Read Online Brooklyn Girls by Gemma Burgess - Free Book Online Page B

bigger,” says Jonah, pulling into a parking space.
    “Kebab trucks,” I say as we get out of the car. “Oh, I think I saw a cupcake truck once in SoHo.”
    “Bigger.”
    We walk down the street, toward a sign saying BROOKLYN FLEA FOOD TRUCK FESTIVAL , and now I know what he means by bigger. Lined up, one after the other, like gigantic colorful shiny toys: food trucks of every possible description.
    Gobble Cobblers, Mac’N’Cheese, Schnitzeldog, Lang Kwai Fried Dumplings, The Spelthouse, Mexineasy, The Artisan Cheesemakers, Everyone Hates Offal (with the strapline “Fry Me a Liver!”), The Queen’s English Trifle Guild, Screamfer Ice Cream, Mash and Stew in It, Simple Simon the Pieman, Macaroonatics.…
    “Punny,” I comment. “How do they make all that food in the back of the truck?”
    “They have elves,” says Jonah.
    “I’m getting hungry,” I add, looking up at him.
    “Just you wait, sugar.”
    People are already waiting patiently in line to get their food before a long day at the market. Wow, people will do anything for a good meal in this city. These trucks must be raking in the cash.
    Jonah stops outside a dark green food truck with A MEAL GROWS IN BROOKLYN painted on the side in white block letters. The side awning is up, revealing a short, handwritten chalkboard menu.
    BREAKFAST
    French Toast with Raisin Bread (DUMBO)
    Bacon (Mill Basin) with Fried Eggs (Brooklyn Heights) on Buttered Sourdough (DUMBO)
    Buttermilk Cake Donuts (DUMBO)
    And it’s ALL local, sustainable, seasonal, grass-fed, hand-reared, and organic whenever possible!
    “This is Ray’s brother Phil’s truck. The specialty is bread, but almost everything is made, grown, killed, or cured in the borough. Get it? A Meal Grows in Brooklyn.”
    “Actually, the raisins are from California,” says a red-headed guy coming out from behind the truck. He’s one of those aggressively ironic early-thirties Brooklynites who has a handlebar mustache and wears vintage cowboy shirts. Phil and Jonah do a little man handshake-hug combo, and Jonah introduces me. Apparently Phil runs an organic bakery-slash-café in DUMBO, and has the truck on the weekends for fun.
    “Everything is grown right here in Brooklyn?” I ask skeptically.
    “Brooklyn is full of food, ma petite. ” Phil peers into the basket. “Dang, those bees are acing it! I love it when my brother has a good idea. Of course, that’s also probably why Ray is richer and more successful.”
    “He can’t grow a ’stache like you, though,” says Jonah. “Do you miss the beard?”
    “Not so much,” says Phil, twirling his scarlet mo. “Anyway! Let’s see … ricotta cheese and honey flame-toasted sourdough?” He raises his voice. “Lara? Sweetie? Do we have that ricotta?”
    “Yep,” says Phil’s wife, a pretty woman with messy hair, strolling out from the back of the truck.
    “Sourdough from our organic bakery in DUMBO, handmade ricotta from a friend of mine in Fort Greene, honey from Williamsburg. Brooklyn food. Get it?”
    “Got it.” I nod smartly.
    “How’s the eggs and bacon coming along, honey?”
    “Small problem.” Lara gets the giggles. “We forgot the eggs.” I get the feeling this isn’t the first time they’ve forgotten something.
    “Plain bacon sandwiches?” says Phil doubtfully. “Yawn. Any ideas, guys?”
    “Bacon … um … and bacon?” says Jonah.
    “What about bacon sandwiches with chili jam?” I say. It’s a favorite of mine. Eddie used to make it when we were hungover on vacations, using sweet chili sauce from a bottle. “Breakfast of champions, Keller,” he’d say, pulling me onto his lap to eat it with him, one bite each at a time. Then we’d go out for gingerbread lattes, which are actually disgusting, I swear to God. Eddie said they tasted like the holidays. Urgh, stop thinking about him.
    “Yes! I love creative thinkers! Okay, go explore, you two. I’ll need you at noon.”
    So Jonah and I wander around the Brooklyn Flea,