A queue of people, waiting for Jabberwocky toastiesLast Saturday was Brum Yum Yum. Foodie haven, street food bonanza and the most unexpected, tiring and exciting event in the year so far. Here is my perspective on how last Saturday went.

Barny had a back operation on the Tuesday, meaning the toastie prep, van cleaning and packing were down to me, so Barny just had to drive the van down there and then kip in the car for the rest of the day. We’d even organised a sleepover in Birmingham for the Beast with Jack, organiser of Digbeth Dining Club and long-time sympathiser of temperamental vans.

Friday was hard. As always the customers and atmosphere at DDC were fantastic, but it was the busiest night since the launch, and Barny was in increasing amounts of pain, unable to take morphine because we needed to get the van moved before home time. The following morning we should have probably stopped when he couldn’t sit up straight in the car, but he’s got more determination than sense, so on we went.

As we arrived in King’s Heath the van sprang a core plug on the engine and emptied his radiator. While this is would normally be a sizeable crisis all on its own at that stage I didn’t even care; I was more concerned I’d only have pieces of husband to take home that night. We got on to prepping up toasties for the day then all of a sudden there was a queue, and that queue remained, varying in length, for the rest of the day.

A note about queues. As a food van they are one of the trophies. To those outside the hatch they mean a half hour wait until you see the warm side of a toastie. To us they mean that our customers, our lovely, lovely customers, like our food enough to wait for it. That day we had the longest queue we have ever had, and sadly, because we were only running at half capacity, the longest waiting time as well, but folks, you have no idea how good it made us feel. I promise we went as fast as we could, but from the bottom of my heart, thanks ever so much for waiting.

Several crates of bread later Barny was looking pretty grey, quietly not having fun anymore but still managing to banter with customers and still just about staying upright. We sold our last toastie and turned the presses off, had our first meal of the day – because you just forget – and sat down.

A note on selling out. This is both the best and worst thing that can happen in street food (if you exclude operations three days before big festivals). Selling out means: “Hooray, we have sold all the food we expected to sell” and, in exactly the same breath “Bugger, we missed out on selling a load more”. As street fooders we toast because we love what we do, but it’s business; it has to be about money as well. For every event you have to make a call on the stock levels, and especially in our end of catering, where freshness is key and freezing leftovers isn’t often an option, you have to make that call very, very carefully. Every single thing that you don’t sell isn’t just wasted (a crime against food in itself and avoided wherever possible) it’s deducted of your profits, because you have already paid for the stock.

This is why in street food, much more so than with freezer-to-grill style catering, there will be sell outs that happen when the judgement call you make in advance was off. With an unknown entity like Brum Yum Yum, that guess has to be made with very little to go on, and that’s why most of the traders sold out. In our case we had to stop there, because Barny was quietly disintegrating and we still had to call the AA out before we’d be able to go home.

The drive home felt longer than most, but once we were back and had installed Barny on the sofa with a cup of tea things began to get better. It’s not just about feeding people, it’s about making people happy with food. As we read through the twitter comments and added those to the feedback we got from people coming to the hatch and thanking us the whole thing came into perspective, and the entire universe started to get that golden shimmer of happiness.

Customers waiting for toasties, with a bunch of filters on.A Note on feedback. Being told that you like our food is the world’s greatest compliment. Especially when you tell the whole world. For us it is a warm, fuzzy feeling as if everything is in autumnal soft focus. This is why I want to share it with you, and with my future self. We’re a business, but we’re also two people who just like making food. Thank you.

This blog post is dedicated to the undersigned, for saying what you did. It made us happy.

 

 

 

 

 

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