Is it just the sad state of Seattle’s street food that’s got
everyone already so enamored of Skillet? Or is it that the gentlemen of
the shiny Airstream trailer are geniuses, humanitarians, heroes?
Something about Skillet moves people quickly to hyperbole. An e-mail
from a friend read, “I LOVE SKILLET,” going on to describe “The
Burger,” which comes with bacon jam, blue cheese, and arugula as,
“well, life-changing.” A woman waiting in Skillet’s line makes the
sweeping assertion that food with wheels always tastes better. A man
standing there eating a salad—with tiny tomatoes, big homemade
croutons golden with grease, and slices of steak (tender, he says, with
a subtle, barely sweet fruit marinade)—proclaims, “This is the
best thing ever.”
The issue of whether Seattle’s street-food-unit requirements (hot
and cold running water, four sink compartments, refrigeration) are
punitive aside, Skillet is part of a recent uptick in local mobile
eating—permits granted rose 6 percent in 2006 and 16 percent so
far this year. Street food is a thing of both economy and joy that can
only go toward the greater good: more hot dog stands for the
hungry/drunk everywhere; the vaunted Hallava Falafel truck roving from
Georgetown to Capitol Hill and beyond; a new taco truck called Rancho
Bravo on Northeast 45th Street (to which employees at Dick’s direct
laggards on Friday and Saturday nights at closing time). And while we
can all celebrate the proliferation of dogs, great falafel, and greasy
tacos on late-night corners, Skillet’s after both less and more: just
breakfasts and lunches made with local, seasonal ingredients for, as
they put it, people who really like food. The gentlemen of Skillet,
Josh and Danny, have culinary school and family restaurant backgrounds,
and they see Skillet’s sole shiny Airstream as the beginning of an
empire of American-bistro-style mobile excellence: Seattle first, then
the West Coast, then the world.
At lunchtime on a stretch of Terry Avenue that’s (for now) still
obscure, still industrial, construction-worker women in hard hats and
biotech men in dress shirts line up. It’s a snapshot of South Lake
Union: many cranes in view, a still-skeletal new building on the
corner, kitty-corner from a building labeled BIO-RAD LABORATORIES.
Skillet’s parked in front of a sign reading “NOTICE DO NOT PARK IN
DRIVEWAY,” but the driveway goes (for now) to a thicket of blackberries
behind a hurricane fence. The menu—today, The Burger with
hand-cut fries ($6.50), the steak salad ($8), a chicken sandwich ($8),
poutine ($4), the “Sweet” du jour (grapes and thick Nutella on
baguette, $3), and a few drinks—lives on a chalkboard.
Smoke pours out of the vent on top of Skillet. Danny, possessed of a
fine Kentucky accent and manner, takes orders, maybe calling you
“dear.” He’s at pains to explain that the poutine is not traditional
Canadian-style, as some customers have complained about the lack of
cheese curds; you immediately side with him, trusting Skillet’s
unorthodox poutine implicitly. Credit cards are accepted via a handheld
wireless apparatus. Inside, Josh, making everything for everyone,
confirms amiably (and doubtless for the one-millionth time) that it is
indeed hot in there.
No provisions for eating on-site have been made, but if no one’s
playing beanbag toss, the wood platforms make for sturdy if slanty
seating. (Made by an outfit called American Cornhole, this game is
handsome and, you’d think, irresistible.) Everything comes in pretty,
thick, cream-colored cardboard containers: made of sugarcane, 100
percent compostable (as are utensils), 1,000 percent better than any
other option. While you’re eating the poutine—a big cup of thick,
ungreasy fries with cubes of Irish cheddar covered in delicious,
chickeny gravy with fresh herbs—a cement mixer might edge past
you, the driver waving. While you’re eating the chicken
sandwich—crisply walnut-crusted pieces of moist bird with
fennel/apple slaw in a bun that’s got just enough body without being
intrusively crusty—the lady who’s declared the preeminence of
food with wheels is, suddenly, clearly, the smartest person in the
world. 