Michael Luttinger is too occupied, at least for now, to coddle his Instagram feed. He’s just, as he puts it, nonstop busy running Dallas food truck Eggstand.
His two daughters log in to help him out here and there, but at 59 — he was asked to resign from his job in sales in 2016, he says — he's not prioritizing social media over cooking up fresh sandwiches.
“Get me to an event, let me serve my food, let me clean up and go home," he says. "Move on to the next one." Then, he drops the “O” word: he’s “old school.”
Wander up to the unadorned truck — it’s paper white with what looks like clipart of an egg on the side — and you'll easily behold the old-schoolness. The Eggstand truck’s sidewalk sign is bright yellow, with sandwiches hovering around in the space like weird, meaty UFOs. It would be generous to say that the photos of the sandwiches, each one, are unstylized. The Mac & Cheese Burger, for example, looks like it might explode all over your shirt. The Da Boss, an Angus beef patty topped with macaroni and cheese, bacon, hash browns, an egg and onion strings, looks like it might leap out, shrieking, and take a bite of you. The fries look like a cluster of beige polygons.
But, really, who cares? That’s not what this food truck is about. Eggstand, which Luttinger opened in 2016, is a diner on wheels. Everything else doesn’t matter. It’s about hulking sandwiches that you palm smash, sending sun-hued yolk down the cliff-face of a hamburger. It’s a vehicle for a bacon, egg and cheese sandwich that reminds you of eating in front of carts in the taxi cab air of New York City. It’s a diner cheeseburger that’s uninterested in shoulder and short-rib blends. It’s hard not to admire the spirit of the truck.
So, stick to less-is-more for success at Eggstand: The Wanted, a hearty $8 breakfast sandwich with two fried eggs, bacon, cheddar cheese and a big dollop of Chipotle ketchup is honest-to-goodness, devour-in-minutes food. The cheeseburger is less great, but enjoyable — a Yellow Pages-thick beef patty topped with caramelized onions, egg, ketchup, bacon, cheese and tangy pickles. French fries aren’t for the faint of heart — consuming these potatoes during lunch will send the body directly into coma mode. Only a hard reboot will save you.
“I am not a cook,” Luttinger says. “I don’t profess to be one.”
We Believe Local Journalism is Critical to the Life of a City
Engaging with our readers is essential to the Observer's mission. Make a financial contribution or sign up for a newsletter, and help us keep telling Dallas's stories with no paywalls.
Support Our Journalism
After getting jettisoned from his career in sales, he took some time in Vegas to blow off steam. He’d been stewing for a month when he gathered the inspiration that seeded from his youth, when his parents owned a old-fashioned deli in New York City. Now, he cuts potatoes the same way he did at his folks’ deli: in the crinkle-shape. What else?
Luttinger says that customers lean into his window asking for multitudes of dipping sauces.
“Just put some ketchup on it,” he usually responds.
Follow Eggstand's roving locations on Twitter.