Legacy

It’s 10 p.m. on a humid August night, and Nick Hufft isn’t nervous. His eyes move around like newly-released pinballs and his finger wags an unlit cigarette, but he’s not nervous – he’s ready. It’s 10 p.m. on a humid August night, and Nick Hufft isn’t nervous. His eyes move around like newly-released pinballs and his finger wags an unlit cigarette, but he’s not nervous – he’s ready.

Tonight marks the opening of Hufft’s second late-night food joint, Borracho’s. The small dive rests outside the doors of Fred’s and serves up tortillas to college students released from the bars in Tiger Land. Behind the counter are two first-time employees — Bryce Novotny, the reserved 18-year-old, and Mario Giorlando, the cook with his hair pinned back like a Samurai.

Hufft rushes in and out of his red-and-white Winnebago-like trailer, checking the contents of each food pan. He weaves between his employees and checks the slow-cooked ingredients for mere seconds before putting the tops back on the small pots.

“I’m paying attention, just keep shooting questions,” the 24-year-old says, wandering over to the web of extension cords underneath his trailer. He follows them to the nearby generator to make certain they are securely plugged in.

It could be a slight touch of obsessive compulsive disorder or that newly-lit nighttime excitement that comes with the job.

While Hufft is busy tending to Borracho’s grand opening, the bass of Drake’s “Best I Ever Had” bumps from the speakers in Bogie’s Bar on East Boyd Drive. The disc jockey for the night occasionally stops the music and demands everyone toast to the bartenders frantically working behind the bar. Girls and guys alike scurry in and out the double-doors, all with their own stories of the night’s conquests.

However, 20 feet outside the bar there’s a different story. Two men, dressed in khaki shorts and reliable white tees work quietly in a fire-engine red trailer. The sound of waffle fries soaking in hot grease fills the trailer as they prepare burgers for the mass of college students leaving the bar.

This is Hufft’s first business – this is Moochie’s.

Inside, Beau Roberts and Brenton Jenkins wipe sweat from their brow as they grill, fry and prepare the ingredients for the food they will serve to those who walk up to their small window ready to order.

“At the beginning [of the shift], it’s really slow,” Jenkins says, peering out the window of the trailer to make sure no customers are standing impatiently. “You sit [inside the trailer] from 10 p.m. to 12:30 a.m., and you’re prepping all the food. Then, after 12:30 [a.m.], business starts picking up. You stop looking at your clock, and the rush doesn’t stop until 2:45 a.m.”

Roberts and Jenkins are a rag-tag fast-food duo. Roberts, wrangles customers over while Jenkins, waits to flip burgers and unleash fries from their greasy bath.

And what infamous fries they have. Moochie’s specializes in waffle cheese fries, topped with mounds of grated American and cheddar cheese and finished with a touch of Tony Chachere’s Original Creole Seasoning.

Jake Goldenburg, a 25-year-old Marine Corps veteran and returning University student, said the food reminds him of Christmas morning.

“It is homemade hotness,” Goldenburg said.

Of all the menu items, Goldenburg loves the brisket.

“It’s an absolute home run from outer space. It’s sweet, savory and spicy,” he said with a mouthful of food. “They’ve got it going on, and I’m not ashamed to say I eat there several times a week when I’m in Baton Rouge.”

Danny Dehon, a 24-year-old biological engineering major, said he also suffers from this habit.

“I would eat at Moochie’s every day except Sunday,” he said.

Those comments fuel what Sneakysunday.com named one of Baton Rouge’s “Best Late Night Food Places.” Though the reception to the food and service offered by Moochie’s hasn’t always been great, Hufft thinks customers enjoy what he’s providing.

“Some people treat you bad, of course,” he said. “They’re all drunk, most of the time. I wouldn’t expect everybody to have a smiling face.”

Drunk or sober, drivers can blink and miss Moochie’s prime location. The trailer is no bigger than the kitchen in a one-bedroom apartment. Inside, a grill and two mini-fryers line one wall with the vegetable and toppings counter on the other side. If you stare closely at the register, you’ll see a green-lettered tagline run across its two-inch screen.

“A little taste of heaven without the price of dying,” it reads. The idea for that holy combination of fresh hamburgers and waffle fries in the early morning came from Hufft’s New Orleans’ state of mind.

“In New Orleans, the routine is to go out, get drunk and then you want a late-night snack,” Hufft said. “You can go anywhere and get late night food. While I was in school at LSU, the only option was McDonald’s.”

Hufft saw a niche and carved his late-night food business with minimal expenses.

Two years ago — when he was still in college — he didn’t have the finances to run a large restaurant. The only way he thought he could mix the restaurant business and being his own boss was by opening up his own trailer.

Though happy to become an entrepreneur, Hufft does feel the wear of the late-night job. The feelings are mutual for Novotny, who said the hardest part of working a night job is the next day.

“Tonight will be rough,” he said. “I have a math class at 7:30 a.m.”

Jenkins echoed those sleepy feelings.

“It gets rough trying to pull school and then work until three in the morning.” The fourth-year, environmental engineering major who said at first he had trouble getting in the swing of the schedule. “Pretty soon, after being on the job a couple of weeks and coming home early in the morning, after a shift, I end up ditching homework for some rest.”

While Hufft’s employees feel the fatigue that accompanies lack of sleep and working nights, Hufft rides the adrenaline rush at Borracho’s as he waits for customers to knock the window.

“I can’t see this not doing well,” he says, with his arms crossed, the cigarette still unlit. “There are four bars in the vicinity [of Borracho’s] as opposed to one with Moochie’s.”

But by 10:30 p.m., Hufft’s confidence may be rattled by the lack of business. Only a doorman from Fred’s has come up to the window to ask if Borracho’s is open. Behind the trailer, Hufft has a taste-tester — Danny Dehon — to make sure everything tastes accordingly.

Dehon shoves a beef-filled tortilla in his mouth with his hand cupped underneath to catch any crumbs. Giorlando, the cook, stands in the doorway — spatchula in hand — waiting for Dehon’s response.

“It’s good,” Dehon moans with a mouthful of Mexican food. “As always.”

Photographs by Maggie Bowles

EDITOR’S NOTE: This is the first in a series of stories that takes a look at night jobs around the University. If you have an idea or work a night job you would like the Legacy to write about, send your suggestion to editor@lsulegacymag.com.