IN THE MIDDLE OF WRITING THIS BOOK, I GOT A CALL FROM GOLDEN VOICE, WHO RUNS THE COACHELLA VALLEY MUSIC AND ARTS FESTIVAL. COACHELLA BRINGS IN MORE THAN ONE HUNDRED THOUSAND PEOPLE PER DAY OVER THREE DAYS THROUGHOUT THE TWO WEEKENDS. IN RECENT YEARS, AS VIP TICKETS STARTED GOING FOR ABOUT $900 FOR THE WEEKEND, ORGANIZERS BEGAN PUSHING TO CATER TO THE MORE AFFLUENT AND HARD-CORE LA FOODIE. THIS MEANS THAT EVERY FOOD PLAYER IN LA, INCLUDING THE LIKES OF EGGSLUT, GUERRILLA TACOS, PHORAGE, BEER BELLY, RAMEN HOOD, AND MEXICALI TACO, HAS BEEN OR WILL BE INVITED TO TEST THEIR METTLE AT COACHELLA.
Coachella 2016 for us was one of the worst experiences I’ve ever had in the history of Starry Kitchen and in my life. I know I’ll sound like an alcoholic who says he’s not an alcoholic, but I can assure you, I’m not the kind of person who cracks and gets humbled easily. But Coachella did that to me in a blow so swift that just the thought of it still depresses me.
I mean, we planned for three months and spent almost $15k on rentals, deposits, equipment, hotels, and whatever else we needed before we got out there. I felt like a crack addict when we ran out of money and had to tap into the money we were saving for our newly born (and so fucking CUTE) baby boy Cillían. I promised myself and Thi that all would be fine and we would make it back. We made projections, we made plans, we had meetings upon meetings, we got a last-minute refrigerated truck rental with our friend Ilan Hall . . . we were good to go.
As much as I’m sure this is going to sound like dirty garbage (and the people who run these things ain’t gonna like it), part of the problem is just how chaotic EVERYTHING is leading up to such events. Details and dates change so frequently that you’re forced into a whirlwind of chaos that you can never control. But by that point, you’re already in, so you can’t do anything but play along.
A better way to put it: When running a business of any kind, part of your success is how much you can reduce the amount of unpredictability and the number of variables on the basis of your personal experience and the lessons you learned gaining that experience. The way to get ahead and succeed is to be able to anticipate and stay ahead of catastrophe.
Concerts: Instead of a six-sided die, you’re tossing more like a twenty-sided one. Concerts force you out of reason and logic, and you can either go with the flow and just deal with it . . . or crack. I promise you, I’m the kind of person who goes with the flow, but Coachella also ended up cracking me.
Moving your restaurant far away from home and creating a menu that’s both appealing and executable is not an easy . . . fuck it, it’s simply a fucking HARD feat to plan and execute. I mean, Starry Kitchen isn’t hamburgers (even though we DO make a damn fine Classic Double Cheeseburger), hotdogs, chicken strips, funnel cakes, fried chicken, or anything with one or two words that concert kids can mentally take in in a highly suggestive state helped by admittedly fun recreational substances. It’s not easy for any concertgoer to just walk up and get what he or she wants. And Crispy Tofu Balls, no matter how popular they are for us in the niche of the hard-core LA foodie community, hardly incite a manic reaction from people, like girls screaming and fainting at the sight of Michael Jackson back in the 1980s. Plus we’re pan-Asian in influence, so I couldn’t really agree to have a sign that just said “Chinese Food,” “Orange Chicken,” or “Chow Mein” in big letters (I would love to have a sign that says “Asian Food That White People Love More Than They Think They Would,” but that’s too many words . . . among other “things.” Ha-ha.)
The same goes for our name. Yeah, foodie hipsters in LA might have heard of Starry Kitchen, but if these concert kids were even somewhat educated, that name might make them think of Van Gogh’s Starry Night instead of food.
I yearned to be there with the crowd, having the time of their lives. But there I was, Asian-squatting in the back of a refrigerated truck . . .
A rule: Real estate and location are EVERYTHING—even at a concert. You want to be near ALL the other food stands. People want options. They want to peruse what’s available among the festival foods before the next performance of some EDM artist who sounds like the previous EDM artist, who has a ton of Instagram followers and can hit “Play” as easily as the previous DJ. “At a smaller concert we had worked, we were given what we thought was “prime real estate” as the sole food vendor next to the bar (the real star of any show). But we found out very quickly that people just wanted to get inebriated, and when they wanted to eat, they checked out the row of food outside the venue. They wouldn’t come back to us!
Funny thing: The same thing happened at Coachella for the first weekend. We were given the “prime real estate” as the sole vendor next to the coveted and HUGE craft beer bar. As arrogant as I am, I am very HAPPY to be proven wrong for the sake of success and business, so I was willing to roll the dice. Unfortunately, I hated being right in this case. It was a real struggle to get people to notice us and consider eating our food. And it wasn’t for lack of trying. My team worked hard to get people’s attention, and I made custom Starry Kitchen condoms to hand out. I don’t like being that guy who complains while he’s just sitting around waiting for someone to fix a problem. I ALWAYS think we can affect change.
But nothing changed until the first night of the first weekend of Coachella. I was on the other side of the concert grounds catching up with my colleagues in the LA food scene when I got a call from Monica, who works for me. She said, “Nguyen, you’re not going to like this—you need to come back here.”
What did that translate to? We had lost our golf cart because one of my guys broke a cardinal rule of golf carts (which he honestly didn’t know), which is, you don’t give anyone a ride in the trailer of the cart because people can fall off and get run over. My guy, no matter how earnestly he meant it, pissed off not just any security guard, but the head of ALL Coachella security when he caught him doing just that. Oh, and then I also found out that this golf cart event happened shortly after a woman had been killed by being run over by a commercial vehicle in the same back streets of Coachella on which our golf carts traveled, which effectively put all Coachella into golf cart security lock-down. This also meant that any infraction, no matter how small, was taken no less than incredibly seriously.
Thus our golf cart got confiscated, effective immediately for BOTH weekends of Coachella. Problem: ALL our product was in a refrigerated truck in a parking lot about a five-minute golf cart ride from our booth.
I scrambled to work my magic, but it was to no avail.
The next morning my staff started running back and forth with a flatbed dolly on the dusty desert roads. I could tell this was a bad idea and would wear and tear my staff like nothing else throughout the day. So I continued scrambling, talking to everyone who might have influence or could direct me to someone who could. Nothing.
My friends at Bling Bling Dumpling, however, ended up letting me borrow their cart, but only for a short time and about two hours after we really needed it. I was on a path to depression. I couldn’t control any of it, and what little grasp I had left was getting looser, while the chasm between me and my normal amount of sanity grew exponentially. This was not good.
Even worse, our Crispy Tofu Balls—the thing that we’re most well known for—were going bad. We had to dump most of them in a flash and start the process of making them all over again.
When I finally got that golf cart from Bling Bling, I already felt defeated. It was too little, too late. I was worn down. I couldn’t hold a smile to motivate my crew, who were being pushed harder than they should have been. This was the fucking shitter.
I finally made it to our refrigerated truck in what was the first trip back there without having to haul ass and run back and forth. It was already sundown. I opened up the truck. I found the tofu. I began cutting open tofu boxes to drain and press the tofu to make more balls. I could see the lights of Coachella in what seemed like a whole country away and listened to the crowd go crazy as Ice Cube performed. I yearned to be there with the crowd, having the time of their lives. But there I was, Asian-squatting in the back of a refrigerated truck, nearly on the verge of tears, being in a very lonely place and having the revelation that no matter how many times I’ve been written up in and reported by local, regional, and national press of all kinds, I and almost any restaurateur/chef could never escape the fact that when push comes to shove, we’ll always be doing what it takes to feed the masses that get us that press and publicity no matter how big or small we are because THAT is our trade. In my case, it was just me, humbly Asian-squatting and cutting open tofu boxes while holding back tears because at the end of the day, what else could I do? Who else was going to do this?
