Call me Ishmael.
But if you do, don’t expect me to answer for this is the story of my elusive quest for the obsession of my culinary soul.
For the past fifteen summers I have been on the trail of one of New Jersey’s most beloved mythical creatures. He has been seen across the state by thousands & thousands and hundreds more have claimed to have eaten with him. From the clam bars in Cape May to the rodizios in the Ironbound to the farm stands of the rural counties to the diners lining the middle arteries of the state, reports come in each summer of sightings that always involve varied & wondrous gastronomical creations. He is the Big Dog of Munchmobile fame and he is my white whale.
But this summer will be different. This summer I will be using high tech gadgetry beyond the black ink of a newspaper like Facebook, Twitter & Instagram to follow The Big Dog’s progress. Our local paper even has a “Peter Parker type” of a writer who always seems to be in the right place at the right time for pictures of the Big Dog. I’m not sure how he does it but with coincidences like those, I am going to make sure that I follow him too.
The other day, while I was out for a drive in the country, my Big Dog sense started to tingle. I looked around me and noticed a restaurant coming up on my right hand side. It looked interesting and out of the way and the parking lot was full of cars & people excitedly talking & pointing down the road. As I stopped my car and stepped out, there was just a hint of mustard wafting away in the breeze so once again I was too late. The Big Dog had come & gone.