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I've lived in Kobe ( and worked in Osaka) for the past year, and that sounds like its about as authentic as it gets (though i would imagine much more expensive than a place of similar quality here) in terms of yakiniku. You are right on when you talk about the way restaurants in Japan specialize in certain things. When you go to a small Tempura restaurant (with 10 seats) or mom and pop katsu shop (of which there are many), you can be sure that the person doing the frying will have more than 20 or 30 years experience and really knows their stuff (there is a real pride in it that shows in the quality of whats put out). Now all they need in NYC is a restaurant specializing in kushiage (aka Kushi-katsu), which if you've ever eaten when its done well, can be extremely delicious.

There is a similar place in Williamsburg brooklyn. The first time I went there, I was enticed by the name of the restaurant, as well as the appearance of the oven. As I got closer to the oven, I noticed that what appeared to be a wood burning fire was not an actual fire, but was instead a video of a fire -- this video was recessed in such a way so as to look like it was actually the fire within the oven. In any event, I can't say that I was totally misled because I did spot the video screen. In spite of this, against my better judgment, I decided to try the pizza. Needless to say, the pizza was horrendous, and since then, I have not been back.

This is interesting... In a previous post, I had mentioned that my pizza here (as well as my girlfriend's) was definitely undercooked, overly dense, and doughy. It's possible that the reason for this was that Matthieu himself didn't make the pie. At the time i went (approximately 6:30 pm on a wednesday), there were two other individuals making pies .... and they definitely weren't belgian. Matthieu wasn't even in sight as far as i can tell. If that is the reason, he might want to excercise a little quality control over his employees -- cause it sounds like anything he makes himself is awesome.

Wow. Not sure why I didn't look at the youtube video before writing my comment. That's really interesting.... and I think it kind of captures what I was saying. Whenever in the truck, there was always interesting banter with Bob... he would recounting stories, or what not (such as the Howard Stern story). Incidentally... notice how Bob precisely puts on the pepperoni -- even though that sandwich will ultimately get folded up and topped with a variety of other ingredients. (that's the kind of attention to detail i'm talking about)

Based on the badges people were wearing in the video (saying class of 92 or 97) it appears the video was shot during reunion week in '97... so that would be in June '97 sometime.

Also, just to add a little more depth to the video, notice how the guy taking the orders keeps kind of staring at the people making the video? Based on my experience, this was most likely not due to any interest in the filming or video, but because they were kind of being annoying in discussing sandwich names (pmp, mbc, etc), and therefore he couldn't hear people's orders. Incidentally, that guy's family (the one taking the orders) owned a major distributorship for snapple.... and if i recall, he graduated from Cornell, and stayed in Ithaca, in part, just to work at the hot truck for a couple of years.

I went to Cornell from '95 to '00 – back in the days when Bob still owned and operated the truck. For the next several years following my time at Cornell, I continued to make visits to the hot truck – averaging 6 or 7 visits a years, during which time the truck was no longer owned or operated by Bob. I visited again about 2 years ago, and finally this past year. In total, I have eaten at the Hot Truck over 400 times (which included a stretch of 65 straight evenings).

I tell you that not to brag… but just to lend some credence to my perspective on the Hot Truck. Needless to say, I am a big Hot Truck fan. Rather, I was a big hot truck fan. Although I still enjoy a hot truck sandwich, in my opinion, it is a shell of its former self when Bob was still there running and operating the joint.

The reason is simple. Bob built his life around the Hot Truck, striving to put out a very, very high quality product. He was a permanent fixture in the truck, rarely missing a day, and making sandwiches from the time the truck arrived at it’s spot – around 10pm… till the truck closed and drove away for the evening – ranged from 2:30 till around 5am. In spite of the late hours, he and his wife would make may of the ad-on ingredients in their home during the course of the day – which included amazing home made meatballs and sausages.

On probably half of my hot truck visits, I entered the truck to talk to bob and watch my sandwich being prepared. At the time I was at Cornell, many students would do this. Bob knew most of the regulars’ names, would ask how you were doing, and then would recount stories of his past 40+ years. He would also make fun of the drunk idiots outside (I was often drunk myself… but it was still funny to watch). There are really too many stories to recount, but anyone who experienced the banter or enjoyment of watching Bob make your sandwich on a late evening understands what I am talking about.

In many ways, the Hot Truck and Bob were inseparably linked. To have one without the other really doesn’t make much sense. I won’t really disparage the current Hot Truck or it’s owners – I am kind of happy it didn’t close and that there is some bit left of the old truck… but, anyone who’s had a sandwich recently, who ate there regularly during Bob’s tenure, understands that the love, devotion, consistency, and high quality that he provided is simply no longer there.

Rob

P.S. For those NYC pizza lovers out there – the experience was very similar to that at DiFara’s pizza…in terms of the ambience, and the intangibles that made the hot truck such a special place while Bob was working there. It’s kind of difficult to imagine DiFara’s operating at the same level, with the same passion, and with the same character, without the presence of Mr. Demarco, isn’t it?