On this fifth lunchwalk, where I take a walk instead of eating lunch, I broke the only rule: I ate lunch. Two shrimp tacos, to be exact. I also did not walk alone but wandered out with a friend, Marc Wiedenbaum of disquiet fame. Our walking discussion ranged across current projects of his, on the reasons we walk and listen, and, as we descended upon a taco truck, the sound of food. So, here is a lunchwalk that was more of a walk to find lunch rather than a walk to capitalize on the time saved by not eating lunch. (Indeed this series could be about walks to a constellation of food spots in the city not frequented by the Market Street workers. Food and sound will be recurring, I am sure.)
The space carved out by the Taco Truck, sitting in the corner of a parking lot off of Bryant St., fits the spatiality produced in these walks. The truck extends the sidewalk perpendicular to the street, expanding the realm for interaction, disregarding even the separate domains of "sidewalk" and "parking lot". As I move through the city I too shrug off familiar boundaries. Neighborhood lines and so-called historic districts do not exist. Building lobbies and rooftop gardens are as fair game as parking garages and subway tunnels. Tall fences, open water, and security guards are the only things to keep me from walking somewhere.
The Taco Truck is similarly disobedient to artificial lines, though to be sure, the truck is under a set of regulations and is permitted for certain locations only. But like me, the truck is gone when lunch is over. Have a listen:
SF Lunchwalk: Taco Truck by nicksowers
The soundscape before the truck is hemmed in by the propped-up metal flap, forming an awning over the space of ordering and eating. Small, crappy speakers are embedded in the flap, drizzling out the fuzzy sound of a traditional Mexican orchestra. Inside the truck, pans slide off the grill, carnitas sizzles, a cash register bangs close, and someone's order is called out: 95! That's me. Shrimp tacos!
