A Lot to Love

Editor's Note: This article was supposed to run last year in offBEAT but we got bumped for better stories. And with Voodoo Fest and scores of outdoor dining opportunities and sporting events, we figured we would run it here. Cause no point in wasting an article.

It takes a devoted person to lead the nomadic life of following a band across the country. Waking up in Wichita and falling asleep in a tent in Toledo, fixing a flat tire in Falstaff and scoring a miracle in Minneapolis. But imagine doing so, yet rarely seeing the band you are following.

“Nope, haven’t been inside a concert venue in a long time. Got work to do while my customers enjoy the show,” said a van driving, propane pizza oven working, vendor known only as Nevada Pizza.

Over Halloween weekend 2008, Widespread Panic played twice to a packed house at the UNO Lakefront Arena. Each night, culinary delights awaited the concert goers in a tent city, quasi-black market Xanadu, right outside the gates of the arena. Trinkets, t-shirts, vices, and victuals greeted the exuberant and eager crowd. This “lot scene” forms a staple part of the concert experience. Providing an opportunity to engage in trade, buy and sell tickets, and purchase sustenance, it is the modern day descendant of the medieval marketplace. Ideas, insights, and gossip are spread as easily as ranch dressing onto a warmed pita.

The most popular items were the very simple, but immensely enjoyable, grilled cheeses. Two slices of white bread with some Kraft cheese cooked on a flattop with perhaps, if you were lucky, an herbed butter spread. Another vendor offered wraps filled with grilled chicken, veggies, peppers, yogurt sauce, hot sauce, cheese, lettuce, and tomatoes-a veritable kitchen sink kebab.

Still another mainstay item was pizza. Some vendors offered it on French bread, while others rolled their own elastic, climate-dependent dough. For food served out of a hatchback, the vendors have enormous pride in their ingredients and finished products. Nevada’s Pizza’s eponymous offering had cheese which stretched from the crust, as good mozzarella is want to do. Such commitment and pride connects the parking lot cook to the restaurant chef.

Other vendors touted the superiority of their wares with cries of “Don’t panic, its all organic” and “Made with love.” Channeling the New Orleans Second Line tradition of Yat-ka-mein, one lot cook offered a Chinese stir fry that was a mixture of rice, vegetables, and chicken with a heavy dose of soy sauce and srirachi.

And, of course, there was an ample selection of microbrews which likely aren’t legally imported into Louisiana through normal distributor channels. The bottles are taller, the names more cryptic, and the hops usually overwhelming for any locale other than the cool, misty climate of the Pacific Northwest. But hey, this is the freest market economy around town.

Traveling around the country offers a unique set of challenges to lot vendors. Finding supplies, repairing equipment, sourcing ingredients, and dealing with local authorities being the most cited versions of problems encountered. Not surprisingly, the vendors I spoke to enjoy the challenges of the road and making it to another city on time. “It makes it fun to hightail it to the next stop in time to get what I need, do my prep, get set up for the next night,” explained a pita purveyor.

And there was a great sense of enviable camaraderie amongst the traveling salesmen and their regulars. To a casual fan, thoughts of giving it all up, following the band around, and surviving by selling Rice-Krispie treats seems like a good idea for a fleeting moment. It was not uncommon to overhear vendors and their customers reminiscing about memorable Phish runs or ice storms in Iowa. “It was so cold, your beard froze into a ball of ice. That was when I decided to only go on the road during the summer. The rest of the year I run a car stereo and accessories store,” said Nevada Pizza.

Of course not every vendor was as open to a guy asking a bunch of questions. Suspicious of narcs, cops, and really anyone lurking around, one vendor told me not to take pictures of her or ask her any questions. Her reasoning was simple, “I don’t like to be documented.”

Another great place to sample some lot style vending is before, during, and after a traditional New Orleans Second Line. Recently, while traveling down Claiborne Avenue, a New Generation Social Ad and Pleasure Club’s Second Line broke out in front of my car. On one corner a white truck had been turned into a mobile version of the corner bar selling ice cold Budweisers, Hennesey and Cokes, and a few non-alcoholic drinks to the dancing observers. Since the Second Line occurred during the universal mid-afternoon snack time, a dark skinned woman trailed behind the parading tubas selling miniature versions of sweet potato and pecan pie. But by far the most industrious vendor had to be an elderly man on a motorized scooter towing a wheeled cooler full of Heinekens.

What is it that makes these individualists trek around the country to provide a post-show snack to likely intoxicated patrons? It’s no different than why really good restaurants and dedicated chefs do what they do. The look of satisfaction on a customers face as he bites into a hand-crafted pizza after a long night, that universal exchange between a cook and an eater, that says, “thanks, this is just what I needed.”

Perhaps Nevada Pizza summed it up best, when I asked him why he did this, “Man, I don’t do this to make a living, but it sure has made my life."