One of the most popular spectator events in Jacksonville is the annual (maybe more frequently) Monster Truck Jam. I hope I don’t have to explain the Monster Truck Jam. People who go to it know what it is, and people who don’t go make it a point to know what it is so that they can make fun of people who do. It’s kind of like Wal-Mart that way.

One of the most controversial issues in Jacksonville is food trucks. Now, this is just a guess, but my bet is that the majority of people who eat at food trucks do not hold in high esteem those people who go to Monster Truck Jams. But don’t you see the common denominator? TRUCKS! (Note that I have assiduously avoided ending that with the letter X.)

Here is Jacksonville’s chance to become a trend setter. Celebrate diversity. The next big thing starts right here, right now. Monster Food Trucks. (Again, I resisted the impulse to intentionally misspell a word. Good thing I don’t work for a non-profit trying to help “kidz.”) I don’t know of anything more important than trying to bring together Jacksonville’s disparate populations. Food truck aficionados and and Monster Truck fans rejoice. Jacksonville is no longer a town divided by it’s attitudes toward utilitarian transportation.

The leader in this trend is Mega-Death Burrito, also known as MDB, or just ‘the B’ to close friends and favorite customers. Mega-Death Burrito is an old postal van bought at a surplus auction for $109.14 and fitted out with a full kitchen. In this case a full kitchen is a Coleman camp stove, and Igloo cooler and a five gallon bucket of water.

The proprietor and driver of the B is Outie Wainwright, and you can guess how he got his nickname when you see him in his undershirt which is two sizes too small. The interior of the van is done in that flocked wall paper, so popular in dentist’s offices once, because of its soundproofing abilities. Outie plasters the left side interior wall with flour tortilla shells which stick to the wall paper by some velcro-type effect. Then he lays out hamburger meat, bologna, and all manner of condiments including sausage gravy along a counter against the right interior wall of the van. The oversize truck tires help provide the magic in the burrito assembly process. Outie starts running a series of clockwise 360 degree maneuvers looking for compact cars to run the two right wheels over. He does this up to four times, or until he runs out of compact cars that give proper resistance. This explains why he mostly caters to crowds in the suburban office parks, which have large parking lots and an ample supply of compact cars that frankly, no one would miss. After he completes enough spins around the parking lot everything that was on the counter has been flung across the van onto the tortilla shells that are stuck on the wall. Outie carefully peels them off the wall with the aid of a spatula or a Sears Crafstman putty knife. Then, wearing a hairnet of course, he rolls them up tightly and sells them for $8.75 each.

Another contender is a converted fuel oil delivery truck called the Bunnell Stew Grinder. Quincy Bloodworth fitted it out with a couple of 21 hp outboard motors, one at each end of the tank that was previously used to carry fuel oil #2 back in the dark days when people relied on actual combustion to heat their homes. Each morning, hours before sunup, he scouts the roads between Bunnell and Jacksonville for road kill, but will settle for road hurt if that is all there is, and puts whatever he finds in the tank. Then he swings by the farmers market for several bushels of corn, sacks of potatoes and baskets of tomatoes. Depending on the season, and Quincy’s mood, he might get some jalapeno peppers or something a little hotter. All this goes in the tank before he makes his final stop at a local craft brewery where he tops it all off with a mixture of water and thick liquid beer waste. He cranks up the two outboard motors and then twice around Jacksonville on I-295 renders a delicious Bunnell Stew, a thick creamy concoction with just enough solid lumps to get that contrast that foodies so covet. You can usually find him out along Blanding Boulevard selling it by the quart for $8.95 or $12.50 a gallon. Bring a large bucket because it comes of that 3″ diameter hose at a pretty good clip. Hint: you can probably dicker price with him because the meter on the discharge hose is not terribly accurate with anything of this consistency.

Lest you vegans are feeling slighted, you should know about The Wedge. Lettuce wedge that is. It’s an all vegan food truck that was converted from an old VW camper which was driven by authentic 1960’s hippies who may not have ever bathed, probably had sex in the van, and may or may not have been at Woodstock, but are pretty sure they probably were, because how else could you explain, well… never mind. The Wedge is driven by a person who has named herself Daisy Cornblossom Hudson Bay Peace Tree. Daisy, as you might guess, only serves vegetables. But she only serves vegetables that want to be served. Heads of lettuce, beets, carrots, and whatever else have to get into her rolling kitchen of their volition. “Look, I go into the market, I give them money. When I come back to the van, there are all these sacks of vegetables. I don’t know how they get there. These plants want to be eaten, but only so that they can give us energy to create art and poetry and fertilize other vegetables. These are noble plants, indeed.” says Daisy CHBPT.

She does no actual cooking herself. All the vegetables roll around in the back of the van, right on top of that “air-cooled” pancake engine, which as we all know can easily reach temperatures of 500 degrees. Daisy drives around town looking for a place where people are lined up for no discernible reason. She pulls up and starts serving roasted vegetables right out of the back of van. Once someone found the strap of a leather sandal in there amongst the sacred vegetables and complained to her about the loss of animal life and the vanity that drives a person to wear leather sandals when you can weave them out of happy palm fronds and bamboo leaves. Daisy assured them the cow died happily, eating vegetables and grains. Someone found the decaying carcass and only took what hide was left after the California condors said they were full. All was forgiven.

Of course the standard is truly set for Monster Food Trucks by Mel Spurgeon who rules the world from his Kweez-in-art Fender Blender. Jacked up twelve feet high, Mel can’t even see his customers. He expects them to deposit ten dollars each on the honor system into an ol’ friend tackle box. Mel and his wife Sally drive by once, dropping a variety of fish, crabs, pork parts, chicken wings and vegetables on the ground. Sally gets out and arranges them very strategically, then Mel backs up over everything. The secret is that the back tires are embedded with razor sharp discs that chop everything up. The front tires have barbed spikes that hold an assortment of breads such as pita, naan, corn cakes and whole wheat hoagie rolls. After Mel has driven back and forth a few times, you walk to the front wheels and pick a sandwich off a spike.

So, here we are Jacksonville on the cusp of the hottest, hippest new trend in the country. The city better hire someone with their wits about them to negotiate vendor contracts at Everbank Field for the next Monster Food Truck Jam. Foodies and Muddies together at last. Don’t blow this.