The Monster PBJ truck had not been high on my list of food trucks that I wanted to check out but then I saw the truck parked at the CAM and I couldn't resist.
I filled out the order blanks on a paper bag and turned it in, then stepped back to await my delights. A young mother with a child who probably was not yet in kindergarten was also waiting, When his name was called, the little boy ran to the window and stood on tippy-toes, reaching as high as he could to receive his bounty, then strutted back to his mom, looking like the happiest kid in the world. Good job, Mommie, for introducing your child at at early age to the pleasures of the Houston food truck movement.
The bright sunlight had made it impossible to get a picture of the truck without some glare and the bright sunlight and dark shadows filtering through the trees overhanging the street in the museum neighborhood made it impossible to get a picture of the sandwich that would be usable without holding it down near the floorboard of the car (my new camera doesn't handle big contrasts in lighting well). It was rather a messy situation but I managed to avoid getting jam and Nutella all over the upholstery and dug right in, polishing off the sandwich very quickly. Then I remembered I had intended to drive over to Cherryhurst park, around the corner from where I used to live, and have a little picnic under the trees. I was so excited I just couldn't wait.
I could have used a little more toasting and I could barely taste the cashew butter for the richness of the jam and Nutella but the sandwich was great nonetheless. I drove home in a state of bliss, sure of a simple and abiding truth: the PB & J is one of the greatest culinary inventions of all time.
And Monster PBJ does it justice.