It’s story time! Once upon a time, I lived in this tiny little craphole in the East Village. It was the East Village and that part was nice, but it was a craphole so it wasn’t. I rarely invited friends over, because it was a craphole AND there was nowhere to sit. I had guests sleep in the kitchen. Yep. Welcome to New York!
Anyway, one dark and cold winter night, I was walking home from The New School for Social Research (graduate degree I’m not using, what!) and I happened upon the good ol’ Dessert Truck near Cooper Square.
I approached the truck with hope and ordered a molten chocolate cake to go, asking if it would still be warm by the time I made it home. The sir promised me it would and when I got home I discovered that he was right! Used my plastic spoon and took a picture of said molten chocolate cake and sent it to my momma. Success.
That sign is cute! We went for the chocolate bread pudding and their espresso panna cotta:
Oh man. We almost died. For real. I need to go back there. And you need to go there too. Or stop at the truck and carry it all the way home. :)