Top-10 Food Trucks in Palm Springs

Slushlife Luigi’s has been keeping the Coachella Valley cool since 1992, serving up raspados and slushes that hit like an oasis in the desert heat. Their raspados start with finely shaved ice, packed into cups and drenched in house-made syrups. The tamarind raspado lands with a punch of tartness, balanced by deep, molasses-like sweetness. Jamaica brings a floral, ruby-red tang, while ciruela—plum—delivers something darker, a mix of sweet and sour that lingers. Vanilla stays smooth and creamy, pineapple is bright and tropical, and cherry leans into its candy-like intensity. Then there’s cucumber, a crisp, barely-sweet option that’s as much a palate cleanser as it is a drink.

Their slushes go for full-throttle refreshment, blending ice and syrup into a smooth, drinkable frost. The flavors stay bold, never watered down, coating the tongue and cooling everything else down in the process. Whether it’s a heavy hit of fruit, a mellow vanilla, or the sharp snap of cucumber, Slushlife Luigi’s locks in the kind of chill that sticks with you long after the cup runs empty.

760 Teppanyaki works the flat-top grill at full tilt, turning out plates loaded with meat, rice, and vegetables, all cooked to order. The New York steak sears until a crust forms, locking in juices that spill onto a bed of steaming rice. Colossal shrimp hit the heat just long enough to firm up, their shells carrying the char of the griddle before they’re peeled and plated. Filet mignon stays tender, sliced thick and resting against stir-fried vegetables that pick up every bit of sauce from the grill.

The fried rice options go beyond the usual—grains tossed with chicken, shrimp, or just the right amount of soy and butter, each plate infused with smoky wok hei from the high heat. Fresh-squeezed lemonade cuts through the richness, bright and sharp enough to reset the palate between bites. Whether it's a quick stop or a full meal, 760 Teppanyaki doesn’t hold back on portions or technique—just heat, timing, and a menu that does what it needs to.

Haus of Poké layers raw fish, rice, and vegetables with precision, each bowl built for contrast in texture and temperature. Ahi tuna is sliced thick, its natural richness boosted with a light marinade, while the salmon holds a firm bite, clean and buttery. Bases range from warm sushi rice to crisp greens, stacked with seaweed salad, ripe mango, or cucumber for crunch. A final toss of furikake, crispy garlic, and sesame deepens the flavor, while sauces like ponzu, spicy mayo, or house-made aioli pull everything together without overwhelming the fish.

Beyond poké, the sushi rolls are tight and deliberate, each one balancing fat, acid, and heat in every bite. The Huli Huli chicken comes off the grill with caramelized edges, its glaze thick with soy, pineapple, and garlic that clings to the charred skin. There’s no filler here—just raw fish cut the right way, heat used where it counts, and a menu that doesn’t stretch itself thin.

Tacos Lex doesn’t waste time with extras—just straight-up street food done right. Their tacos start with thick, homemade corn tortillas, warm and pliable, holding up under the weight of asada grilled until the fat crisps at the edges, al pastor sliced straight off the trompo with a caramelized edge from the slow-roasted pineapple, and chorizo cooked down until its spices bloom in the heat. For those who know their way around a taco truck menu, cabeza and lengua are on deck—slow-braised, rich, and meltingly tender, with nothing more needed than a squeeze of lime and a handful of cilantro and white onion.

Beyond tacos, they turn out golden, cheese-stuffed mulitas, quesadillas with crispy edges and gooey centers, and alambres stacked high with meat, peppers, and melted cheese—griddled until it all fuses together in a mess of textures and flavor. Burritos wrap it all up in a warm flour tortilla, heavy in the hand and packed with everything that matters. The aguas frescas—cold, sweet, and just tart enough—cut through the richness of the meats, making sure every bite feels like the first. You’ll find them at Stevens and Indian Club in Palm Springs, where the grill stays hot and the line moves fast.

Tacos a Mar o Tierra moves between land and sea with a menu that doesn’t favor one over the other. The octopus taco brings a perfect char, each bite tender with just enough resistance, finished with a bright squeeze of lime and a smoky salsa. Camarones Diablos crank up the heat—plump shrimp simmered in a deep red diabla sauce, fiery but balanced, their natural sweetness still shining through. Then there’s the taco de callo de elefante, thick slices of elephant clam with a soft, meaty bite, carrying the briny depth of the ocean in every mouthful.

On the grill, they keep things just as tight. Quesadillas come overstuffed, their cheese pulling into long, buttery strands. Fish tacos bring a crisp, golden crust that shatters with each bite, the flaky white fish beneath soaking up fresh salsa and slaw. Carne asada sears just enough to lock in the juices, while al pastor turns on the spit, kissed with pineapple and slow-building spice. You’ll catch them at The Lights Golf, Food Truck Fridays in Indio, the BHM Concert downtown, the Indio Swapmeet, and Old Town La Quinta—wherever there’s room for a grill and a line of people who know what they’re after.

Nick’s Pizza brings thick, Sicilian-style slices to the Coachella Valley, working with a 36-hour fermented dough that bakes up golden on the outside, soft but structured within. The Special, better known as The Thicc Boy, layers Rosa Grande pepperoni—crispy at the edges, rich with spice—over creamy ricotta, mozzarella that bubbles and browns just enough, and a bright tomato sauce. A final drizzle of hot honey seeps into every crevice, bringing the kind of sweet heat that lingers.

The Vodkaroni pizza trades the usual red sauce for a house-made vodka sauce, slow-simmered with tomatoes, garlic, and a touch of cream until it’s smooth and deeply savory. Whole milk mozzarella melts into the sauce, Rosa Grande pepperoni curls at the edges, and ricotta soprafina—extra smooth, extra rich—settles in between. Fresh basil adds a sharp, herbaceous contrast that pulls everything together. The OG Margherita keeps things simple, showcasing the balance between tangy tomato sauce, fresh and whole milk mozzarella melting together, a dusting of salty Parmigiano, and a finishing touch of extra virgin olive oil that pools and glistens at the surface. Nick’s Pizza is a masterclass in dough, sauce, and cheese, no extra tricks needed.

Birrieria Sinaloa runs on the deep, slow-cooked flavors of Sinaloan-style birria, served across multiple locations in Indio and La Quinta. Their quesabirria tacos start with tortillas dipped in rich, red consomé before hitting the griddle, crisping up around slow-braised beef that’s been simmering in a blend of guajillo, ancho, and pasilla chiles, garlic, clove, and bay leaf. Oaxaca cheese melts into the mix, pulling into long, satisfying stretches with every bite. Each taco comes with a side of the same deeply spiced broth, thick with rendered fat and beef drippings, ready for dunking.

Then there’s the ramen birria—springy noodles soaking up the same slow-simmered broth, tangled with tender shreds of beef, topped with fresh onion and cilantro. The heat from the consomé softens the noodles just enough, turning every bite into a rich, umami-heavy mix of spice, meat, and broth. For drinks, they keep it simple and refreshing: agua de pepino, crisp and cooling, or agua de piña, naturally sweet and just tart enough to cut through the richness of the birria. Whether it’s tacos, tortas, mulitas, or fries loaded with slow-braised beef, Birrieria Sinaloa delivers one thing consistently—meat that’s been given the time it deserves.

Fat Boy Tacos sets up at The Lights at Indio and Sidewalk Munchies with a menu built on well-seasoned tradition. Their tacos start with fresh corn tortillas, pressed and griddled until warm, ready to hold generous portions of carne asada grilled over an open flame, al pastor marinated in a mix of guajillo, achiote, and pineapple, or carnitas slow-cooked until the edges crisp up just enough. Each taco gets a final touch—bright cilantro, finely diced white onion, and a squeeze of lime that cuts through the richness.

Their shish kebabs bring skewered chunks of beef and chicken, marinated in citrus and garlic, cooked until they hit the perfect char. Quesadillas stretch thick with melted Oaxaca cheese, folded over griddled tortillas that get crisp at the edges but stay soft in the middle. Fajitas arrive still sizzling, with strips of seared steak or chicken tossed with blistered bell peppers and caramelized onions, all coated in their house seasoning blend heavy on cumin and smoked paprika. Menudo, rich with slow-simmered beef tripe and hominy, carries a deep red broth infused with dried chiles, garlic, and oregano, perfect for spooning over fresh tortillas. The tamales unwrap to reveal soft, steaming masa cradling fillings like shredded pork in red chile sauce or green corn with creamy cheese. Their mole coats tender chicken in a sauce layered with toasted chiles, Mexican chocolate, and ground nuts, thick and smooth with just the right level of spice.

Fat Boy Tacos serves the kind of food that takes time, whether it’s the hours behind a simmering pot or the few minutes spent at the grill, cooking everything to order. Whether you’re grabbing a quick plate or catering a full spread, this is the kind of cooking that speaks for itself—bold, rich, and built to satisfy.

The grill snaps as shrimp sear, the scent of garlic and chilies pushing into the heat. Mariscos El Berrinche works fast, layering flavor into everything it touches. Tostadas don’t sit politely on a plate—they tower. Shrimp, pulpo, marlin, each cured until the texture tightens, lime biting sharp, heat creeping in at the edges. Camarones a la diabla don’t make introductions—they hit straight to the chest, thick with dried chilies, smoky and deep, a slow burn that builds without mercy. Whole fried fish arrives crisp-skinned, bones intact, the kind of meal that demands both hands, patience, and a wedge of lime to finish the job.

Desert Hot Springs is a place that knows heat, and Mariscos El Berrinche meets it head-on, posted up on Palm Drive, where the pavement wavers at noon and the regulars move with intent. They already know—ceviche so fresh it might still flinch, aguachiles that chase you with serrano heat, seafood made to be eaten under an open sky. The kind of food that sticks with you long after the plate’s empty, like the best things always do.

Outside The Masa is known for its birria, the kind that takes time—slow-cooked, deeply spiced, and packed into everything from tacos to tamales. The Quesabirria Tacos hit the plancha until their edges crisp, cheese melting into the folds, ready to be dunked into a consommé thick with long-stewed essence, the kind of broth you could sip slowly and call dinner.

It is said that a man is measured by what he resists. This Birria Quesadilla resists nothing. It takes in the birria, the melted cheese, the press of the griddle, and in the end, it gives up everything in the only way that matters—bite by bite. The Birria Tamale does the same, holding just long enough before breaking apart under the weight of its own tenderness.

This is no accident. This is a calculated, high-velocity, slow-burn operation in the art of feeding the masses. Outside The Masa keeps pace with the rhythm of the valley, showing up at night markets, brewery lots, and wherever the air carries the scent of good food and long conversations. The crowd always knows when they’ve arrived—there’s heat in the air, a line that moves just fast enough, and the unspoken understanding that whatever’s coming off that grill is worth the wait.