The announcement by Coma Food Truck operator Jay Cho that he is winding up operations tomorrow provoked an outpouring of eating and grief this week by his many fans.
Cho is giving up because he didn’t get selected for a permanent spot for the second year in a row. Although he seems to be successful with his mobile permit and would have been automatically renewed for that this year, he says it’s too hard. And, I get the sense, he’s also feeling really rejected.
I wasn’t part of the taste-testing prior to the selection of 12 lucky operators for permanent spots out of the 59 applicants, so I don’t know how his food ranked against them. But I can say that his Korean barbecue tacos were WAY better than what I had at LA food trucks — less salty, with moister meat, and with the spiciness cut by a nice heaping of some kind of Korean cole slaw on top.
My first-ever foray into bibimbap at his truck was also an above average meal. Burp.
Sorry to see you go, Jay. (He’s at 8th and Ash today, according to tweets. If you read this in time, hustle down. And somewhere in Kits tomorrow.) But I’ll be looking for Alessandro Vianello’s new food truck, which he describes in my story.
The mourning for Coma Food Truck reveals something profound about Vancouver’s relationship with its nascent street food culture. Like devoted fans grieving the cancellation of a beloved television show, customers lined up Thursday on Railway Avenue with an almost religious fervor, treating their final meals as sacred rituals. Some carried plastic containers to stockpile extra bulgogi burritos, as if preparing for an apocalyptic shortage of Korean-Mexican fusion.
The 27-year-old Jay Cho’s story embodies both the promise and the structural problems of Vancouver’s food truck experiment. A Korean immigrant who came to Vancouver via Los Angeles, Cho brought authentic culinary skills and entrepreneurial energy that city officials claim to want. His truck drew regular crowds of tech workers from nearby HootSuite and Appnovation offices, creating exactly the kind of dynamic street food scene that municipal planners envisioned when they launched the program.
Yet Cho’s departure exposes the arbitrary nature of Vancouver’s two-tier system that divides operators into mobile “roamers” and permanent spot holders. The city created 103 permanent locations and 20 mobile permits, but the criteria for advancement from mobile to permanent status remain opaque to operators. Cho’s frustration—receiving rave reviews and media coverage while twice failing to secure a permanent spot—reflects deeper issues with the selection process.
The bureaucratic machinery that killed Coma involves multiple assessment committees evaluating business plans, health and safety protocols, nutritional value, and taste. While Councillor Heather Deal defends this process as independent and fair, operators like Cho experience it as kafkaesque. How does a truck with proven customer loyalty and media acclaim fail to accumulate sufficient “points” while newcomers without operating trucks receive coveted spots?
The psychological toll on operators extends beyond mere business considerations. Cho’s decision to abandon his truck and pursue formal culinary training at the Culinary Institute of America reflects wounded pride as much as practical calculation. His comment—”Why should I wait another year just to please the city?”—reveals the emotional cost of bureaucratic rejection on immigrant entrepreneurs seeking legitimacy in their adopted home.
The mobile permit category creates its own challenges that many observers don’t fully appreciate. Unlike permanent spot holders who can establish regular customer relationships and predictable revenue streams, mobile operators face daily uncertainty about parking availability and location accessibility. The constant search for legal parking spots, combined with unpredictable foot traffic in different neighborhoods, makes financial planning nearly impossible.
Customer loyalty doesn’t translate directly to business viability under Vancouver’s mobile system. Even the most devoted fans can’t guarantee they’ll find their favorite truck on any given day. The tech workers who mourned Coma’s closure relied on knowing exactly when and where to find Cho’s Korean barbecue tacos. That reliability disappears in the mobile system, forcing operators to constantly rebuild their customer base.
The contrast between Cho’s resignation and Alessandro Vianello’s persistence illustrates different approaches to Vancouver’s food truck challenges. Vianello, a former executive chef at Coal Harbour’s prestigious Prestons restaurant, also failed to secure a permanent spot but chose to accept a mobile permit. His planned Mediterranean-style offerings—wild mushroom pies and street-version coq au vin—represent an attempt to create “restaurant experience on the street” within the mobile framework.
The social media outpouring over Coma’s closure—Twitter testimonials, Facebook posts declaring “ruined lives,” and blog entries mourning lost lunch options—demonstrates how quickly food trucks can become integral to urban community life. These aren’t just convenient meal sources but social anchors that create routine and connection in increasingly fragmented urban environments.
The geography of grief around Coma’s closure tells its own story about Vancouver’s evolving economy. The clusters of mourning customers from HootSuite, Appnovation, and other tech firms reflect the city’s transformation from resource-based to knowledge-based economy. These young professionals, earning good salaries but working long hours, represent the ideal food truck demographic—people with disposable income but limited time who value quality, convenience, and culinary adventure.
Vancouver’s food truck program, launched just two years ago with modest expectations, has exploded to 123 operators precisely because it serves this demographic shift. The city’s traditional restaurant scene, dominated by expensive fine dining and cheap ethnic options, left a gap for high-quality, affordable, accessible food that trucks fill perfectly.
Yet the program’s rapid growth has created administrative challenges that Cho’s story exemplifies. With 59 applicants competing for 12 permanent spots, the selection process inevitably creates more losers than winners. The emotional investment that operators make in their businesses—purchasing trucks, developing menus, building customer relationships—makes rejection particularly painful.
The international dimension of Vancouver’s food truck scene adds complexity to stories like Cho’s. Immigrant entrepreneurs bring authentic culinary traditions and fusion innovations that enrich the city’s food landscape. But they also face additional barriers—language challenges, unfamiliar regulatory systems, cultural differences in business practices—that can make bureaucratic rejection feel like broader social rejection.
Cho’s planned exit to pursue formal culinary training represents both loss and opportunity for Vancouver. The city loses an innovative operator who successfully merged Korean and Mexican cuisines while gaining regular customers and positive media coverage. Yet his departure to seek Michelin-starred restaurant experience also reflects Vancouver’s role as launching pad for culinary careers that might ultimately return to enrich the local scene.
The grieving process for Coma Food Truck will likely continue long after Saturday’s final service. Regular customers will search unsuccessfully for comparable Korean barbecue tacos, discovering that Cho’s particular combination of authentic flavors, generous portions, and reasonable prices can’t be easily replaced. The tech workers who made Coma part of their routine will need to develop new lunch habits, potentially supporting other mobile operators or permanent food trucks.
Whether Vancouver’s food truck program learns from Cho’s departure remains to be seen. The structural problems that frustrated him—the arbitrary division between mobile and permanent permits, the opaque selection process, the daily challenges of mobile operation—will continue affecting other operators until city officials address them systematically.
