It's no coincidence that the first time I met Moe was also the first time I considered the likelihood of there being a God.
I remember it well, a year ago this month, walking along Professors Row with a hollow pang in my stomach. "So ... hungry," I thought, "Must ... find ... food." And I must have said this aloud because an ATO member chucked a Pizza Days crust at my head. It may have been an all-time low for me.
Sulking, I neared Packard Avenue and resolved to make it to Tilton alive. But wait! My eyes lit up. Something was glowing crimson and wonderful in the distance. Stumbling, heaving and eventually army-crawling myself towards its bright red perfection, I grasped at the counter of the trolley and looked up at the regal man holding his spatula like a scepter.
"What can I getcha?" he said in a tone only half audible above the din of his battery-powered trolley. Precious moments fleeting by, I feared I was taking too long to make a decision. I felt like a mother being told she had to choose between one of her many children. Uncertain I was making the right choice, I ordered both the kielbasa and the meatball sub. "Att'l be ten bucks," Moe said. I'm not huge on hyperbole, but man, it was the best ten bucks I ever spent.
This past weekend, I visited the man who has kept so many of us fed on those cold Somerville nights and, upon ordering my usual "kielbas," I floated him a few questions. I was surprised to find that Moe has only been coming to Tufts as long as I have — a little more than a year. Before Tufts, Moe's BBQ trolley could be spotted Monday through Friday at Powderhouse Circle, where he continues to draw a regular lunch crowd.
Setting up shop at Tufts became a way for Moe do his thing during absurd hours of the night that wouldn't typically be fruitful anywhere else. A prosperous 11 p.m. to 3 a.m. time slot Thursday through Saturday is one unique to a campus full of ravenous, party-going meat eaters, and Moe makes sure that there's plenty of grub to go around — which means increasing his stock pretty regularly as more and more vegetarians succumb to his splendor.
Throwing some chopped onions and peppers on my kielbasa, Moe let me in on how much he's appreciated the loyal patronage of all the charismatic (drunk) Tufts students. So when you visit Moe, you don't simply get a meal, you get a feast for the ego — a super-sized sack of confidence and hope that good things are to come. Could you imagine that on points?
"I'm for it," he said when asked if he'd consider being on points. "I just don't know anything about it." So I quickly briefed him on the basics and have already drafted a letter to Dining Services that is two hundred signatures strong.
Handing me my sizzling kielbasa, Moe let out his trademark "Att'l be five bucks." Decorating my kielbasa with its necessary garnishes, I asked Moe about the strangest thing he's been asked to make. "A B.L.T.," he said with a little chuckle. "Hah, a B.L.T. What an idiot! What was that person thinking?!" I said, hoping that Moe wouldn't remember that it was me who once asked him if he could make a B.L.T.
Before leaving, I was feeling rather chummy with Moe and I jokingly asked if he was looking for a sous chef. "No," he said bluntly. But seeing that I was a little hurt by his curt response, he added, "Maybe once I get a bigger trolley. But we won't be making any of those B.L.Ts you like so much."
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Michael Goetzman is a sophomore who has not yet declared a major. He can be reached at Michael.Goetzman@tufts.edu.
