After so many years, and it’s been only a little over three years for me, of actively paying attention to food, I’ve become, unrighteously and shamelessly, somewhat of a food snob: very few things can excite me. And yet, it doesn’t take much more than a sandwich to keep me up at night (that, and my research). Originally, I had a draft for Off the Grid in North Berkeley, then I let it stew for centuries because I thought oh well, it’s just a food truck event, a new fad in town, who knows how long it will last. I still don’t get the name of the event: ten or fewer food trucks and hundreds of Berkeleyans gather where Shattuck meets Rose every Wednesday evening, from 5 to 9. Lines form, some short, some long. I still don’t get all the raves for Cupkates (or any cupcake trucks for that matter). There were things I regretted buying, and things I would never stand in line for. But there’s this sandwich, powerful enough to drag me back to Off the Grid, to stand in line, and to finish my draft.
It’s the Notorious PIG, from the Brass Knuckle.
The people in line pronounced it “Pea-Eye-Gee”, I don’t know why. You have to spell out the letters because they’re capitalized? It makes sense to me to be just “pig” because it’s roast pork ham on a waffle. (UPDATE: now that Bob has explained, I know why: I’m just not American.) Anyway, it’s %##$@&* GOOD. The soft, pristine, plump layer of pork. The light, fluffy crisp of the waffle. And the rosemary in the waffle. Oh dear.