A curbside oasis shimmers on the horizon of the Christian Science Church’s barren, empty reflecting pool expanse.
The “Go Fish” vehicle is a colorful, lively contrast to the suits of the lunch-break sector it serves, operated by men with gruff Boston accents that call me and my food-trucker-in-crime “darling” as if they were our uncles and offer a wide variety of seafood and sandwiches. I’d caution against the chowder – dubiously diluted – but the salmon rice rolls are wonderful, and the crisp smoked cod and chorizo cake sliders with pickled onions and chipotle mayo (for example) are small and precious pearls and quite delicious. The best part of the experience, however, is the sauces. THE SAUCES. So many of which there are to choose from that they get their own table off to the side, and you (I) find yourself (myself) pouring out more than you can sop, so to speak, and making a fool out of yourself (myself) in front of the businessmen reaching for the Cholula. For goodness sakes don’t be shy, but don’t say I didn’t warn you.