Meals on Wheels?

Generally, I eschew food vendors who sell their wares from street corner carts, walk-up windows and vehicles. Of course there are exceptions.

When I was stationed at Keesler AFB, I was not above purchasing the occasional burrito from the roach coach, as it was not exactly fondly called, that parked outside Thomson Hall, where I was an instructor.

I've also bought hotdogs at street corners, but only out of desperation. The only good hotdogs I've found are those sold at baseball stadiums at the end of a three-game home stand. Not only has the flavor matured by then, but any parasites and bacteria they may have contained have long since been dispatched.

In the past, I've patronized vendors at Taste of Cincinnati and at one event or another on the Summerfest Grounds in Milwaukee. Once in a great while, though not recently, I'll buy something from a truck at, say, a Dunedin arts and crafts fair, the St Petersburg open air market, or a festival at Vinoy or Straub Park.

But always I prefer a restaurant. This is why my shorts don't knot up over the latest kerfuffle that threatens to tear asunder the very civic fabric of St Pete; to wit, its food truck policy. My problem is not with it per se, but with its implications for property owners.

In some cities, including, surprisingly, semi-trendy Tampa, it has become quite de rigueur for food trucks to line up along a given street during a given weekend and sell a variety of food to throngs of the neo-chic. Not so in St Pete which, in perhaps this single instance, appears positively dark and medieval next to that flickering candle of renaissance light across the bay.

The story of the neurosurgeon and The King's Bistro, as told by Tim Nickens of the Tampa Bay Times, exemplifies the issue.

The neurosurgeon's office adjoins a vacant lot which the doctor owns. One day he spotted a couple at a gas station across the steet buying propane for their food truck. He offered to let them set up on his vacant lot. They explained to him that they doubted St Pete would let them do it. This sent the good doctor into a hissy fit.

"He didn't want to hear it," said the truck's owner. "He said, "This is my land. Why can't I do what I want?'"

You would think the adjective "naive" would not be one to come to mind when describing a neurosurgeon, wouldn't you? Well, you would be wrong, ether-breath.

See, no one, least of all an urban dweller, and especially one in St Petersburg, really owns his/her property. Okay, one may own it, but one does not have control over it.

Not too long ago a gallery owner in downtown St Pete replaced a section of the curb bordering her property with a transition so she could drive onto her driveway. The city made her replace the curb.

Want to raise chickens in your St Pete backyard? Ha, ha! Silly you!

I have an oak tree on my corner lot which continuously trashes both my yard and pool, especially in the winter and during a goodly wind. I would have to get permission, pay exorbitant permit fees, and agree to plant five other trees to take its place before I would have any hope of cutting it down.

It took the doctor a month to get the permit necessary to allow The King's Bistro to park on his lot for two weeks. As a stipulation, he may not allow any more food trucks to park there for six months. Sound like a property "owner" to you?

Predictably, the doc has called the mayor and threatened to sue the city. He will also campaign for City Council next year. Since Nickens describes him as "a tea party guy and an unbowed Ron Paul supporter" it should make for some fun, Hillsborough County Commission-like meetings.

I know I can't wait.