Up early one recent Sunday, I convinced my not-morning-person husband to go to the early service at church. I had it all worked out: We could go to breakfast after and be home in time for “Fareed Zakaria GPS.” A lovely middle-class mainline churchgoing person’s Sunday morning.
It was lovely--until we pulled up in front of the restaurant after church to see that it would not open for another hour. We were hungry now. And we had news shows to watch. The search for an alternative to a bowl of cold cereal at home began.
A few blocks away we discovered Biscuits & Groovy -- an airstream trailer with a kitchen, a service window and three old-fashioned wooden picnic tables on a vacant lot. By the names of dishes on the menu -- the Bee Gee, the Gloria Gaynor, the Donna Summer, the MC Hammer -- I wondered whether the owners were bi-vocational: eclectic musicians and restaurateurs. The whole operation was run by Jason, a skinny, red-headed twenty-something in too-big black pants, black shirt and black tie. People had come out on this early Sunday. The couple sitting at the yellow table was managing hangovers. The man corralling the messy-haired little boy looked to be letting Mommy have some “me” time. Jason said someone was supposed to be coming to help him, but “I guess he’s not.” The counter on the service window held a basket for mix-tape swapping. Biscuits & Groovy is very Austin (“keep Austin weird,” the slogan goes) -- very much of its place.
I started to get a little huffy when Jason was out of waffle batter (They had only been open one hour). But something about his earnestness, the raw humanity of the other people, the feel of the cold air on my skin, and having just been reminded to love my neighbor flaked off my bourgeois pretensions like dead skin. We were in this thing together. I ordered the buttermilk biscuits with white pepper gravy, sausage and chives. David ordered the Johnny Hash. We walked around the block and talked about Moltmann while the skinny redhead cooked our breakfast. When we picked up our food, Jason knocked a few bucks off the bill since “hey, we didn’t have what you really wanted.”
Biscuits & Groovy is part of the food trailer movement in Austin. People can get started with a minimal investment (no franchises, no buildings), control costs by offering a focused menu, keep overhead low with few employees, and change or add locations to meet demand. No advertising budget is needed because they use Twitter to tell the public where they are, what the special is, or whether their power is back on after the ice storm. They are agile, responsive, creative, friendly, small, and generate loyal followings.
But here’s the thing I find remarkable: While the delivery system and packaging is different -- fun, retro and edgy, the food is mostly just good old-fashioned stuff that people like, i.e. biscuits and gravy. Some of it gluten-free, vegan and locally grown, but still basic comfort.
I think Giggling Goats, Flip Happy Crepes and Wigs, Pigs and Swigs have something going on from which the church could learn. Do you? Is there a clue in this phenomenon that leaders of congregations, leaders of larger church bodies, might follow as they decipher how to be the body of Christ for the world? How can we feed people soul food right now while so many iconic structures are under duress?
Let me know if you want to come to Austin for a trailer food crawl with theological reflection. We’ll start with breakfast. And I’ll have the Aretha Franklin.
