Beef, Bread, and Breakdown Moments: My First Year in Street Food
How one slightly unhinged chef stumbled through chaos, burnout, and beef-related trauma to fall in love with street food.
By Nathan Devonport – UK Street Food Specialist
The Myth of Glamorous Street Food
People always assume street food is glamorous — that it’s all mouth-watering dishes, big queues, TikTok fame and the occasional “omg you’ve changed my life” customer moment. What they don’t see is the bit where you’re working 17-hour days, sleeping in a tent, clinging onto a gazebo in 40mph winds, or quietly crying in your car after serving 800 people with one fryer that’s actively trying to kill you. My first year in street food wasn’t polished, predictable or polite. It was chaos, comedy, trauma and triumph rolled into one — and somehow, it made me love this industry even more.
Why I Jumped Into the Madness
Street food became my escape. I’d spent years making other people money, putting in the hours, the effort, the stress — all so someone else could reap the benefits. At some point it hit me that if I was going to break my back for anyone, it might as well be myself. Cooking had always been my creative outlet, but watching people enjoy something I’d cooked was the thing that lit me up. So I did the thing most sensible adults would avoid at all costs: I threw myself into the deep end of the UK street food scene.
A Baptism by Fire (and Dehydration)
My first event was a baptism by fire, dehydration, exhaustion, and possibly early-onset madness. It was the first summer after lockdown, everyone was desperate to escape their homes, and an event that promised eight caterers ended up with… two. Just me and one staff member trying to feed a small army of hungry festival-goers.
At one point people waited an hour and a half for food, which is flattering until you realise it’s because there are only two humans trying to cook for 5,000. We worked from eight in the morning until one the next, Thursday to Sunday, sleeping in a tent in between like two feral, overworked goblins.
When we finally got into the car on Sunday night and shut the doors, we just stared ahead and had a silent breakdown. But then we saw the reviews. The feedback. The bank balance. And just like that, we were ready to ruin ourselves all over again.
The Demon Fryer Incident
Of course, it wasn’t all emotional growth and character development. Some of it was just stupid. Like the time we bought a fryer off someone who swore it was perfectly fine.
We got it to an event, lit it up, and discovered it hadn’t been converted properly. It immediately spat fire and carbon everywhere like it was summoning a demon. We stood there, covered in soot, asking each other whether this sort of behaviour was normal for a fryer.
Spoiler: it wasn’t. That thing belonged in a museum exhibit called “Very Poor Life Choices”.
Beef, Bread, and the Cult-Like Queue
But then there were the moments that made everything worth it. One day we sold out of everything. Everything except beef and bread. Just beef. And bread.
Instead of going home disappointed, the entire queue started chanting “BEEF AND BREAD! BEEF AND BREAD!” like we were leading some kind of protein-based cult. I’ve never felt prouder. It was stupid. It was brilliant. It was street food in its purest form.
Every Mistake in the Book (And Then Some)
Looking back, I made every mistake you can possibly make. I overcomplicated the menu, tried to cook too many things, bought equipment that didn’t work, didn’t buy enough equipment that did work, and generally behaved like someone who believed they were catering for the entire population of Britain.
If I could go back and tell myself one thing, it would be this: you cannot cook everything. Pick a few things and do them exceptionally well. Your sanity will thank you.
When the Weather Becomes Your Nemesis
And then there was the weather. The British weather doesn’t just “happen” to street food traders — it attacks us. We once took an actual ton of beef to an event, ready to smash it. Instead, the wind smashed us.
They evacuated campers because the conditions were that dangerous. At one point we were hanging off the gazebos to stop them flying off like discount aircraft. I genuinely considered going home.
But when the event reopened on Sunday and we sold out, I realised this industry is basically a long, unpredictable emotional rollercoaster strapped to a deep fat fryer.
The Moment That Makes It All Worth It
Despite everything — the graft, the exhaustion, the fire-spitting fryer, the wind-related trauma — nothing compares to seeing someone take that first bite and do the little eyes-closed nod that says “yeah… that hits”. That moment makes every breakdown, blister, and beef-based crisis worth it. It’s why I keep doing it. It’s why this ridiculous, beautiful, chaotic world feels like home.
Final Thoughts: A Wild Ride Worth Taking
So no, starting a street food business in the UK isn’t glamorous. It isn’t easy. It will test every part of you — mentally, physically and spiritually. But if you’re passionate, stubborn, slightly unhinged, and willing to learn on the fly, then there’s space for you here.
It’s hard. It’s messy. It’s wild.
And I wouldn’t trade it for anything.
