MIHO: San Diego for Hot Wheels

In August of 2009, Juan Miron happened upon a magazine feature about the growing trend of hot food trucks in major US cities. "I thought to myself, 'This is it. This is totally us and it’s something that we can do, and do it well.' I immediately texted Kevin about it and he replied, 'Let’s do it.' We have not stopped since."

By the following summer, the most ambitious San Diego mobile restaurant rolled into town with street food inspired by worldwide flavors, made with the highest quality ingredients sourced directly from local growers. MIHO Gastrotruck is the blend of two San Diego natives whose passion extends beyond the food on the plate to the people who are both growing it and savoring it.

Juan met Kevin Ho while working at the SD’s local-food-scene-rocking The Linkery. They found that they shared a devoted interest not only in sustainable food, but in "creating unforgettable experiences for people." The two began to host elaborate, multi-course "beer dinners," during which they refined the aesthetics of what an unforgettable experience should encompass – "food, libations, design, music, and entertaining." Their trips to the Santa Monica Farmers’ Market solidified their shared interest in food with a local and sustainable pedigree and was the catalyst for thinking beyond the beer dinners to something more audacious.

Their backgrounds were uniquely suited to designing a project from scratch. Juan's degree in international business provided the savvy for practical matters, while Kevin's work with an arts non-profit for children gave them a global perspective on how to craft an enriching experience. Their unique business plan is also informed by their own traditions and travels. Juan grew up in Tijuana, and has traveled much of Europe and South America, while Kevin hails from a traditional Chinese family and is intimately familiar with most of Asia and the Pacific Rim. Consequently, the MIHO experience is inspired by traditions of the past and present, which they hope to share with their local community.

The catering truck industry, however, was not equally ready for them. According to Juan, "There is no established protocol of how to find a truck or start the new kind of business we are pursuing. Gaining access to that insider knowledge was very difficult."

But, Kevin adds, "We were both at a point in our lives when we felt compelled to focus our skills and passions toward creating something entirely our own. We believed that having the freedom and opportunity to create something special in our community was worth the risk."

Their research showed them that the hot food truck has a history much grander than is suggested by the roach coach image. Decades ago, catering trucks offered the white-collar working class an opportunity to pause, gather together, and enjoy an affordable and convenient meal. When the rise and plateau of the gastropub reacquainted Westerners with the nostalgic pleasures of simple yet inspired food, the next best thing started rolling up to city blocks around the county– the gastrotruck. "We're not trying to reinvent anything," Kevin promises. "We hope to revive what was once a common tradition."

In bigger metropolises, you might have come across Seattle’s Skillet Street Food, the Dessert Truck of New York City, San Francisco’s RoliRoti and Spencer on the Go, or the growing number of new-wave trucks roaming the vast streets of Los Angeles. Even San Diego has Dave de Jour sidled up on 30th Street, and a crowd outside of Mariscos German in the City Heights liquor store parking lot. Roving restaurants like these are born for any number of reasons – skirting the start-up hassle of a brick-and-mortar restaurant, the potential for non-stop marketing, or the elegant minimalism that allows an opportunistic chef to reach people with his vision.

Hot food trucks are still something of a novelty in San Diego, however, despite being the perfect movement for residents to get crazy about as it literally caters to the city's laid-back mentality. The strict ethic of recreation in this part of the world precludes the idea of moving fast or far in search of something to eat, especially when you are happily camped out at the beach or ensconced at the local dive bar. Equipped with wheels and a low overhead, the hot food truck all but hand-feeds you immediately gratifying sustenance. It’s like the cool mom who loved to bring cookies to all the neighborhood kids hanging out in her basement.

"The wonderful thing about being mobile," says Juan, "is that we bring our hand-crafted street food to where the people are – whether that’s their workplace or where they’re spending their days off."

“Street Food” is the guiding vision of MIHO (whose name is derived from the first two letters of each of their surnames), which to Kevin and Juan involves not only ingredients and flavors, but also the essence and soul of a city. Their offerings during the day are healthy and intriguing – look for a lemongrass grilled chicken banh mi sandwich and a grass-fed burger with muenster cheese, harissa and caramelized onions. At night, they serve the hot spots of North Park, South Park, and Downtown, offering poutine, bacon-wrapped Mexi-dogs, and other such ideal sustenance for a prolonged pub crawl. The menu and the flavors are seasonal, and evolve with their own culinary inspirations and the availability of the freshest ingredients.

The food truck itself is a marvel of inventive machinery. The inside is about as roomy as a broom closet, with a grill at the back end and a narrow prep station against the driver's side wall, and an improbable number of drawers and cubbyholes  Kevin and Juan have taken pains to keep Lupita, as they call their vehicle, as lovely a thing to behold as their handmade food. The broad side is blazoned with the MIHO logo,  composed out of hand-painted quotations and iconography; the truck's passenger side pops out into a series of burlap-covered shelves that hold condiments, biodegradable napkins and utensils, ice buckets full of European sodas and conscientiously-sourced bottled water, as well as tiny potted succulents and homemade lavender-scented hand sanitizer. MIHO's opening bell is the sound of Beck, Vampire Weekend or Manu Chao, music that discreetly tonifies the atmosphere as Juan sets out the day's menu on a chalkboard at the rear of the truck.

With organically grown vegetables and grass-fed beef figuring prominently, and nearly all their ingredients sourced within a hundred miles, MIHO has an easy path to become the darling of the Slow Food, health food and locavore crowds. But the Miron-Ho team hastens to correct the notion that they hit the streets every day with an agenda to promote.

"We never wanted to educate people," Juan insists. "We just wanted to make really good food that people love to eat."

Education has showed up in a different form, however, as the crowds queueing up for poutine and the bacon-wrapped MIHO dog learn to cope with delayed gratification. There are times when the truck's temperamental nature makes MIHO late for a  curbside date. There are times when they run out of the day's favorite item. There are times when they run out of food altogether.

On the other hand, MIHO regulars (known to Juan, Kevin and each other as HOMIs) are growing in the lost art of community. Juan describes the increasing enthusiasm at the business parks that MIHO frequents during the week, in Sorrento Valley and UTC, as people share a meal with their office colleagues, appreciate locally-sourced handmade food, and share their suggestions with Kevin and Juan about where MIHO should go next or which of their favorite dishes they want to see return. While Kevin and Juan may not soapbox or distribute leaflets in support of community bonding, they do offer a gentle prod in that direction. The web page for their pre-order service reminds followers that they "can order a MIHO lunch pick-up and still enjoy it on the street (you can always eat at your desk the rest of the week--jk)."

It's no secret that this kind of camaraderie is exactly what they were going for—it is, to them, the very essence of "street food." According to Kevin, "Street food is made by people who seek to preserve and enhance the local culture, foster a sense of community, and contribute to the local economy." And in spite of the idiosyncrasies to a local-food-based, mobile restaurant—or, perhaps, because of them—the base for MIHO's growing success is the regular customer, who devotedly follows the truck's schedule via Facebook and Twitter updates.

Since their June 2010 debut, MIHO has figured prominently in local press, and been invited to cater or attend events all over the county. This month alone sees them at several community tree-lighting festivals, a frequent fixture at city events, and in partnerships with bars and clubs. Such collaborations affirm their value of combining forces with other local businesses for the soliditary of the community. Kevin and Juan also have dreams of crafting unique local events like an impromptu drive-in movie night, or a croquet picnic in Bird Park.

Aside from inopportune truck breakdowns—such as one that left them blocking a lane of traffic at 4:30am while NBC was expecting them for a live interview—MIHO's struggle has been the best kind that a small business can hope for. Namely, how will they keep up with the spreading demand for their food, without changing the personal attention to food and community that endears them to their customer base? Small changes may soon take place--customers may see only one of the founding duo doling food from the truck, while the other is back at the lab, perfecting their plans for tomorrow. They will, however, continue to foster camaraderie with their regulars. "Original HOMI" t-shirts were offered to those who have been fans since the truck's inception. And the well-updated MIHO blog, which reads like a pirate ship's log, allows devotees an intimate connection with the truck's daily adventures.

Soon, they will be bringing more members into the MIHO team, who share their ideals for street food. Juan confesses that it's a challenge to trust others with their vision, but it's essential to growing sustainably—not only in their business, but also in their own lives. When the truck hit the streets, Kevin stated that their goal was "to not only make local, seasonal and sustainably-raised food more affordable and accessible, but also an everyday, community experience." If their enterprise is to continue this way, the MIHO founders will have to learn to depend on the community they have built. Their work, up to now, has been mapping that course.

Main photo by Lynn Chyi / www.lynnchyi.com. See other photos for additional credits.