Side of Ranch: Jay Heater

Retired from the restaurant business at 60-something, Eugene Moore would put his feet up and watch a variety of cooking shows on television.

After that got old, he decided to buy a trailer.

Hello, mamma. Pack the bags and get ready to check out the nation's national parks.

Only it wasn't that kind of trailer.

After two years living the good life, Moore wasn't feeling so good. He missed his customers at the Farmer's Inn, the former restaurant and tavern that was east of Bradenton on State Road 64. He missed shooting the ... well ... talking to them.

And he missed the money.

So he had a plan. He started shopping for a trailer he could convert into a type of food truck.

"I tried to buy a used one," he said. "But it either wasn't what I wanted or it was just too nasty."

Moore got in touch with Worldwide Trailer Manufacturing of Waycross, Ga. "They will build anything you want," he said with a nod. "I told them what I wanted to put into it, and they told me how long it needed to be. Forty-six feet."

The trailer, $140,000 later, now sits on Upper Manatee River Road, just north of the S.R. 64 intersection. Farmer's Inn on Wheels sprung to life two months ago.

It's hard to miss because it is fire engine red, and a pair of huge barbecue drums sit out next to the road smoking away, not for cooking, but for advertising.

For the first month he was open, Moore sat with his wife, Val, and his daughter, Laura, and watched as cars zoomed past. The lot where his trailer sits is now owned by his brother, Duane, and is right across the street from the home where Moore grew up, on the dairy farm owned by his parents, Bob and Virginia.

Food was a big part of their lives, and as Eugene noted, "if Dad fixed a meal, everybody showed up or he would come looking for you."

It appears that his former customers have been looking for Eugene, and they've found him in the trailer.

Why not? He pulled a hamburger out of the warmer and I took a look. If I poked two holes for eyes and one for a nose, I could have worn it as a mask. "A lot of these are working people and they want a big sandwich," he said.

Eugene asked if I wanted the tour, and how could I refuse? I didn't even have to pay a quarter like you used to do at the county fair to see the incredible log home.

He opened the door and pointed down. "Fifty gallon diesel generator," he said, and then walked forward.

I followed him, kind of feeling like I was getting a tour of a straw. This one, though, had burners and refrigerators and sinks. Everything was shinier than the emblem on a Mercedes.

Moore routinely gives people the tour, he estimates about 400 to date, because their biggest fear is food truck filth.

He then shows off his three air conditioners, because "you can never have too many air conditioners in a trailer."

Val watches everything patiently, and I note how Eugene's desire to return to work also made up her mind as well.

"I didn't mind," she said, scrubbing the kitchen while she spoke. "It's not really work. It's a place to go everyday. Most people want to go play golf, he wanted his food trailer."

Eugene pointed out his concession to Val, a flat-screen television mounted at the end of the trailer.

"Need to have my football," Val said.

They are doing better with their business now as more cars are stopping to check out the red trailer. Eventually, Eugene, reasons, the bridge to Parrish will open and he will have even more drive-by traffic. Until then, he hopes his friends will continue to find him.

"He's got a big heart," said Val of the man she married 48 years ago.

Eugene enjoyed the compliment, but he said his customers come more for a home-cooked meal.

"You aren't going to get a steak sandwich like I cook," he said. 

He then went to the window to meet another friend.