversion to cupcakeries, to recuse myself.”) Thus with no obstacles in our way, we lined up for Sinplicity’s artisan creations.

Sinplicity

 I. SINPLICITY

Sinplicity asserts that its ice creams are “sinply” different. It explains that it “pasteurize[s] [its] own ice cream mixes from fresh local dairy products.” Everything is “cooked entirely in house,” and there are “no compounds or extracts” in the recipes (except for a little vanilla extract). The mixes are made in a gelato machine. This results in a product that’s a mix between gelato and ice cream: gelato’s flavor and texture with ice cream’s high fat content.

Speaking of the fat content, Sinplicity does not hide the fact that it’s selling a treat. It bills its frozen creations as “special occasion stuff” and “self-indulgence territory.” It tells the eater that “you don’t want to know” the nutritional information. For those that really do want to know, Sinplicty provides calorie counts. Averaging its most popular flavors, Sinplicity’s website says that one scoop of ice cream is 290 calories (150 from fat) and one scoop of sorbet is 120 calories (0 from fat).

II. STREET FOOD

Under our common law, a presumption arises that the Supreme Cart must affirm any “street food” that comes off a food truck. 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). If a food truck’s offering constitutes street food, then we must affirm unless we can meet the burden to rebut the presumption. In re Big Cheese, 6 Catt. 2 (2012).

Ice creams and sorbets are street food. Although they’re usually scooped (not cooked) in front of you, and although they may be eaten with a spoon, they can be eaten while standing up. Not every prong of the Eat Wonky test must be strictly met, as the test “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 (The Hot People Dumplings Case), 6 Catt. 4 (2012). As further evidence that ice cream is true street food, we note that mobile food trucks in the District of Columbia currently operate according to a 35-year-old law intended for ice cream trucks. Thus, historically, ice cream has been sold and eaten on the street.

Because ice creams and sorbets are street food, we must affirm Sinplicity’s frozen treats unless we rebut the preumption of affirmance. We “sinply” cannot meet this burden.

III. REVIEW

In the name of justice, we Justices put our prepare-for-summer diets aside and ordered two scoops (one ice cream flavor, and one sorbet flavor) for $5. We chose (1) Cappuccino Crunch ice cream with Chocolate Covered Almonds and Amaretto and (2) Lemon-Ginger Sorbet with Spiced Jamaican Rum. These flavors are from Sinplicity’s classic, “always available” menu. Not all of Sinplicity’s flavors include alcohol, but a good many of them do (apparently alcohol softens the ice creams). Unexpectedly, we found that Sinplicity serves its frozen creations with a piece of biscotti.

Cappuccino Crunch Ice Cream & Lemon-Ginger Sorbet

Sinplicity’s Cappuccino Crunch ice cream was worth the calories and fat. Although I am not a coffee drinker, I enjoy coffee-based desserts. The espresso flavor was strong and addicting. The kick of amaretto was not shy and added a little bitterness. The result was a flavorful taste that was not overly sweet. The chocolate covered almonds provided a crunchy nibble to break up the softness. Texturally, the ice cream was thick and creamy. Even as I neared the bottom of the cup, the ice cream held up and did not melt into a messy puddle.

The Lemon-Ginger sorbet was excellent and came with less guilt for the waistline. Texturally, the sorbet was more creamy than icy. The ginger spice was added in perfectly. It was neither too strong nor overpowering in flavor against the lemon. The rum added a pleasing zing. The overall flavor was refreshing and worked well as a post-lunch palate cleanser.

The biscotti was a nice addition. It was plain—no fussy nuts or spices. However, it by no means lacked flavor. This was a case where simple was better. The biscotti had a very buttery taste and reminded me of shortbread. The texture was what one would expect from a twice-baked biscuit. It was hard and crunchy, and it required the use of my side teeth to bite into it. The crunchy biscotti made the experience of eating Sinplicity’s frozen creations even better.

IV. CONCLUSION

Sinplicity was a real treat to eat under the sun on a warm afternoon. The flavors were thoughtfully developed and perfectly executed. I could practically taste the care that went into the making. I was happy to become a “Sinner” that day. I’m even happier that Sinplicity has a “Frequent Sinner” card (buy ten, and get one free). I’ll be back again when I deserve to enter “self-indulgence territory” for some “special occasion stuff.”

AFFIRMED.

JEREMY, C.J., concurring.

I concur heartily in my sister’s cogent opinion. Sinplicity is indeed a tasty treat for a balmy D.C. day; sin has never been so sinfully delicious. I have but one question not answered at oral argument: Is “Cappuccino Crunch” (read: “Cap . . . n . . . Crunch”) a thinly veiled reference to that delightful childhood treat, Cap’n Crunch? If so, I approve, even despite my strong preference for Count Chocula and his bat-shaped marshmallows.

To achieve greater justice in the matter before the Cart, my brother and I visited Pedro and Vinny’s (P&V) on separate occasions. Ever mindful that a food cart’s quality can vary from day to day, we wanted to minimize a Cart opinion based on an unusually bad day or an unusually good day.

My visit took place one afternoon when I spotted the burrito cart on the sidewalk across the street from Chipotle in Ballston. P&V has two carts run by a father-and-daughter team. The father, John, operates the first cart on K Street in DC. The daughter, Kristin, set up the second cart for a time in Ballston, but she recently moved to a new location in Crystal City. I had heard about the burrito cart from my new law clerk, who informed me that P&V’s vegetarian burrito had been named one of the best burritos in the country last year.

Although I am not a vegetarian, I somehow usually walk out of Chipotle with a rice, cheese, and sour cream burrito. As no stranger to a meatless (not to mention beanless) burrito, I figured a visit to P&V for a vegetarian burrito would be a nice change of pace.

Pedro and Vinny’s

I. THE CUSTOMER EXPERIENCE

Upon my arrival, I learned that P&V had added chicken to the menu, but I stuck to my vegetarian plan. Ordering a burrito from P&V involved quite a few decisions. Kristin walked me through the steps:

1. There’s the choice of tortilla—flour, wheat, tomato, spinach.
2. Cheese or no cheese? (Kristin needed to know this first in order to warm up the tortilla and melt the cheese. The cheese is a cheddar-jack mix.)
3. Then there’s the size: small, medium, large? (The medium and large come with rice.)
4. Chicken—yes or no?
5. Black beans, pinto beans, or both (a.k.a. “black & tan”).
6. Pico de gallo? Sour cream? Guacamole?
7. What kind of hot sauce—fruity or non-fruity? how hot?

I opted for a medium burrito: flour tortilla with cheese, black & tan beans, pico de gallo, sour cream, and guacamole. After sampling a few sauces and getting some recommendations from Kristin, I chose a cilantro habanero over a mango sauce. Given my aversion to cilantro, see In re Salt and Pepper Grill, 6 Catt. 1 (2012), this might come as a surprise, but less so if one considers that I also share my brother’s aversion to fruity sauces, see In re El Floridano, 2 Catt. 2 (2011). My law clerk later informed me that in P&V speak, my burrito order should have sounded something like “flour, cheese, black & tan, with everything, spice level 7, non-fruity.”

Making the burrito

To assemble the burrito, Kristin placed the tortilla on a round pizza tray; piled rice, beans, and pico de gallo down the middle; and then used a spatula to spread smears of sour cream and guacamole, one to the right and the other to the left. Hot sauce was drizzled on top before it was all rolled together.

As Kristin wrapped up my burrito in foil, she told me to drop my $20 bill into a Tory Burch shoe box and to “help myself to change.” This was the first honor-system style of payment that I’ve come across during my term as a Cart Justice, and I applaud it (since the hands handling the food should not also be handling the money). A medium vegetarian burrito with guacamole came out to $6.25. Next to the Tory Burch shoebox was a box of complimentary York Peppermint Patties. I always appreciate food carts and trucks that throw in a little sweet. See, e.g., In re Hot People Food, 6 Catt. 4 (2012) (providing a piece of guava-flavored hard candy).

II. STREET FOOD

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 (The Whoopie Pie Case), 2 Catt. 5 (2011). If a food cart’s dish constitutes street food, then this Supreme Cart must affirm unless we can meet the burden to rebut the presumption of affirmance. In re Big Cheese, 6 Catt. 2 (2012).

This Cart finds that a burrito is street food for the same reasons that sandwiches are street food. See In re Red Hook Lobster Pound (The Shrimp Roll Case), 9 Catt. 1 (2012); In re Willie’s Po Boy, 7 Catt. 4 (2012); In re NY Famous Kabob, 7 Catt. 3 (2012); In re Rolling Ficelle, 6 Catt. 3 (2012); Big Cheese, 6 Catt. 2. Therefore, P&V’s burrito  must be affirmed unless this Supreme Cart can meet the burden to rebut the presumption afforded to street food. This Cart rebuts the presumption of affirmance.

III. VEGETARIAN BURRITO WITH GUACAMOLE

Vegetarian Burrito with Guacamole

When Kristin handed me the burrito, I immediately appreciated the weight. A P&V burrito—even the medium size—is pretty large. The weight promised a very filling lunch. Unfortunately, although I was full after eating my burrito, I was not completely satisfied with the meal.

The burrito was not tightly wrapped, so guacamole, pico de gallo, and beans oozed out. It made for messy eating.

Some bites of the burrito were quite tasty, but most were bland. The rice and beans were mushy and lacked flavor. On the other hand, the guacamole and sour cream were fresh and delicious. Bites that included these toppings were enjoyable, but since they were smeared on the sides of the tortilla (rather than in the middle), not every bite included them.

Finally, I couldn’t taste the hot sauce. Several more splashes would have gone a long way towards adding a flavorful kick.

Towards the last few bites, all that remained of my burrito was a sloppy mix of flavorless rice and beans. Very occasionally I am met with a meal that, despite my dislike of wasting food, just isn’t worth finishing. This was such an occasion. See also In re Dangerously Delicious Pies, 4 Catt. 4 (2011); In re Sâuçá, 4 Catt. 3 (2011); In re CapMac (The Classic CapMac’n Cheese Case), 1 Catt. 1 (2011).

IV. CONCLUSION

At P&V, I got a filling burrito at an affordable price from a food cart that strives to provide a good customer experience. Although P&V used fresh ingredients, the finished product was disappointing. Perhaps, after hearing about USA Today’s “best burrito” review, I approached P&V with hopes that were too high.

REMANDED to Pedro and Vinny’s for revision.

Pupatella is a Neapolitan pizzeria and friggitoria located in Arlington, VA. It is a brick-and-mortar restaurant. However, Pupatella started out as a pizza cart in the Ballston neighborhood. The issue before this Supreme Cart is whether the court has jurisdiction over a brick-and-mortar restaurant that was once a food cart.

The Judiciary Act of 2011 (Cartiorari Act) grants the Supreme Cart “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.”

Rule of Procedure 1-2 explains that the Cart’s 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.”

On their face, these provisions do not provide a clear answer to the question before the court. No explicit temporal limitations are to be found in the words of our guiding legislation or rules. Neither does our case law provide a clear answer. Our first jurisdictional opinion, In re China Garden, 5 Catt. 1 (2012), involved a food cart that was currently in operation. We were not asked to determine whether we had jurisdiction over a defunct food cart that now operates as a brick-and-mortar restaurant. So does this Supreme Cart have jurisdiction over all food carts now operating in our region, or over any food cart that at some point operated in our region?

Pupatella

This Cart does not have jurisdiction over a brick-and-mortar restaurant that once operated as a food cart. This is an issue of timing. For this Cart to exercise judicial power over the case of a food cart, the case must not be moot. This means that the food cart in question must be in operation during all stages of the Cart’s review. If a food cart is not in operation when its case comes before the court, then there are no culinary offerings for this Cart to eat and judge.

But what if the brick-and-mortar restaurant serves the same culinary offerings as it did when it operated as a food cart? Would the Cart not then have something to eat and judge? The answer is that this would not change the answer. The former food cart, now brick-and-mortar restaurant could not be reviewed by this Cart.

Even assuming that Pupatella serves the same pizzas with the same ingredients and the same styles of preparation as it did when it was a food cart, the resulting slices would not necessarily be the same. For example, it is conceivable that one could get a warmer and gooey-er pizza slice if it arrived to one’s table at a brick-and-mortar restaurant a few seconds after coming out of a 1000-degree, wood-fired oven. If food prepared in the same truck can be different from day to day, see, e.g., In re Bada Bing, 5 Catt. 2 (2012), then surely food served off a food truck can be different from its reincarnation in a brick-and-mortar restaurant.

Pizza Classica

Today, we hold that the jurisdiction of this Supreme Cart does not extend to a brick-and-mortar restaurant that previously operated as a food cart. Pupatella is outside this court’s jurisdiction, and we may not review its dishes. However, we leave open the question of whether this court’s jurisdiction extends to a brick-and-mortar restaurant that concurrently operates a food cart. We note that there are several such businesses in the region. For example, Sâuçá has a food truck, District Taco has a food cart, District of Pi has a food truck, and Amorini Panini has a food truck. This is a question for another day.

DISMISSED.

JEREMY, C.J., dissenting.

Once again, as in China Garden, my sister’s cramped and arbitrary interpretation serves only to “remove[] from our jurisdiction an entire class of cases and controversies that now may find no tribunal in which to be heard.” Such interpretation can go by one name only: judicial activism. To say it smacks of Lochner is no exaggeration.

As my sister writes, the Judiciary Act of 2011 (Cartiorari Act) grants the Supreme Cart “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.” Rule of Procedure 1-2 explains that 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.”

My sister writes that “[t]oday, we hold that the jurisdiction of this Supreme Cart does not extend to a brick-and-mortar restuarant that previously operated as a food cart” (emphasis added). She specifically leaves open the question of whether the Cart’s jurisdiction “extends to a brick-and-mortar restaurant that concurrently operates a food cart” (emphasis in original). She states that this is “a question for another day.”

I am afraid my sister is badly mistaken. This is precisely the question before the Cart today. I would interpret the phrases “transitory alimentary establishment” and “mobile gastronomic enterprise” to include those establishments and enterprises which operate food carts, trucks, etc., even should they also purvey their offerings from immobile, brick-and-mortar structures.

Having so concluded, I feel I must conclude further that Pupatella—though it now operates only from an immobile, brick-and-mortar structure—comes within our jurisdiction. Because we would have had jurisdiction over its truck while it was still extant, it follows that we have continuing jurisdiction over the brick-and-mortar structure operated as part of the same “establishment” or “enterprise.”

My sister inserts some vague notion of “temporality” into the texts of the Cartiorari Act and Rule of Procedure 1-2. Perhaps my vision fails me, but I see no explicit phrase, either in the text of the Cartiorari Act or in that of Rule of Procedure 1-2, that would serve to limit the extent of our jurisdiction on the basis of time. It is a guiding principle of this Cart, as it is with the other federal courts, that, had Congress wished to so limit the extent of our jurisdiction, it would have done so explicitly. See, e.g., Hamdan v. Rumsfeld, 548 U.S. 557 (2006). Accordingly, I would hold that, because jurisdiction would clearly have been established had this case come before us at an earlier time, this Cart continues to have jurisdiction, irrespective of uncertain and supposedly implied notions of “temporality.” Instead of dismissing, I would thus proceed to judgment. Sadly, my sister’s decision for the Cart artificially precludes, at least for the time being, our further consideration of this case of significant importance. This is a sad day for Justice, indeed.

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.

Before us is Hot People Food (“HPF”), a food truck the serves, um, “Hot People Food.” This Cart has already determined that “Hot People Food” is “‘people food’ that is ‘hot’ in terms of spicing, temperature, excitement, or any combination of the above.” In re Hot People Food (The Hot People Dumplings Case), 6 Catt. 4 (2012). “Hot People Food” is most probably “hot” in terms of spicing, as HPF spices its food to the particular diner’s tastes. On HPF’s recommendation, we ordered the Hot Grab Lunch Box with Sassy Chicken. In addition to the meat entrée, the Hot Grab Lunch Box comes with miso soup, rice, vegetables, and half of a so-called “GolDDen Egg.”

I. STREET FOOD

This Cart has determined 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.” In re Eat Wonky, 2 Catt. 5 (2011). We conclude that the Hot Grab Lunch Box, like other platters of meat, vegetables, and rice, is not street food. See, e.g., In re Salt and Pepper Grill, 6 Catt. 1 (2012). Therefore, no presumption arises that HPF’s Sassy Chicken should be affirmed. See In re Big Cheese, 6 Catt. 2 (2012) (“[W]here an offering is deemed to constitute ‘street food,’ a presumption arises that the case should be affirmed. That is, the MGE has made out its prima facie case and the burden of proof lies entirely with the Supreme Cart to prove that the case should be remanded to the MGE for revision.”).

II. HOT GRAB LUNCH BOX: SASSY CHICKEN

As this Cart very often does, each element of the Hot Grab Lunch Box will be addressed in turn. See, e.g., In re Takorean, 1 Catt. 4 (2011).

Sassy Chicken

A. Sassy Chicken.

The “Sassy Chicken” name itself doesn’t indicate how HPF prepares the meat and HPF doesn’t provide a description of the dish, so we weren’t sure what to expect. What makes chicken sassy? It turns out that the answer is soy sauce, fennel, and ginger.

First, the good news: The Sassy Chicken was moist. This is no small feat. Not all food trucks have avoided the trap of dry chicken. See In re Bada Bing, 5 Catt. 2 (2012).

Now, the bad news: The Sassy Chicken was not sassy at all. It was bland, and despite the “Hot People Food” name, it didn’t have even a hint of spice. For those diners seeking heat, HPF drizzles Sriracha sauce over the Sassy Chicken. As much as I love Sriracha sauce and believe a bottle should be stocked in every American kitchen, even it could not make the Sassy Chicken more exciting. I would have preferred if the spiciness came more from a marinade and less from a condiment, but perhaps that is not possible when one is trying to cater to all spice preferences.

B. Miso soup.

My opinion of HPF’s miso soup on this second tasting was the same as it was on the first. See In re Hot People Food (The Hot People Dumplings Case), 6 Catt. 4 (2012) (Cattleya, J., concurring). It was a nice addition, but it was standard miso soup and nothing out of the ordinary. The only comment that I have to add is that this time, my bowl of miso soup was only half full. I suspect that HPF is less generous with the serving size towards the end of the lunch service, when its food stocks are running low.

C. Rice.

HPF’s default rice is steamed. On some days, HPF also offers fried rice. I was lucky enough to show up on such a day. The fried rice was good, but like the miso soup, it was standard Chinese food fare.

D. Vegetables.

The Hot Grab Lunch Box came with a side of steamed broccoli. Beneath the Sassy Chicken, there were more vegetables in the form of carrots and potatoes. (This raises the question: Are potatoes vegetables?) These vegetables, assuming that they are all vegetables, allowed me to tell my mother later that day that, yes, I had eaten my vegetables. Which is to say that they were good, but nothing special.

E. GolDDen Egg.

A “GolDDen Egg” is a hard-boiled egg that is steeped in tea. Tea eggs are common street food in Asia. They are also street food under out Eat Wonky test because a tea egg “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). For this reason, this Cart presumes that HPF’s GolDDen Egg should be affirmed (even though the Sassy Chicken entrée did not merit this presumption). I cannot meet the burden to rebut the presumption because I found HPF’s egg to be quite tasty. So tasty, in fact, that based on my enjoyment of half of one piece, I will probably get the appetizer portion of two pieces on a future visit.

III. CONCLUSION

At $7.99 plus tax, HPF’s Hot Grab Lunch Box is a lot of food. The diner gets a large portion of meat, plus miso soup, rice, vegetables, and half of a tea egg. On top of that, HPF throws in a piece of delicious guava hard candy to finish off the meal.

Nothing in the Hot Grab Lunch Box was bad. One thing was quite good (GolDDen Egg). Some things were standard (miso soup; rice). One thing could have been much better (Sassy Chicken). Overall, the meal left a mediocre taste in my mouth.

For the reasons stated above, the Hot Grab Lunch Box with Sassy Chicken is

AFFIRMED in part and REMANDED in part to Hot People Food for revision.

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

“The issue is, what is [sassy] chicken?” See Frigaliment Importing Co. v. B.N.S. Int’l Sales Corp., 190 F. Supp. 116 (S.D.N.Y. 1960). As my sister rightly points out, “[t]he ‘Sassy Chicken’ name itself doesn’t indicate how HPF prepared the meat and HPF doesn’t provide a description of the dish . . . .” The opinion of the Cart finds that HPF’s Sassy Chicken is chicken marinated in a blend of “soy sauce, fennel, and ginger,” with a drizzle of Sriracha. However, upon ordering Sassy Chicken on a separate occasion from my sister, I was presented with battered and deep-fried chicken bits in a sticky sweet-and-sour sauce. Therefore, though I agree generally with the result of the Cart’s decision, I must find that HPF’s Sassy Chicken, far from a chicken marinated in a savory blend of herbs and spices, is instead battered, deep-fried, and coated in a markedly different gastrique.

I agree heartily with my sister’s assessment of HPF’s GolDDen Egg. (Get it? Double-D . . .)

(Further, I was presented with white rice and bok choy instead of fried rice and broccoli, but that is largely immaterial.)

However, though I agree generally with the result of the opinion of the Cart, I feel I must voice my disapproval on a certain matter of considerable import.

I am shocked, shocked, by my sister’s apparent willingness to cast aside sound precedent. The concept of stare decisis is foundational in any common law system of adjudication. It is “usually the wise policy, because in most matters it is more important that the applicable rule of law be settled than that it be settled right.” Burnet v. Coronado Oil & Gas Co., 285 U.S. 393, 406-407, 410 (1932) (Brandeis, J., dissenting).

I thought it well settled law that a potato is, indeed, a “vegetable.” Therefore, my sister’s eagerness to reopen that question—to ask, as she does, “[a]re potatoes vegetables?”—is perturbing, to say the least.

In a seminal case of the United States Supreme Court, it was determined that a tomato is a “vegetable.” Nix v. Hedden, 149 U.S. 304 (1893). In that case, the Court wrote:

Botanically speaking, tomatoes are the fruit of a vine, just as are cucumbers, squashes, beans, and peas. But in the common language of the people, whether sellers or consumers of provisions, all these are vegetables which are grown in kitchen gardens, and which, whether eaten cooked or raw, are, like potatoes, carrots, parsnips, turnips, beets, cauliflower, cabbage, celery, and lettuce, usually served at dinner in, with, or after the soup, fish, or meats which constitute the principal part of the repast, and not, like fruits generally, as dessert.

Id. (emphasis added). And thus, in passing on the question of the tomato, that venerable body passed also on the question of the potato.

Now, my sister may object that such is merely obiter dicta. But, from Nix, the now settled legal test for whether a plant is, for culinary purposes, a “fruit” or a “vegetable” rests on whether the plant is “usually served at dinner in, with, or after the soup, fish, or meats which constitute the principal part of the repast” or whether the plant is served “like fruits generally, as dessert.” While I am aware that the potato may be employed in a dessert, it is common knowledge that it most often served with “the principal part of the repast.” Indeed, it is so with HPF’s Sassy Chicken meal. Thus, as far as this Cart is concerned, there can be no question but that a potato is, in fact, a “vegetable.”

Instead, I would treat my sister’s question as dicta. It is simply too late in time to reopen discussion of the inherent vegetableness of the potato.

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.

Cartiorari was granted in this case on the question of Hot People Food’s (“HPF”) Hot People Dumplings. Today, I am faced with many important questions. There is, of course, the question of the Hot People Dumplings themselves. But before I may reach the substance of the matter, I am confronted with an interpretive question of constitutional proportions.

(N.B.: The first part of this decision is rather legalistic. If you are interested solely in a review of HPF’s Hot People Dumplings, click here to jump to Parts II and III of this opinion.)

I. “HOT PEOPLE FOOD”

As Publius wrote, “[w]hen the Almighty himself condescends to address mankind in their own language, his meaning, luminous as it must be, is rendered dim and doubtful, by the cloudy medium through which it is communicated.” THE FEDERALIST No. 37 (Alexander Hamilton). And as Justice Holmes so wisely proclaimed, “[a] word is not a crystal, transparent and unchanged, it is the skin of a living thought and may vary greatly in color and content according to the circumstances and the time in which it is used.” Towne v. Eisner, 245 U.S. 418, 425 (1918). In other words, language is a somewhat imperfect medium for communication. It is thus not surprising that the Cart is called upon once more to interpret an ambiguous text. See In re China Garden, 5 Catt. 1 (2012).

Hot People Food

In this case, the truck’s name, “Hot People Food,” can, of course, be interpreted in myriad different ways, chief among them:

1. [[Hot People] Food], that is “food” that is intended for people who are (a) “hot” in terms of physical attraction, or (b) “hot” in terms of perceived or actual body temperature;
2. [[Hot People] Food], that is “food” that is prepared by people who are (a) “hot” in terms of physical attraction, or (b) “hot” in terms of perceived or actual body temperature; or
3. [Hot [People Food]], that is “people food” that is either (a) “hot” in terms of temperature, (b) “hot” in terms of spicing, or (c) “hot” in terms of excitement, as in: “Though time hadn’t dragged too heavily, what with talking and eating and drinking and three hot games of checkers between Wolfe and Saul, all draws, we were yawning.” Rex Stout, The Next Witness, in THREE WITNESSES 55 (1955).

“Hot People Food” may also be interpreted to mean warm and/or spicy Soylent Green, or Soylent Green made solely from warm, feverish, or attractive people, but, as a matter of policy, we of the Supreme Cart do not presume a mobile gastronomic enterprise (“MGE”) to deal in cannibalistic fair unless confronted with clear and convincing evidence.

There are, of course, other interpretations, too, due to the extensive polysemy of the term “hot.” “Hot” may also signify “stolen,” as in “I’ve got some ‘hot phones’ at the moment if you want to buy one cheap.” Urban Dictionary, hot, http://www.urbandictionary.com/define.php?term=hot (as of Jan. 29, 2012, 16:13 GMT) (emphasis added). But as a matter of policy, we of the Supreme Cart do not presume a MGE offerings to be stolen unless confronted with clear and convincing evidence of illicit activity.

At base, then, I am confronted with a choice between [[Hot People] Food] and [Hot [People Food]]. As I explain, I must, as a matter of law and constitutional principle, conclude that “Hot People Food” references the latter.

The most convincing evidence for the interpretation [[Hot People] Food] comes from HPF’s own Facebook page, which contains the following:

And as far as the name? Yes, “hot” does refer to the people in Arlington.

“I thought in this downtown, everybody’s hot,” Liao. “No matter what you do, everybody’s hot.”

Facebook, Hot People Food, http://www.facebook.com/HOTPEOPLEFOOD (as of Jan. 29, 2012, 16:58 GMT). This would seem to end at once the interpretive quandary. However, while an MGE’s interpretation of its own name may be entitled to some deference, its interpretation cannot be controlling. It is, after all, “emphatically the province of this Cart . . . ‘to say what the law is.’” In re Seoul Food, 3 Catt. 2 (2011) (quoting Marbury v. Madison, 5 U.S. (1 Cranch) 137 (1803)).

To interpret a mobile gastronomic enterprise’s name, I today adopt the legal tests and holdings of the following line of Supreme Court cases: Skidmore v. Swift & Co., 323 U.S. 134 (1944); Chevron U.S.A, Inc. v. Natural Resources Defense Council, Inc., 467 U.S. 837 (1984); and Christensen v. Harris County, 529 U.S. 576 (2000).

Therefore, under our jurisprudence, where an MGE announces its interpretation of an ambiguous text informally, it is subject only to some deference under Skidmore. But where an MGE announces its interpretation of an ambiguous text more formally, its interpretation shall be binding upon this Cart under Chevron, so long as the text is ambiguous and the construction given it permissible. Cf. Christensen v. Harris County, 529 U.S. 576 (2000).

In this case, HPF announced its interpretation on its Facebook page. I conclude that Facebook, like Twitter and an MGE’s own website, constitutes a place of “formal” pronouncement. Not only is Facebook public and official, it also allows for public commenting. Therefore, I pass to the two-step Chevron analysis.

Under Chevron, a court first determines “whether Congress has spoken directly to the precise question at issue. If the intent of Congress is clear, that is the end of the matter; for the court as well as the agency must give effect to the unambiguously expressed intent of Congress.” Chevron U.S.A. v. NRDC, 467 U.S. 837, 842–843 (1984). In this case, of course, we deal with Arlington County, in the Commonwealth of Virginia, and thus not with any Act of Congress. But because Arlington County must license an MGE, and therefore acquiesce to its chosen name, before the MGE may operate on the County’s streets, we attribute the naming of a truck to the County itself.

If the Cart determines that the name of the MGE is “silent or ambiguous with respect to the specific question,” the Cart “does not simply impose its own construction,” but rather determines whether “the [MGE’s] answer is based on a permissible construction of the [MGE’s name].” Id.

I have already answered the first inquiry. Yes, HPF’s name is ambiguous in that many differing meanings may be attributed to it. And so, I may pass safely to the second inquiry, that is, whether HPF’s interpretation, as announced formally on its Facebook page, is a “permissible construction.” I conclude that it is not.

In his concurrence in Ashwander v. TVA, 297 U.S. 288 (1936), Justice Brandeis articulated seven prudent rules guiding application of the doctrine of constitutional avoidance. The seventh of those, culled from the Court’s earlier decision in Crowell v. Benson, 285 U.S. 22 (1932), states that “[w]hen the validity of an act of the Congress is drawn in question, and even if a serious doubt of constitutionality is raised, it is a cardinal principle that this Court will first ascertain whether a construction of the statute is fairly possible by which the question may be avoided.” I hereby adopt this sound doctrine as the law of this Cart and apply it in this case. I hold also that a MGE, which may only operate at the acquiescence of a public enterprise subject to the dictates of the Constitution, is likewise bound by this doctrine of constitutional avoidance.

In this case, interpreting “Hot People Food” to signify “food” for “hot people” would raise serious constitutional questions under the Fourteenth Amendment. The Fourteenth Amendment states, in relevant part, that no State (or, in this case, Commonwealth) shall “deny to any person within its jurisdiction the equal protection of the laws.” Either interpretation along the lines of [hot people [food]]—that is food prepared by or intended for only “hot” people—raises serious constitutional questions. This Cart has not yet decided whether “hotness,” in terms of body warmth but especially in terms of attractiveness, constitutes a suspect or quasi-suspect classification under the Equal Protection Clause, and, in this context, where the question may be altogether avoided, I refuse to do so. The MGE, held to this same doctrine of constitutional avoidance, should also have so refused.

I therefore find that the only prudent and permissible interpretation of “Hot People Food” is “people food” that is “hot” in terms of spicing, temperature, excitement, or any combination of the above. That question resolved, I may pass to substantive review of HPF’s Hot People Dumplings.

II. HOT PEOPLE DUMPLINGS

HPF’s “Hot People Dumplings” come in either of two varieties: (1) chicken and mushroom, or (2) pork and corn. (I shall call the latter “porn” dumplings in keeping with HPF’s naming practices: Pleasure Chips, Sassy Chicken, Bikini Beef, Pork Belly Dancer, Naked Vegetable with Tofu, Sexy Roll, Saucy Stick, and GolDDen Egg.) An order consists of fourteen dumplings and is accompanied by a small tub of soy or soy-vinegar sauce and a large cup of miso soup, for which one is charged a reasonable $7.99. I ordered half chicken and mushroom and half porn. I also ordered lychee juice, which I turn to in Subpart C below.

A. “Street Food”

First, under our analysis, I must address our test for “street food” first announced in In re Eat Wonky, 2 Catt. 5 (2011). In Eat Wonky, my sister wrote 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.”

In this case, Hot People Dumplings are served with a fork and thus do not fully satisfy our “street food” test (though they could easily and cleanly be eaten with one’s fingers). However, dumplings are, in fact, a traditional street food in East Asia, and, despite the inclusion of a fork, are easily eaten on the street while standing upright. I therefore hold that our Eat Wonky test 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. Here, despite the inclusion of a fork, I find that HPF’s Hot People Dumplings indeed constitute “street food.”

Because HPF’s Hot People Dumplings constitute “street food,” we may presume that the case should be affirmed. That is, the MGE has made out its prima facie case that its dish should be affirmed, and so the burden of proving that the case should be remanded lies with the Supreme Cart. See In re Big Cheese, 6 Catt. 2 (2012). In this case, I find that presumption not to be rebutted here and thus affirm HPF’s Hot People Dumplings.

B. Dumplings

I now turn to the dumplings themselves. The two dumplings, steamed, tasted rather similar (except for the obvious and welcome addition of corn kernels in the porn dumplings), and so I consider both varieties together. There are two principal considerations: (1) the dumpling skin, and (2) the filling. I consider each in turn.

Skin. The clearly MGE-made dumpling skins were excellent: chewy and firm enough as to offer good mouthfeel, but not so chewy and firm as to overly strain one’s jaw. The skins lent themselves beautifully to steaming.

Filling. The fillings were mild in flavor but were indeed quite good. The unexpected corn kernels in the porn dumplings lent a nice sweetness and texture. The meat held up admirably to steaming and did not fall apart upon eating.

The only recommendation I might have is the addition of some sort of spice to the sauce, perhaps chili oil, but that is my own predilection and in no way detracts from the enjoyment or authenticity of the HPF experience.

C. Other Considerations

I am already prepared to affirm HPF’s Hot People Dumplings. However, several other considerations in HPF’s favor bear mentioning.

Lychee Juice. Along with the Hot People Dumplings, I ordered a can of lychee juice. Lychee is one of my favorite flavors in the international gastronome. I thus applaud HPF’s inclusion of lychee juice among its offerings.

Change. With the dumplings, lychee juice, and tax, my total came to a little over $10.00. I paid with a $20.00 bill. I thus expected $9.00 in change and some coins. I expected a $5.00 bill, four singles, and some coins. Instead, I received a $5.00, two $2.00 bills, and some coins. It is rare that one encounters the $2.00 bill, perhaps the nicest bill we have. I perhaps have some special affinity for the $2.00 given my period as a student at Mr. Jefferson’s University. I thus appreciate the novelty. Moreover, only that morning I had been discussing the rarity of the $2.00 with a clerk in my chambers. The serendipity of it all was exhilarating.

Service. I am usually not one to comment on service. In fact, as I have stated before, I often find that the best restaurants are those with long waits and terrible service. See In re El Floridano, 2 Catt. 2 (2011). However, at times especially good service is worth noting. See In re Doug the Food Dude, 5 Catt. 3 (2012). HPF’s service was gracious, generous, and an all around pleasure.

Acumen. HPF’s Facebook page notes that the MGE’s co-owners are recent high school graduates. Color me impressed.

III. CONCLUSION

It is therefore with pleasure that HPF’s Hot People Dumplings are

AFFIRMED.

CATTLEYA, J., concurring in part.

I concur in Parts I, II.A, and III of the Cart’s opinion.

I concur in Part II.B of the Cart’s opinion only to the extent that it relates to HPF’s pork and corn dumplings. I liked these dumplings—but in the way that I like cheap Chinese food. Nothing fancy or out of the ordinary, but good nevertheless. I believe that the reader should disregard the Cart’s opinion on HPF’s chicken and mushroom dumplings, as I have, because HPF no longer sells chicken and mushroom dumplings.

I take no part in Part II.C of the Cart’s opinion because, inter alia, 1) I did not taste the canned lychee juice, as I prefer fresh lychees; and 2) I did not get any $2.00 bills back when I paid with a $20.00 bill.

I write separately to emphasize the completeness of HPF’s meal. I mean this in two ways. First, the dumplings were very filling because HPF portions out fourteen (yes, fourteen!) pieces. Second, HPF serves its dumplings with a bowl of miso soup and throws a piece of guava hard candy into the diner’s takeaway bag. Thus, I felt like I had a three-course meal. Although the quality of HPF’s miso soup was typical of any Japanese restaurant, it was nice to have as a starter. And I appreciated the guava hard candy, as it sweetened my palate at the end of the meal.

Hot People Dumplings

Finally, I would like to note that HPF offered me a sample of the fried version of their pork and corn dumpling. It was excellent. Because the dumpling skin was not too thick, it came out crispy and light. A full fourteen-piece order of HPF’s fried dumplings would be a delicious and indulgent treat. (With steamed and fried dumplings, HPF could be on its way to becoming a go-to dumpling truck. Now if only HPF would add soup dumplings to its menu . . .)

We granted cartiorari to Bada Bing (“BB”) under Rule of Procedure 2-4(a), according to the petition of Anonymous. BB is a food truck that serves “sangwiches” in the form of cheesesteaks and spiedies. We assume the reader knows what a cheesesteak is. (And if not, we assume the reader can figure it out based on the two separate words that make up the one combined word.) But what, the reader rightfully asks, is a spiedie? BB explains as follows:

The name “Spiedie” derives from the Italian word “Spiedini”, which refers to anything cooked on a skewer.

Okay. So, then how does one order a spiedie? BB answers that, too.

1. Choose Chicken or Pork.
2. Choose Salad or Hoagie
3. Choose O.G. (plain) or Gourmet (choose a gourmet spiedie type)

Following these rules, we stepped up to BB’s window and said: “One, chicken; two, hoagie; and three, OG.” Translated, this means that we ordered a chicken O.G. spiedie sangweech ($6.50).

Bada Bing

BB needs a few minutes to prepare each order, so the truck personnel asks for your name, which is then called out when your lunch is ready. Because order and justice demand our anonymity, I called myself Alice that day. (Unfortunately, I momentarily forgot that I was Alice when my spiedie was done. “Oh, that’s right, I’m Alice,” I said as I reached for my spiedie.)

BB’s chicken O.G. spiedie consists of two elements: 1) the hoagie roll; and 2) the chicken. There is not much to say about the hoagie roll other than it was soft and not stale. There is more to say about the chicken, but not all of what we have to say is good. (This undoubtedly will result in fewer reads of this particular opinion, but order and justice demand our honesty, too.)

Chicken O.G. Spiedie

BB explains that its meat is “marinated in a blend of olive oil, vinegar, and [I]talian herbs and spices.” This part was done very well.  BB’s chicken was packed with flavor. BB also says that its meat is “charbroiled over an open flame.” This part was not done so well. Our chicken was overcooked and dry. Perhaps we would not have noticed the dry chicken if we had ordered a gourmet spiedie instead of a plain spiedie. But ingredients like chipotle mayo, blue cheese, and ginger glaze should not be used to mask dry meat. The meat should have held up on its own. Because it did not, the case is remanded in part to BB for revision.

As my brother’s dissenting opinion notes, we made four visits to BB — three by the Chief Justice and one by this lowly Associate Justice (who, unlike the Chief Justice, was not asked to appear before the Senate Judiciary Committee). During the conference that occurred after our individual eating experiences, my brother agreed that BB’s chicken was dry. Then after our conference, he took it upon himself to taste BB’s chicken O.G. spiedie again . . . and then again. Although nothing in our Rules precludes this, I am offended that he did not invite me. (In all honesty, however, based on my sampling, I most likely would have declined his invitation if he had been polite enough to extend one.) I now learn from my brother’s dissenting opinion that he found BB’s chicken to be moist. I am very glad for the Chief Justice, for the chicken, and for BB. However, the fact remains that BB’s chicken was moist on only two of four occasions. To affirm BB’s chicken O.G. spiedie, this Cart must demand a consistently moist chicken.

AFFIRMED in part and REMANDED in part to Bada Bing for revision.

Appendix I

Food aside, BB should be recognized for its truck’s thoughtful features.

First, BB explains how to pronounce “spiedie.”

Then it takes your order from one window while you are treated to delightful sounds from exterior speakers.

Finally, BB delivers your order from another window. Also, conveniently located near that window are plastic bags for you to pack your food if you need to walk to another eating location.

JEREMY, C.J., dissenting.

First, I would like to thank BB for blaring “Eh, Cumpari!” while I waited for my chicken O.G. spiedie. Julius La Rosa exemplifies a time when music was music. (Arthur Godfrey, on the other hand, like the law, is a ass—a idiot.)

Second, I feel I must add to the gastronomic history lesson offered by my sister “Alice.” (“‘It is a stupid name enough!’ Humpty Dumpty interrupted impatiently.'”) My clerks inform me that the spiedie (/’spi:di/) is a Binghamton staple. (N.B.: My sister continues to inquire after my clerks. Given the current state of the legal job market, she should have no trouble finding a suitable clerk or two of her own.) All I had ever known of Binghamton is that it lies on the Susquehanna, that it boasts a SUNY, and, most importantly, that it is the Carousel Capital of the World. I had never known that Binghamton was so large and distinctive a metropolis as to possess its own cuisine. But there you have it. We ordered BB’s chicken O.G. spiedie because, my clerks inform me, that is how it is eaten in Binghamton.

In the end, though, I must part ways with my dear sister Alice’s finding as to the dryness of BB’s meat. While she writes “our” and “we,” she speaks for herself. I was pleasantly surprised at the quality of BB’s chicken. Granted we sampled it separately, on different days, due to the demands of my appearing before the Senate Judiciary Committee to discuss certain suggested changes to our Rules of Procedure. In fact, unlike my sister Alice, I sampled BB’s chicken O.G. spiedie on three separate occasions. Based on the first taste, I had initially voted in conference as my sister Alice so decides in her opinion. But based on my second and third samples, I would fully affirm, without any partial remand. The chicken was as moist and flavorful as any chicken I’ve had.

Appendix II

China Garden (“CG”) is not a food truck. It is a restaurant in Rosslyn, VA. On Saturdays and Sundays, it serves dim sum “by cart to your table.” The sole issue before this Cart is whether CG falls within our jurisdiction and therefore may be reviewed by the Justices.

Rule of Procedure 1-2 provides the following:

The jurisdiction of the Cart shall extend 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.

For this Cart to have jurisdiction over CG, three separate elements must be met. First, CG must be a “mobile gastronomic enterprise[].” Second, CG must be located in Arlington, Alexandria, or DC. Third, CG must be “reasonably proximate” to the metro or other form of public transportation.

The second and third elements are easily met. CG is located on Wilson Boulevard in the Twin Towers building. There is no serious question that CG is “situated [in] the county of Arlington, Virginia.” Furthermore, CG is “reasonably proximate to public transportation.” According to Google Maps, CG is a mere 5-minute walk from the Rosslyn metro station. (It is debatable whether the metro is “of a reasonably rapid and efficient character,” especially on the weekends when track maintenance is being performed. However, this does not destroy CG’s reasonably proximate situation to public transportation.)

Dim Sum Cart

The first element requires more analysis. Is CG a “mobile gastronomic enterprise”? CG qualifies as an “enterprise,” since a restaurant is a form of a business organization. Moreover, CG is “gastronomic” in nature. As a provider of dim sum and other Chinese dishes, CG is related to the activity of eating. So, the question is, is CG “mobile”? Although CG’s restaurant is not mobile (given that it’s fixed in a large office building), CG’s dim sum is mobile. After all, the dim sum travels to the diner’s table via pushcarts. Is this the type of mobility that Congress envisioned? The answer, of course, is no. Congress did not intend for this Cart’s jurisdiction to extend to intra-restaurant mobility. Otherwise, would it not then extend to food that traveled within a restaurant on a tray upon a waiter’s arm? Would it not also extend to sushi delivered by a conveyer belt within a restaurant? Where, oh where, would our jurisdiction ever end? Because it would not, and because it must, the use of pushcarts cannot push CG into this Cart’s jurisdiction. Therefore, we are unable to consider the merits of China Garden’s dim sum, yummy as it may have been.

Finally, I will address my brother’s points. He is absolutely correct to scold me for turning to our Rules of Procedure before the Judiciary Act of 2011 (Cartiorari Act). I have no excuse for this horrific oversight. (I will say, though, that perhaps if Congress had authorized an appropriations bill allowing this Associate Justice to also have law clerks, a diligent legal mind could have caught my mistake. But, alas, as it is now, the Chief Justice has multiple clerks while I have none. Reader, take note that I am trying to employ a clerk at my own expense and am still accepting applications. See In re Sâuçá, 4 Catt. 3 (2011).)

It is no matter, for I can discuss the Cartiorari Act now. This statute grants the Supreme Cart “exclusive jurisdiction of all food carts, trucks, and other transitory alimentary establishments.” In part, my brother uses the canon of ejusdem generis to interpret this statutory language. Under ejusdem generis, when Congress lists specific things and then refers to them more generally, the general statement is limited to the same type of things specifically listed. However, the appropriate canon of construction here is noscitur a sociis. Under this canon, terms in a statute should be clarified by the other words in the same statute. Therefore, the meaning of “food carts [and] trucks” is made clear by the words that follow them: “transitory alimentary establishments.” A food cart is not within our jurisdiction simply because it is a food cart; it must also be an establishment. An establishment is a place of business, something that is settled or somewhat permanent. (My law clerk will add a citation for this definition once I hire him/her. The Chief Justice’s clerks undoubtedly are the source of the many citations in his dissenting opinion.) CG’s pushcart is not an establishment. It is a mere vehicle. Therefore, according to our statute, it falls outside our jurisdiction.

My brother complains that my interpretation “removes from our jurisdiction an entire class of cases and controversies that now may find no tribunal in which to be heard.” In re China Garden, 5 Catt. 1 (2012) (Jeremy, C.J., dissenting). Sir, if Congress so desires to have a tribunal for pushcarts, it may create one. Pushcarts have no place in this tribunal.

DISMISSED.

JEREMY, C.J., dissenting.

My sister turns first to a Rule of Procedure of this Supreme Cart to define the scope of our jurisdiction. Were that a reasonable place to begin, even an unlawful Rule of Procedure would be a reasonable place to start and this Cart could effectively define the scope of its own jurisdiction. Instead, we must begin always with the text. Not with the text of a Rule of our own creation, but with the Act of Congress by which this august body exists.

Section 2 of the Judiciary Act of 2011 (Cartiorari Act) states that “the Supreme Cart shall have 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 this Congress assembled in the year of our Lord 1847.” It is from this phrase, “food carts, trucks, and other transitory alimentary establishments,” that our own term “mobile gastronomic enterprise” derives its meaning.

My sister concedes that CG’s dim sum travels to the diner’s table by cart, a means of conveyance clearly authorized by the plain meaning of our organic statute, and yet concludes that such carts are without our jurisdiction. My sister so concludes by looking to congressional intent. (Oddly, she looks to the congressional intent behind a Rule of Procedure of this Cart.) But as we know, “[a] legislature certainly has no intention whatever in connection with words which some two or three men drafted, which a considerable number rejected, and in regard to which many of the approving majority might have had, and often demonstrably did have, different ideas and beliefs.” Max Radin, Statutory Interpretation, 43 HARV. L. REV. 863, 870 (1930). That is, there is no readily discernible disembodied congressional “intent.” As Justice Scalia has put it, “[w]e look for a sort of ‘objectified’ intent—the intent that a reasonable person would gather from the text of the law, placed alongside the remainder of the corpus juris.” Antonin Scalia, Common-Law Courts in a Civil-Law System: The Role of United States Federal Courts in Interpreting the Constitution and Laws, in A MATTER OF INTERPRETATION: FEDERAL COURTS AND THE LAW 17 (Amy Gutmann ed., 1997). She looks to congressional purpose, forgetting that “[t]here is, of course, no more persuasive evidence of the purpose of a statute than the words by which the legislature undertook to give expression to its wishes.” United States v. Am. Trucking Assns., Inc., 310 U.S. 534, 543 (1940). The intent and purpose of Congress, if such exists at all, is best found in the plain text of the rules Congress enacts, and not in the pragmatic musings of a wayward judiciary trotting out a parade of horribles it presumes would result from an application of the statute’s plain meaning. I remind my sister, that where the meaning of a statute is plain, we must apply its plain meaning to the case before us. See, e.g., Caminetti v. United States, 242 U.S. 470 (1917).

My sister looks to a Rule of Procedure over the text of our guiding statute. Were she to look at the statutory text, she would quickly learn that her ad absurdum argument is itself absurd. She asks, “would [the Cart’s jurisdiction] not then extend to food that traveled within a restaurant on a tray upon a waiter’s arm,” without explaining how this means of transport could fit within the statutory category “food carts, trucks, and other transitory alimentary establishments.” The term “other transitory alimentary establishments” is easily limited to non-human vehicles through the canon of ejusdem generis. See, e.g., Circuit City Stores, Inc. v. Adams, 532 U.S. 105 (2001).

In this case, we look to the plain meaning of the word “cart.” Johnson defines a cart as “[t]he vehicle in which criminals are carried to execution,” which clearly has no relevance in this case or we would be a dismal tribunal indeed. The word is defined more broadly as “[a] carriage in general.” We are also directed to “car,” under which we find the following definition: “In poetical language, any vehicle of dignity or splendour . . . .” Would my sister deny that CG’s heaping “pushcarts,” piled high with har gau, shaomai, char siu bao, jin deui, and especially egg custard tarts are indeed “vehicle[s] of dignity or splendour”? I should think not. Turning to a more modern source, Merriam-Webster defines a “cart” as “a small wheeled vehicle.” Would she deny that CG’s carts are “small wheeled vehicle[s]”? Again, I should think not. Applying the plain meaning of the statute, we therefore find that CG’s carts are “carts” and are thus well within the scope of our jurisdiction.

But even were I to engage in my sister’s spurious mode of interpretation, see generally Roscoe Pound, Spurious Interpretation, 7 COLUM. L. REV. 379 (1907), focused as it is on an acontextual analysis of a term of our own invention, I would still find CG to be within our jurisdiction. My sister finds “mobile” to modify “enterprise,” such that the enterprise itself must be mobile. But why does she not interpret “mobile” to modify “gastronomic,” such that so long as the food arrives by an unusual mode of transport, it is within our purview? My sister might contend, again, that this would extend the term’s meaning so far as to include a mere waiter’s arm. But we must, if possible, “give effect to every clause and word” of the Rule. See United States v. Menasche, 348 U.S. 528 (1955) (quoting Township of Montclair v. Ramsdell, 107 U.S. 147 (1883)). To interpret “mobile gastronomic enterprise” to extend to any enterprise in which food is moved from Point A to Point B, to include even a mere waiter’s arm, would be to eviscerate the regulatory term, emptying it of all real significance. Instead, I would interpret it to include only those enterprises whose allure lies in the mobility of its gastronomy (e.g., dim sum). Admittedly, this might include conveyor belt sushi (though I myself prefer sushi boats), but it certainly would not include a mere waiter’s arm.

In this case, my sister removes from our jurisdiction an entire class of cases and controversies that now may find no tribunal in which to be heard. My sister invokes the spirit of a law over its text, in the spirit of Holy Trinity, willfully overlooking the fact that laws have no spirits. This is indeed a sad day for legal reasoning, a travesty of justice, a flaunting of the rule of law, and a return to the basest form of judicial activism there is.

I have waited a long time to try Dangerously Delicious Pies. I have quite a thing for pies, which may, perhaps, rival my affinity for duck. Twice now, I have approached the truck only to have it drive away before I could procure any baked good. At Truckeroo last, we were finally able to hail Dangerously Delicious Pies (“DDP”) before this Cart for deliberation. We limit our grant of cartiorari to the question of DDP’s blackberry pie.

Dangerously Delicious Pies

I had wanted to begin my review with a Twin Peaks reference. Or rather a Twin Beaks reference, for those acquainted with the collected works of one Alistair Cookie. “Darn fine pie,” I had so wanted to say. But, alas, I find myself unable to do so.

DDP’s blackberry pie was not terrible. I could have finished it, and mostly enjoyed each bite, but it tasted like any pie I could purchase from Safeway or Giant. Both the thin top crust (the bottom crust was non-existent) and the blackberry filling tasted, in a word, old. Granted we tasted the pie near the end of an all-day event, which may be the cause of this taste of antiquity. Cf. In re PORC, 4 Catt. 1 (2011). (If time permits, I may grant reconsideration in this case of my own motion, to determine whether a lunchtime pie provides a more pleasurable experience.)

Blackberry Pie

In the end, I am led to believe this may be one more instance in which food that satisfies the Eat Wonky test (i.e., true 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”) is simply better suited to “mobile gastronomic enterprises.” See In re Eat Wonky, 2 Catt. 5 (2011). Cf. PORC, 4 Catt. 1; In re Hula Girl, 3 Catt. 7 (2011). Baked goods are made elsewhere and simply transported to a curbside, having no direct reliance on curbside preparation, and thus fail our Eat Wonky test. This is true for pie trucks and likely also for cupcake trucks. (But should the case of any cupcake truck come before this Cart, I vow now, given my severe aversion to cupcakeries, to recuse myself. It will be for my sister to determine whether this supposition is borne out by reality.)

REMANDED to Dangerously Delicious Pies for revision.

CATTLEYA, J., concurring.

I concur. While it should come as no surprise to the devoted reader that I prefer pie a la mode, I so wanted to like DDP’s blackberry pie. Unfortunately, for the reasons stated in the Cart’s opinion, I did not. What’s even more unfortunate is that this blackberry pie will be remembered as the third dish we Cart Justices did not finish. See In re CapMac, 1 Catt. 1 (2011); In re Sâuçá, 4 Catt. 3 (2011) (Cattleya, J., concurring). At $6.50, it was not the worst waste of money, but a waste it still was. Cf. Sâuçá, 4 Catt. 3 ($8 of unfinished food).

Finally, I want to take a moment to declare that, yes, I will answer my brother’s cupcake call. Although cupcakes do not, at first glance, appear to meet the Eat Wonky street food test, see In re Eat Wonky, 2 Catt. 5 (2011), I am willing to sample this dessert for the sake of justice. I list here, in advance, the elements that I look for in a cupcake: 1) a moist cake; 2) a buttercream frosting (fondant icing will never do); 3) a good cake-frosting ratio; and 4) a comforting flavor, like red velvet or chocolate hazelnut.

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.

Holy duck! A duck truck, or something approaching it: a “mobile gastronomic enterprise” purveying a “Gin [and] Juniper Duck Sausage,” described as a “hunter style sausage on mixed greens, w[ith] balsamic reduction.” This truck, which has so won my admiration from its mere inclusion of a duck dish, is Purveyors of Rolling Cuisine (“PORC”), an establishment specializing in “all things meat.” The presence of duck required that we grant cartiorari in this case. A chorus of mutterings of “duck sausage,” “duck sausage!,” “duck sausage?” behind us as we waited to order only confirmed the soundness of our grant.

I begin with a matter of judicial conduct. Followers of the opinions of this Supreme Cart may recall that in an early case, my sister began her opinion by addressing a certain “distasteful matter,” namely my “severe” love for lamb, which my colleague thought necessitated my recusal. See Metro Halal Food v. Tasty Kabob, 1 Catt. 2 (2011). She has since reiterated this belief and took what she supposed to be remedial action in an outwardly unlawful manner. See In re Tasty Kabob, 3 Catt. 4 (2011). I have time and time again refused to recuse myself merely because I am a devotee of lamb. See In re Ali Khan Express, 3 Catt. 5 (2011); Metro Halal Food, 1 Catt. 2 (2011) (Jeremy, C.J., concurring). In Metro Halal Food, I did note that “lamb ranks only second in my hierarchy of preferred proteins. Well behind duck, in fact, for which my love and admiration is indeed ‘severe.’” Metro Halal Food, 1 Catt. 2 (2011) (Jeremy, C.J., concurring) (emphasis in original). Pertinently, I noted that a “duck truck” would “present a far better case for my colleague’s argument [that I recuse myself due to severity of love for a particular food product].” Id. In this case, while not confronted with a “duck truck” per se, we are indeed confronted with a duck offering. Still, as I said I would in Metro Halal, I once more refuse to recuse myself. See id.

My sister has twice reiterated her belief that truck food should be 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); In re Hula Girl, 3 Catt. 7 (2011) (citing Eat Wonky, 2 Catt. 5). I concurred in both cases. I hereby more explicitly note my approval of this logic and of this definition. PORC’s gin and juniper duck sausage passes muster (mustard?) under our Eat Wonky test. It is a playful take on that most American of street foods—the hot dog—and perhaps a nod in particular to that most Washingtonian of street foods: the half-smoke.

PORC: Purveyors of Rolling Cuisine

In the following sections, I analyze each aspect of the sausage separately.

Casing. The first thing one notices about a sausage is its casing. PORC’s casing is spectacular. It is perhaps one of the finest casings I have encountered anywhere, within or without our subject-matter or geographic jurisdiction. As my teeth bit into it, a loud snap was heard, like a dam bursting, unleashing a few airborne globules of moisture, one of which may or may not have reached the cheek of the stranger to my left.

Preparation. The sausage was perfectly grilled, which lent an attractive sheen to the spectacular casing and preserved its spectacle. While I enjoy a decent boiled half-smoke from one of the city’s original mobile gastronomic enterprises, topped with mustard and sauerkraut (the half-smoke, not the truck), on a cold DC day, there is something special about a sausage that is grilled instead.

Texture. The texture of the sausage is what most reminds me of a half-smoke. The meat is ground much more coarsely than a traditional street hot dog, such that each bite differs ever so slightly from the one that precedes it.

Taste. The taste of the sausage on its own is decent, but not overwhelming. The flavor of duck is not immediately obvious, and, more importantly, the sausage is not as heavily spiced as I might have expected. I was prepared to grant a partial remand on this point, but once I tried the sausage together with the mixed greens and balsamic reduction below it, the taste of the sausage suddenly made sense. The two complement each other beautifully. The bun in which the two sit is of the right texture and consistency to absorb the reduction and balance out the other two components. (The bun was a bit dry, but given that we tried the dish toward the end of a long day of Truckeroo, I’m willing to overlook this point.)

Cole Slaw. The dish also comes with a side of mayonnaise-less cole slaw, which, I must say, was among the most interesting of cole slaws I’ve tasted. It tasted almost of ground mustard seed. It had a lovely, bright acidity. It was never too sweet, as many cole slaws are. Added to the top of the sausage and the mixed greens and the bun, it made for quite a delicious bite. A nod to sauerkraut, perhaps. (Without actually calling it sauerkraut. Doing so would be as egregious as calling a raw-cabbage slaw “kimchi-style.” Cf. In re TaKorean, 1 Catt. 4 (2011). It is well known how such nomenclature irks the Justices of this Cart.)

Gin & Juniper Duck Sausage

I’m not sure if this dish is part of PORC’s regular repertoire, or whether it is trotted out only at special events. If the latter, I recommend that it become the former. Not only because it is duck, and my love for duck is indeed “severe,” but because it is quite a good dish in its own right.

AFFIRMED.

CATTLEYA, J., concurring.

Despite my brother’s devotion to duck, he has tasted PORC’s duck sausage with a just and fair tongue. This was $7 very well spent.

We granted cartiorari to Hula Girl (“HG”) under Rule of Procedure 2-4(a), according to the petition of NotDeansPolsby. Hula Girl is a food truck “bringing a taste of the Hawaiian Islands to DC.” Is there a food product that’s more Hawaiian than spam? This Cart thinks not, and so today we review HG’s version of the Hawaiian staple called spam musubi. (For a brief history on spam in Hawaii, which dates back to World War II, see, e.g., Hawaii’s Love Affair with Canned Item Continues, Associated Press (Feb. 22, 2009)).

Hula Girl

In In re Eat Wonky, 2 Catt. 5 (2011), this Cart explained that street food “can be cooked in front of you” and is “meant to be eaten with your hands, without forks, while standing up.” Spam musubi meets this three-part definition. First, spam musubi — fried spam and vinegared white rice wrapped in nori — can be made on the spot, on a truck. (Despite this possibility, HG most likely makes its spam musubi ahead of time to facilitate quicker service. If so, this is a business decision that does not affect whether a food is in fact “street” in nature.) Second, one eats spam musubi with one’s hands. One is not supposed to use a fork, knife, spork, or any other eating utensil. Finally, spam musubi can be eaten on the go. It is neither messy nor complicated. One need only bring it close to one’s mouth, bite, and chew. Therefore, spam musubi satisfies the three-prong Eat Wonky test; it is the kind of food that should come off a truck.

Spam Musubi

Having determined that spam musubi is a proper street food, this Cart can recommend HG’s spam musubi without hesitation. The spam slices were salty, as one expects spam to be, and yet they were not too salty. The generous portion of vinegared rice balanced the spam very nicely. And the seaweed wrap was perfect — not tough or chewy. Although the spam musubi was gone in less than three minutes, it was a simple and satisfying snack.

Bottom line: Looking for an afternoon snack? Line up for HG’s spam musubi, and look no more. Not only is it a yummy, filling treat, but it’s relatively cheap, too! At $3, it’s the lowest-priced item that the Justices of this Cart have sampled so far. Cf. In re International Grill, 3 Catt. 6 (2011) ($5 meal).

AFFIRMED.

JEREMY, C.J., concurring.

I share my sister’s enthusiasm for HG’s spam musubi. I have little to add and write only to note that HG’s spam was of the highest quality.

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?

Eat Wonky (“EW”) bills itself as the “mischievous cousin” that “you’re not quite sure what he’s going to do next.” Apparently, mischievous cousins serve up poutine and whoopie pies. We have already reviewed EW’s poutine, a.k.a. Wonky Fries™. See In re Eat Wonky, 2 Catt. 4 (2011). We now turn to EW’s whoopie pie.

The Justices of this Cart may not have the best palates to review a whoopie pie. The Chief Justice much prefers pie to cake. However, a whoopie pie, despite its name, is not a pie at all. (In our view, pies are defined by their flaky pastry crust.) For my part, I much prefer cupcakes to whoopie pies. But we would not be Justices if we could not put our personal tastes aside, and so we review this confusingly-named dessert for our reader.

EW offers whoopie pies in assorted flavors for $3 each. Unfortunately, you don’t get to choose your flavor; you just get whatever EW gives you. And when EW gives you a whoopie pie, you’re not really getting a whoopie pie from EW. EW’s whoopie pies are actually made by Virginia-based Sweet Ladies Bakery (“SLB”).

Whoopie Pie

(When EW handed me a whoopie pie—pre-prepared and prepackaged—it struck me that food trucks often sell restaurant/bakery food on the street, rather than street food on the street. 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. The way that it’s done in the Philippines, Turkey, Thailand, and Hong Kong, just to name a few places. So while the Chief Justice waits for his duck truck, see Metro Halal Food v. Tasty Kabob, 1 Catt. 2 (2011) (Jeremy, C.J., concurring), I’ll wait for my true street food truck.)

According to SLB’s website, it offers whoopie pies in five flavors: chocolate, lemon, vanilla, banana, and peanut butter. There are also six different cream fillings: vanilla, peanut butter, blackberry, coconut, raspberry, and hazelnut. On our visit, we were handed a chocolate whoopie pie with a vanilla cream filling. Or was it a raspberry cream filling?

Vanilla and raspberry are two flavors that are not easily confused. I know that vanilla tastes like, well, vanilla, and raspberry tastes like, well, raspberry. To be clear, I don’t mean to suggest that the vanilla filling tasted like raspberry, or vice versa. Rather, the flavor—whether it was vanilla or raspberry (or something else entirely)—got lost when paired with the stronger flavor of the surrounding chocolate cake. This was not a problem of proportions. There was enough cream filling between the cake pieces. It’s just that the filling was quiet whereas the chocolate screamed.

I liked the loud, chocolatey flavor of the cake. It was the kind that made you remember why chocolate is an addiction. The cake also had the right density: not too dense, but dense enough to serve its cookie-esque function. Plus, it wasn’t dry. I say “wasn’t dry” instead of “moist” on purpose. While the cake was not dry, it was just a smidge away from being on the wrong side of the moist/dry line.

Another reviewer has declared EW’s whoopie pie to be the best. Because we have not sampled all the whoopie pies within our jurisdiction, I cannot say whether EW’s (SLB’s, really) version is in fact the best over all other efforts. All I can say is that it was good.

AFFIRMED in part and REMANDED in part to Eat Wonky for revision.

Many years ago now, a decade or more, on a cold, misty day, in a squat diner on a forlorn stretch of highway in Clare, Nova Scotia, in the heart of Acadia, I first tasted poutine, that iconically French Canadian conglomeration of crisp fries, fresh curds, and savory gravy. The concoction passed my lips, caressed my palate, and I stopped, mid-chew, fork suspended in the space between the plate and my mouth. “An exquisite pleasure had invaded my senses, something isolated, detached, with no suggestion of its origin. And at once the vicissitudes of life had become indifferent to me, its disasters innocuous, its brevity illusory . . . I had ceased now to feel mediocre, contingent, mortal.” Marcel Proust, 1 Remembrance of Things Past 48 (C.K. Scott Moncrieff & Terence Kilmartin trans. 1913). Though entirely new to me, there was something immediately familiar about poutine. Universal comfort food, I suppose.

Clare, Nova Scotia

Several years would pass before I once more crossed into Francophone Canada and poutine again graced my palate, this time on a crisp mid-May day at a gray stone structure on the Rue de la Commune along the Saint Lawrence in Vieux-Montréal. Again, the same sensation I had felt in Clare rumbled through my bones like some icy breeze off the Bay of Fundy. With each crunch of fry, with each cognizance of duck fat, with each squeak of cheese curd, and with each taste of beef gravy, the vicissitudes of life once more became indifferent to me, its disasters innocuous, its brevity illusory. At that particular moment, a moment of seemingly infinite proportions, my world was little more than a basket of moistened fries, a plastic fork, a picnic table, a park, and a crisp mid-May day along the Saint Lawrence in Vieux-Montréal.

Vieux-Montréal

O, gentle reader, excuse, if you will, my descent into gonzo judging. As I have said before, we should strive for something higher, for objectivity, in the pages of these reports. See In re DC Empanadas, 1 Catt. 3 (2011). But even the least partial of judges must at times, of necessity, take judicial notice of those things and happy incidents that comprise the substance of his memory.

We granted cartiorari in this case to review Eat Wonky (“EW”), a “mobile gastronomic enterprise” purveying, inter alia, Wonky Fries™, also smartly denominated “ ‘Poutine’! ” [sic] to appeal to those of us who have trekked to the Great White North and fallen under her spell. (The exclamation point, often a gauche and maladroit addition, is here warranted. Poutine!, indeed!) Finally finding a dish called “Poutine!” south of the Canadian Shield, we could not help but grant cartiorari. (We also granted cartiorari to review EW’s whoopie pie, which analysis I leave for my sister to review in a companion case.)

EW describes its Wonky Fries™ ($5.50) as “natural cut French fries [cooked in peanut oil] topped with squeaky cheese and gravy.” (I would have preferred duck fat to peanut oil, see Metro Halal Food v. Tasty Kabob, 1 Catt. 2 (2011) (Jeremy, C.J., concurring), but that can be forgiven. My duck truck awaits its eager entrepreneur.) In such a case, it is perhaps best to address each component individually before proceeding to assess the whole. Cf. In re TaKorean, 1 Catt. 4 (2011).

Wonky Fries (Poutine)

French Fries. Excellent. The fries were fresh and hot and crisp with a pillowy center. They were not overly greasy, like the fries of other hyped merchants. They held up admirably against the curds and the gravy, which is a feat of gastronomic engineering in its own right.

Cheese Curds (“Squeaky Cheese”). Mediocre. Fresh cheese curds squeak against one’s teeth upon biting into them, producing a sound akin to “balloons trying to neck.” Louisa Kamps, Cheese Curds, N.Y. TIMES MAG., Oct. 17, 2004. While tasty nonetheless, EW’s squeaky cheese lacked squeak. The balloons must have gone their separate ways. A non-squeaky curd is, to borrow from the world of kennel clubs, a major fault. I have come to demand squeak from my cheese curds.

Gravy. Good. EW makes a respectable brown gravy. Beefy, if I’m not mistaken, with the possible addition of an herb or two. While thinner than I might have expected from a dish born of diners, it passes sufficient muster for my taste.

The verdict: Decent. By no means a lunch unto itself, EW’s Wonky Fries™ make a fair snack or a hefty accoutrement. While tasty, this is no Québecois or Acadian poutine. Evangéline would only faintly recognize it. Jean Poutine may question the association. But it is passable and even enjoyable. Like so many memories cultivated in one’s travels, it may not be past poutines with which I am comparing EW’s Wonky Fries™, but rather the experiences surrounding them. No food truck, not even the best of them, can compare with that.

AFFIRMED in part and REMANDED in part to Eat Wonky for revision.

CATTLEYA, J., dissenting.

I agree with the Cart’s analysis of EW’s Wonky Fries™, but because the Cart reaches the wrong result, I dissent. True, the fries were “hot and crisp.” But the cheese curds “lacked squeak” and the gravy was “thin[].” How the Cart manages to affirm EW’s squeakless curds and thin gravy shows a logical jump that sound reasoning simply cannot support. This was my first taste of poutine, and I have no wish to try EW’s version again. I am grateful that I don’t have the memories of exquisite poutines past to impair my taste buds and cloud my judgment. I would remand the dish to EW for revision. Do it right, or don’t do it at all.

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 to review El Floridano (“EF”), a “mobile gastronomic enterprise” purveying two preparations: (1) pan con lechón (“Cuban pulled pork w[ith] grilled onions [and] spicy guava sauce”), and (2) a similar preparation of tempeh. Naturally, we opted for the former. Cf. In re Red Hook Lobster Pound, 2 Catt. 1 (2011). To quote Red Hook with some modification, “no one in their right mind orders [tempeh] over [pork].” See id. (A vegetarian, you might say, but I then refer you to my previous statement.)

As I have stated before, half of my roots sprout, at least for the last century, from the fertile peanut-, cotton-, and tobacco-strewn fields of “the northern fringes of pulled pork’s heartland.” In re DC Empanadas, 1 Catt. 3 (2011). But, as I have also stated, “I was raised to never order the pulled pork.” Id. “My pork barbeque was to be sliced. Outside cut, to be precise, in all its charred crispiness.” Id. Not that I was led to wholly doubt the quality or authenticity of pulled pork per se, but it’s safe to say a certain healthy suspicion was instilled in me. But one doesn’t leave Calle Ocho without a strong appetite for Cuban cuisine, so I brushed aside that suspicion, stepped up to EF, and ordered a pan con lechón.

El Floridano

In truth, even before reviewing the menu, I had already decided EF was worth trying, because it is physically so unembellished: the plain white of the truck is left alone, and the words “PAN CON LECHON” are crudely painted on its side from a stencil. In my own experience, the best food comes from the least adorned, even spartan, establishments. (If it also features terrible service and yet still attracts crowds, you’ve found a gem. Consider Chinatown Express and its unbelievable noodles.) Mediocre food can easily hide behind hype and slick graphics. See In re TaKorean, 1 Catt. 4 (2011). Mediocrity is more obvious when the mask is removed. EF has no mask to hide behind, and its food shines.

The pork is very simply roasted. That simplicity is appreciated. See Red Hook, 2 Catt. 1. EF does a good thing well. They are clearly comfortable with their signature dish. No insecurities lead to superfluous gilding.

Pan con Lechón

The pulled pork itself is less pulled than I would have imagined. (A good thing, I say.) Texturally, it is closer to the sliced pork I prefer, with pieces of tender fat left in. (But not so much that it becomes a fat sandwich). There are even a few pieces of outside cut crispiness to sate my fancy. The meat is moist and, without significant seasoning, flavorful. Slices of grilled onion are strewn throughout. As for quantity, an impressive amount of meat is packed into the sub roll; at $7, the dish seemed appropriately priced.

A drizzle of “spicy guava sauce” is added to the top. (Enough to flavor the meat, without drowning it out.) I tend to view fruit-based sauces with some distrust. Not that a fruit-based sauce can’t be executed well, but they often are not. In my experience, a pineapple or mango salsa generally presages dark and terrible things. Usually unsuccessful fusion. But EF’s guava sauce did not taste overpoweringly of guava. There was a slight sweetness, balanced by significant spice. It tasted something like Barbadian hot pepper sauce.

EF concentrates on technique. It executes its signature dish well, without hiding faulty technique behind overpowering, prepackaged flavors and trendy frills. Cf. TaKorean, 1 Catt. 4. For the reasons stated in this opinion, this case is

AFFIRMED.

(I must address a sole inaccuracy in my sister’s concurrence. She writes that she “did not experience [her] first taste of the real thing . . . until [she] was old enough to drive to eating establishments of [her] own choosing.” In re El Floridano, 2 Catt. 2 (2011) (Cattleya, J., concurring) (emphasis added). Anyone who knows my fellow Justice knows that she does not “drive” to eating establishments of her own choosing. Walk, perhaps. Employ public transit, perhaps. Bum a ride, more likely. But drive? No. I advise my sister to strive for greater precision in her opinions for this Cart.)

CATTLEYA, J., concurring.

I concur with the Cart’s well-reasoned opinion. I write separately to stress that EF’s pan con lechón also appeals to one who was not raised in a household with so many rules about pork barbeque. In fact, there was only one rule in my house: Don’t eat pork.

Due to my father’s religious restriction on the eating of pork, my mother never cooked it, even though her own religious denomination did not share the restriction. I grew up thinking that turkey bacon was actually bacon, and I did not experience my first taste of the real thing (crispy, greasy, and delicious) until I was old enough to drive to eating establishments of my own choosing. But by then, I had gotten so used to the taste of turkey that pork (chops, spare ribs, etc.) wasn’t enjoyable. Bacon was the only pig product that gave me joy. (Of course, I felt bad for eating it in front of my father. I still do. Even today, if bacon (mistakenly) ends up as a side on my breakfast plate, I put on my best dumbfounded look. “What?” I say in an astonished tone. “You mean, this is pork?” I add an indignant huff for good measure.)

So, like my brother, I don’t usually order pulled pork, but for entirely different reasons. I just don’t expect it to taste good. But EF’s lechón was tender and tasty. Tastier than I ever imagined it could be. I look forward to being lured in for a second helping. Just, please, don’t tell my father.

(Daddy, if you’re reading this, the consumption of pork occurred for the highest purposes of a full and fair adjudication. To the Chief Justice, I add that you ought to remember that there was a period of two years–from the ages of 16 to 18–when I was able to maneuver a vehicle, on paper and in practice. It is that time to which I refer. I concede that, today, I do indeed “bum . . . ride[s]” to eating establishments too far from the orange line.)

“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.)

We granted cartiorari in this case to review DC Empanadas. Today, we review three separate empanadas: (1) the Weapon of Max Deliciousness, (2) the Speedy Gonzalez, and (3) the Divine Swine. After certain general, introductory remarks, I consider the three empanadas in Parts I, II, and III below.

DC Empanadas

At $3.50 per empanada (or $9 for three), this truck is a good deal, with prices comparable to those at brick-and-mortar staple Julia’s. Good luck finding a better-priced lunch along K Street. The empanadas are just the right size: not so big that the crust is overwhelmed, not so small that you’re left wanting more. Three empanadas is certainly more than enough for lunch (which isn’t to say you couldn’t eat more).

The crust was somewhere midway between crispy and flaky. Its hue was perfectly golden. It held up to its fillings. Reviewers elsewhere have accused the empanadas of being overly greasy, but even after a metro ride back to my chambers, there was no sign of grease.

(On a side note, the names given the empanadas are not to my liking. Read: Cheesy empanadas very good, cheesy names not so good. Except for Salmon Rushdie. That’s genius, I say.)

Overall, I’d recommend DC Empanadas. I’ll return for more. I’d advise you do the same. If you do, tell ’em Supreme Cart sent you.

I

The Weapon of Max Deliciousness (“WMD”), as its name implies, contains “beef chili, beans and cheddar cheese.” Of the three empanadas sampled, this was the best. The chili was well-cooked (retaining a fair degree of moistness) and well-seasoned (I detected more than a hint of cumin, unless my spice-o-meter was off). It gave off a subtle heat that built after swallowing but never overwhelmed the palate. The crust held up admirably to the hot liquid of the chili. The verdict: Highly recommended, especially when paired with a Speedy Gonzalez (see below).

II

The Speedy Gonzalez (“SG”) is a “mild cheese empanada filled with queso blanco, asadero cheese & mozzarella cheese.” (Vegetarians, please know that no mouse or other rodent was harmed in the making of this empanada.) The blend of cheeses was mellow, but flavorful, and lent the empanada a pleasing texture. (As you’ll discover, dear reader, my sister is much concerned with mouthfeel.) By the time I ate the empanada, it had the taste and a chewiness of a deep-fried, encrusted, non-flambéed saganaki (that is to say, a bit of deep-fried, encrusted, kefalograviera or kasseri or haloumi or other euphonic and delectable Eastern Mediterranean cheesestuff). This was likely the work of the asadero, Oaxaca’s second greatest gift to the world. The verdict: Highly recommended, especially when paired with a WMD, the two of which complement each other swimmingly.

III

The Divine Swine (“DS”) — a special the day I tasted it — contained “slow roasted hand-pulled pork tossed in No. 5 BBQ sauce from BBQ Bus,” another “mobile gastronomic enterprise” to be reviewed another day. Raised on the output of the northern fringes of pulled pork’s heartland, I approached this particular empanada with certain high standards. (Though, in the interest of full disclosure, I should note that I was raised to never order the pulled pork. My pork barbeque was to be sliced. Outside cut, to be precise, in all its charred crispiness.)

I did polish off this particular pig, which is not always the case. See In re CapMac, 1 Catt. 1 (2011) (“I just wish I had wanted to eat it all.”). But it was not nearly as enjoyable an empanada as the WMD and the SG. While the crust was again commendable, the pork itself was a monochromatic sweet. It had no other notes, no depth, no balance of flavors. It had none of that vinegary tang my upbringing has lead me to demand and expect. In the words of a Top Chef judge (Padma, I believe), the dish “cried out for acidity.” The verdict: Pass. One more reason ordering a “special” is often best avoided, like ordering fish on Monday or shepherd’s pie at all. (In time, dear reader, you may come to learn of my especial aversion to shepherd’s pie.)

Weapon of Max Deliciousness, Speedy Gonzalez, and Divine Swine

Finally, I must address my sister’s points. Firstly, although she be entitled to her opinion regarding orange cheese, she has laid to rest any lingering suspicion that my own strong predilection toward lamb must of necessity have required my recusal in a prior proceeding. See Metro Halal Food v. Tasty Kabob, 1 Catt. 2 (2011) (Jeremy, C.J., concurring in part). Secondly, I decline to heed my sister’s advice that I embrace what she deems “plain English.” What does and does not constitute plain English lies in the eye of the beholder — the height of subjectivity. We of the Supreme Cart should strive for nothing higher than objectivity, plain and simple. Fret not, dear reader, for I do, in fact, choose my words with great care. Unlike my sister, I see no evil in a thesaurus.

AFFIRMED in part and REMANDED in part to DC Empanadas for revision.

CATTLEYA, J., concurring in part and dissenting in part.

I join all but Part II of the Cart’s opinion. Although the Speedy Gonzalez was not bad, it would have been better if the cheese filling had been orange in color. That is all.

Now, I must take this moment to urge my brother to read Plain English for Lawyers, a guide that teaches one how to write in, well, plain English. In particular, my brother would benefit from the section in Chapter Seven entitled “Use Familiar Words.” Does the Chief Justice not think that his “dear reader” would enjoy getting through his opinion without needing to dig out a dictionary? For example, is “euphonic” the wisest word choice when “sweet-sounding” could do? Is “delectable” necessary when “delicious” is more familiar? I think not. Perhaps the Chief Justice should choose his words with more care, unless, of course, he wants his opinions to reek of pretentiousness.

I must begin with a very distasteful matter — one that relates not to the parties to this proceeding, but to the Chief Justice. My brother’s love for lamb is so severe that he undoubtedly has an interest in shaping the future landscape of lamb cuisine. For this reason, he cannot offer an impartial palate, and I call upon him to recuse himself from this proceeding.

Arlingtonians have begun to wonder whether Metro Halal Food or Tasty Kabob is the superior purveyor of lamb gyros. Located across from the mall at the corner of Wilson Boulevard and N. Stuart Street, Metro Halal Food is a fixture in the Ballston neighborhood. Tasty Kabob has recently set up a cart (not one of its trucks) on Fairfax Drive, right on the doorstep of George Mason University’s campus in Virginia Square. Both offer a lamb gyro (though Metro Halal Food calls it a Gyro on Pita). Here’s how the two compared:

Metro Halal Food’s Gyro on Pita  

Regularly outside the Ballston Common Mall

Good-sized serving of meat

Cubed chunks of lamb, flavorful but dry

Lettuce/tomato = fillers

Pita was the opposite of soft

Good tzatziki sauce

Hot sauce that’s hot

$4.99 posted price ($5 actually charged)

Cash only

Tasty Kabob’s Lamb Gyro

Tasty Kabob’s Lamb Gyro

Sometimes at GMU’s Arlington Campus

Very generous serving of meat

Tasty gyro meat, except chunks not slices

Lettuce/tomato = garnishes

Soft pita

Good tzatziki sauce

Medium-heat hot sauce

$5.99 posted price ($6 actually charged)

Cash or credit card

Bottom line: Tasty Kabob’s lamb gyro wins on taste. If you’re willing to risk the chance of walking over to an empty sidewalk spot, then head to Virginia Square to see whether Tasty Kabob’s cart is there. (Unfortunately, unlike its trucks, Tasty Kabob doesn’t advertise the location of this cart.) However, if you want a guaranteed (and cheaper) lunch, go to Metro Halal Food in Ballston.

*Update. As of February 2012, Tasty Kabob no longer operates the cart on GMU’s Arlington Campus.

JEREMY, C.J., concurring in the result and the opinion, save for its first paragraph.

While I concur, generally, in my sister’s opinion, her beginning, concerning a certain “distasteful matter” necessitates my response. It has been suggested that my “severe” love for lamb results in an “impartial palate,” for which I am “call[ed] upon . . . to recuse [my]self from this proceeding.” I respectfully decline to do so.

To be sure, my love for lamb is immense. But a truth my sister conveniently neglects to mention is that lamb ranks only second in my hierarchy of preferred proteins. Well behind duck, in fact, for which my love and admiration is indeed “severe.” A “duck truck,” with which we are not today confronted, would present a far better case for my colleague’s argument, though even in such a case I would decline to recuse myself. (A brief request of our readership: Please open a duck truck, or encourage capable others to do so.)

More importantly, though, I call upon my sister to imagine the precedent to be created were I to recuse myself in this case. Her own “severe” penchant for orange cheese, for Cheez-Its, and for all other artificially-orange foodstuffs is well documented. And yet, she has (with my own blessing, I note, and with the blessings of both justice and impartiality) not yet twenty-four hours ago reviewed CapMac’s Classic CapMac’n Cheese, which featured not only orange-colored cheese, but a certain “brilliant” Cheez-It crumble. I can conclude only that my sister’s accusation of an “impartial palate” is wielded here as a mere political tool, out of place in a solemn legal proceeding such as this.

I would also like to take this opportunity to recommend Ravi Kabob, in close proximity to Ballston and Virginia Square. While not a “mobile gastronomic enterprise,” and thus outside the jurisdiction of this Supreme Cart, the proprietors of that establishment do awe-inspiring things with lamb which my “impartial palate” cannot help but mention.

Very few foods can tempt me outside into the rain on a day that I’ve forgotten to wear my wellies. Mac & cheese makes the list. Unfortunately, CapMac’s Classic CapMac’n Cheese wasn’t worth the resulting wet shoes.

CapMac

CapMac’s signature dish held a lot of promise. It wasn’t just mac & cheese; it was mac & cheese with a Cheez-It crumble. I read the menu and thought, “Hey, why didn’t I think of that? That’s brilliant!” And it was. But the Cheez-It crumble wasn’t enough to save the rest of the dish.

The problem with Classic CapMac’n Cheese was not the mac, but the cheese. Although the cheddar and pimento cheese sauce had a nice, thick consistency, it had a sour taste. So sour, in fact, that I didn’t want to finish my meal. I typically clean off my plate (as well as the plates of my fellow diners), so when I leave food behind, it’s saying something.

That being said, the mac was prepared well. Not too soft, and just enough chew to it. Perhaps CapMac’s mac would be more successful with a different sauce.

Classic CapMac’n Cheese

Bottom line: CapMac served up a heaping portion of its Classic CapMac’n Cheese for a reasonable $6 (cash only). I just wish I had wanted to eat it all.

REMANDED to CapMac for revision.