STATE

In Disney’s shadow, immigrants juggle running food truck with cleaning houses

Gabrielle Russon, Orlando Sentinel (TNS)
Evelyn Parada and Carlo Chavez clean a vacation rental home together in Davenport recently. After spending the day cleaning homes, they serve food out of their food truck to tourists and theme park workers ending their shifts late into the night. [Jacob Langston/Orlando Sentinel/TNS]

ORLANDO — Evelyn Parada and Carlo Chavéz spend their days scrubbing vacation homes, but their work doesn’t end there. Late into the night, they serve steak sandwiches from their food truck to tourists and theme park workers ending their shifts. 

The two immigrants find joy in what they do — giving their all at both cleaning and cooking.

“It’s a dream,” says Parada, who would love to open a second food truck someday with Chavéz’s family and build an “empire.”

“We’re working hard for what we want,” she says.

Their day starts with Parada making Chavéz strong coffee before they arrive to clean their first rental house in Polk County at 10:05 a.m.

The two-bedroom, sandy-colored house is in a neighborhood where all the houses seem identical, with pastel facades and screened-in porches.

Chavéz, 29, and Parada, 31, hardly speak to each other inside.

“Talking wastes time,” Parada says.

Instead, they get to work. They make a twin bed with military precision, smoothing out the wrinkles and putting fresh pillow cases on in about a minute.

Parada holds a cleaning bottle in each hand, like dueling pistols, as she sprays the bathroom.

Chavéz, who helped his mother clean houses at age 18, swipes the smudges from the glass porch door.

He moves fast, but it is easier this way. If he stops, the tiredness might seep through.

The night before, late orders kept them at the food truck until 2 a.m. Chavéz collapsed on his bed, too exhausted to take a shower and clean off the smell of grease. He finally fell asleep about 3:45 a.m.

“I don’t tell anybody I am tired. I don’t show that I’m tired. I go home and tell God: ‘I’m tired. Renew my strength,’” says Chavéz, who immigrated from Peru in 2003.

In about an hour, the carpet is vacuumed, the beds made, the bathrooms scrubbed. They gather their cleaning supplies — white vinegar being the secret weapon, Chavéz said — and leave to finish a second rental property.

With the cleaning done, there is no time for a nap. Their customers expect the truck to open at 7 p.m.

At 6:55 p.m., the food truck, which has a cheerful pond scene painted on the side, pulls into its usual spot between a Pizza Hut and a place that sells amusement park tickets on U.S.Highway 192, just west of the State Road 429 exchange.

“People are already calling,” Chavéz says. “It’s going to be a busy night.”

And sure enough, at 7:01 p.m., a gray Toyota Camry arrives.

The first customer, Mo Hamad, on vacation with his family from Tennessee, orders hamburgers called The Beast on the menu.

Parada takes her place at the grill as the smoke rises, burning her eyes until they water. It is why she doesn’t wear makeup.

The food truck, which stays open at least six days a week, is about the size of a narrow hallway. But it is theirs.

The pair are unorthodox business partners; they took over Mi Parrillita, which translates to “my little grill,” from Chavéz’s brother in January.

Chavéz and Parada had dated for three years, then broke up and stayed friends.

“Some people go, ‘How do you work with your ex? How do you do it?’” Chavéz says. “I don’t know. We have good chemistry.”

“He’s my partner,” says Parada, who immigrated from Guatemala in 2004. “He’s my team.”

As Hamad paid for his food, Parada smiled.

“Thank you for waiting,” she says. “It will be worth it.”

Hamad and his family scarf the burgers in the Camry.

Since Mi Parrillita opened, the food — recipes from Chavéz’s mother like an arepa with chicken or sauteed steak with onions, cilantro and tomatoes with a sauce that soaks into rice and french fries — have garnered rave reviews.

A New York Times writer, on assignment to report on Disney Springs, mentioned the food truck as one of the highlights of the visit.

For entrepreneurs, food trucks are often more successful than stand-alone restaurants, said chef Jennifer Denlinger, who teaches at Valencia College’s Poinciana campus and used to cook at Walt Disney World. They can travel to where their demand is and the overhead is significantly less, she said.

Sometimes Mi Parrillita feeds more than 100 people in a night. Once, they ran out of to-go containers, so they improvised by putting plastic wrap around plates.

On this night, their Disney regulars stop by. So does a hotel front desk worker, hungry after her shift ended late. Three Peruvian women on holiday notice their home country’s flag and pull over for cuisine and directions. A tourist from South Florida contemplated the Pizza Hut but ordered seven meals to go from Mi Parrillita instead.

Even as they serve their last meal at 1:22 a.m., Chavéz keeps making jokes. Parada still smiles.

They work quickly — switching off the spotlights, folding the tables and chairs, and putting away the food.

The food truck drives away at 1:39 a.m. They will be back to start over again that night.