Amplify Utah supports and facilitates dynamic journalistic storytelling to celebrate diverse points of view. By partnering with traditional media, we cultivate an environment that encourages stories be shared widely and made easily accessible for our communities to read, hear, watch and engage.
Food trucks put the world on a plate for University of Utah students
02-07-2026 By Austin Mino
Truck owners talk about bringing a variety of cuisines to the U., adding an “international flavor” to the Salt Lake City campus.
In today’s climate, communities like Sundance are now more important than ever
02-01-2026 By Georgia Metcalf
At a Utah debate tournament, teen refugees find their voices and build their confidence
12-15-2025 By Elle Crossley
Developing the skills to argue intelligently allows refugee students to ‘leave the label to the side,’ an organizer said.
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When I was asked to cover the Sundance Film Festival as an internship this year, I was in disbelief.
Writing about Sundance had been a dream since deciding to become a journalist two years ago. As an avid patron of the arts, covering a medium I was so passionate about seemed like a natural fit.
Although my role as a student journalist pivoted to news writing, I was looking forward to writing about something so close to my heart. I remember the first time I saw Whiplash, my favorite movie of all time and the Sundance 2014 opening night film. Its anxiety-inducing cinematography, the obsessed artist trope and the relationship between a drummer and his ruthless jazz instructor reinforced why it nabbed both the Grand Jury Prize and the Audience Award for the U.S. Dramatic competition that year.
But I didn’t know it premiered in Park City until two weeks ago, when I was walking Main Street as a reporter covering the festival’s last year in Utah.
Like the drummer Andrew Neiman in Whiplash played brilliantly by Miles Teller, I was immediately thrust into a high-pressure, high-stakes environment. Although I didn’t have a vicious drum instructor breathing down my neck, the pressure and daily deadlines for the stories I was writing were a test I’d never experienced. But it was here at the festival that I learned I did, in fact, have “what it takes.”
It was here, waiting in the freezing cold, asking directors questions next to veteran reporters who had years more experience than I did that I realized I wasn’t just a student journalist working on articles for class. I had fully stepped into the role of being an arts reporter.
After the first weekend, I felt so thrilled to have my finger right on the pulse of one of the biggest film events in the country. But the second weekend, that all came to a screeching halt – after seeing the thousands of protests against federal immigration law enforcement’s shooting of Alex Pretti erupt across the country.
I have to admit, I couldn’t help feeling guilty that I was covering the arts at a time where political reporting was paramount to ensuring factual accuracy and truthful coverage of these watershed events.
I had been too caught up in my own personal ethical dilemma to realize the advocacy and activism through art that was happening in front of me. This community of filmmakers realized there were stories overlooked that deserved to be told, a sentiment that so deeply resonates with me as a journalist.
I remember agonizing over current events in my head in line for a panel I was supposed to cover that day, thinking I wasn’t doing enough. To my surprise, the ACLU panel discussing film censorship took every moment they could to acknowledge actions taken by ICE, as well as the killings of Renee Good and Alex Pretti at immigration enforcement’s hands.
These directors and filmmakers were making art that did just what I tortured myself over not doing: shedding light on pertinent and often tragic issues. Films like American Doctor and Birds of War depict wartime from a personal, intimate lens. The documentary The Lake sheds light on the uncertain fate of the Great Salt Lake and its impact on Utah as a whole.
It was that weekend, after sitting with the weight of these stories, I experienced a first in my newswriting career: I wrote my first protest story as I covered the ICE-OUT march in Park City. This protest condemned the actions of Immigrations and Customs Enforcement (ICE), and called for broad, systemic change to the system that had allowed these atrocities to happen.
I was covering something historic, not just because this was the festival’s last year in Utah, but how the stories shared on the screens reflected today’s world. These communities of storytellers are the driving force behind the voices and messages being amplified.
Although many of these documentary films are not available to the public just yet, organizations like the Utah Film Center show films from local filmmakers from a range of backgrounds, and provide workshops for aspiring filmmakers in the state. Since they operate as a nonprofit, many of the films shown there are completely free.
I ask you to pay attention to the work of these filmmakers. Our world needs to see it.
From inside The Chimichurri Grill food truck parked outside the University of Utah’s Marriott Library, Mariana Galvan shouts, “64!”
Galvan places a white plastic foam takeout container on the ledge of the window and points to a cooler full of sauces and toppings. Her husband, Juan Galvan, works on the next order — a Chimi-Philly sandwich, a choice of steak or chicken, covered with peppers, caramelized onions, cheese and a garlicky chimichurri sauce.
The Galvans’ truck draws hundreds of students each week with a menu that blends diner classics, like the cheesesteak, with South American flavors and ingredients, from chimichurri to queso fresco. The Chimichurri Grill, which first rolled onto campus in 2020, is one of six food trucks at this campus spot, serving food from all over the world.
While the university’s dining halls offer standard options to students, the U. has partnered with truck owners — four of which are family owned — who offer cuisines from Argentina, Iraq, Japan and Afro-Caribbean cultures.
Mariana Galvan said that for owners like her family, the contract with the U. provides stability with a designated spot, consistent foot traffic and catering opportunities at campus events. For students, the trucks offer flavors they can’t get in the dining halls, along with a daily cultural exchange with the truck owners and cooks.
“Most of these food trucks that we have out there are just mom-and-pop operations,” said Jerry Basford, associate vice president for student affairs at the U.
(Evelyn Harris | Amplify Utah) Bento, which serves Japanese cuisine, and Olive's Oasis, selling Mediterranean food, are two of the food trucks stationed in front of the Marriott Library on the University of Utah campus.
The Galvans, born in Argentina and Mexico, respectively, have lived most of their lives in Utah after their families immigrated to the United States. Their truck’s menu combines North American staples with family cuisines they grew up with, and focuses on chimichurri, a tangy, fresh sauce that is common in Argentinian dishes, Mariana Galvan said.
The Chimichurri Grill’s journey has been an endeavor of love for the Galvans, who have invested 5 years of their lives and created a community at the U., making it a comfortable spot for students who speak Spanish to talk to the Galvans while they grab lunch.
“Our days start at 7 a.m., when we prep everything for the day,” Mariana Galvan said. Mariana, who graduated from the U. with a bachelor’s degree in Spanish teaching, replaced her old 9-to-5 job with the food truck after she wasn’t able to dedicate enough time to running the truck with her family. Now, the truck is the Galvans’ passion, spreading a multicultural taste to students on campus.
“I mean, sometimes I go to the Union, but sometimes you just want something different, you know?” said Ethan Palisoc, a student who is studying Japanese at the U. and grabs a bite to eat whenever he has some extra cash.
(Evelyn Harris | Amplify Utah) Students line up in front of the sky-blue Chimichurri Grill truck at Marriott Plaza on the University of Utah campus.
Compared to the options at the campus cafeteria, like Panda Express, the food trucks offer types of food that students would normally not have access to, Palisoc said.
“It’s like nothing you have ever tasted before, trust me,” said Ghazal Azama, co-owner of Olive’s Oasis.
For Azama, who left Iraq with his family in 2006 for Dubai, moved to the United States in 2011, and has worked in the food industry as a chef ever since, Olive’s Oasis is his family’s way to share their history with every student who places an order, he said.
“Compared to America, the Middle East has a lot more variety in food,” said Azama. “Here, Americans really like their meat and potatoes, but we have a lot more choices back in the Middle East.”
Olive’s Oasis specializes in Mediterranean cuisine, using traditional sauces such as tahini. One of their signature ingredients is falafel, a deep-fried ball made of chickpea or fava beans and packed with spices to bring out a deep, savory flavor profile.
Azama and his family bring another cultural region of the world to the U., giving students a taste of the Middle East on campus, and talking with them to expand both the students’ and their own worldviews.
“You take the experience of your life, put it into the food, and then change it for your customers,” said Azama.
The owners of Bento, Katsu Yamazaki and his wife, Tokiko, have been serving up Japanese comfort food on Marriott Plaza for more than a decade — longer than any other truck operating on campus.
“When I started, food trucks were sort of a trendy thing,” Yamazaki said.
Bento, a Japanese word for lunch box, caught on with both a catchy name and an authentic vibe. Students and faculty stop by every day to try their bowls filled with rice, fresh vegetables coated in a mild sauce and protein ranging from savory teriyaki chicken to breaded tempura shrimp. The truck also offers a regular rotation of specials, including warm curry buns with a doughy exterior.
Yamazaki said he has found loyal customers, and the warm meals and welcoming attitude they have bring year after year of new students to their truck.
“I asked them if I could order in Japanese, and they were like, ‘Yeah, sure!’” Palisoc said.
Over the past decade, Bento has become a staple on campus that students and faculty rely on for lunches year-round, Basford said. “Rain, snow, sleet, hail, it doesn’t matter. Bento is always here,” he added.
(Evelyn Harris | Amplify Utah) The Chimi-Philly is one of the fan favorite dishes at The Chimichurri Grill, a spin on the classic Philly cheesesteak, stuffed with peppers, steak, caramelized onions and cheese, topped with the truck's signature chimichurri sauce.\
For the last 10 years, Basford has managed the relationship between food trucks and the U., and has worked to expand what he sees as a great opportunity for students. From the beginning, he said, the U. wanted to liven Marriott Plaza, one of the places on campus with the most foot traffic, by providing an “eclectic” palette to students.
The relationship with the U. gives the truck owners stability and routine, Azama said. Outside campus, Utah’s food truck scene operates with much less structure, with trucks relying on groups like the Food Truck League to book events and schedule spots at which to set up. A contract with the U. provides a designated location every day, and clear rules — such as the expectation for a diverse menu, location and food safety — that all trucks on campus must follow.
Trucks on campus also offer options to students with dietary restrictions. Olive’s Oasis provides halal options, while The Chimichurri Grill and Bento offer vegetarian dishes.
The U. reinforces the relationship between the students and these owners by pushing event planners on campus to use contracted trucks, said Basford. Recently, these food trucks have been available at events such as the Soap Box Derby and homecoming, and are a selling point for prospective students.
“When I toured this campus back in high school, part of the pitch from the school was that they had so many food trucks,” said Rebecca Heidt, a student who is studying linguistics at the U.
The trucks serve students who pass through Marriott Plaza daily, but they do more than just serve food. Between classes, students and faculty stop to talk to these entrepreneurs and cooks about their experiences and backgrounds — conversations that don’t often happen when grabbing a salad at the Union.
“Some of the stories you hear from the people who run the food trucks, … it’s amazing where they’ve come from and where they are today,” Basford said.
This exchange goes both ways, Galvan said. While truck owners introduce students to cuisines from around the world, they also meet customers from all over the world.
“We’ve met people from China, Uzbekistan, Bosnia, Spain, Bolivia,” she added. “The best part is that we love what we do, and it shows.”
(Evelyn Harris | Amplify Utah) The menu for The Chimichurri Grill is filled with diner classics like the cheesesteak and dishes inspired by co-owner Mariana Galvan’s Argentinian background, like the "Lomito Argentino.”
Austin Mino wrote this story as a journalism student at the University of Utah. It is published as part of a collaborative including nonprofits Amplify Utah and The Salt Lake Tribune.
Bom and Anna took their seats in front of a judges’ panel in an auditorium, adjusted their handwritten notes, and watched as the clock was about to start.
After hours of debates, and besting 13 other competitors, Bom, 17, from North Korea, and Anna, 15, from Ukraine, had made it to the final round of a debate competition for refugee teens, held at the University of Utah. (Organizers asked student debaters only to be identified by first name and that their faces not be shown in photographs, due to privacy concerns.)
The debate topic in the final round: Establishing a carbon tax in the United States.
“Here’s the biggest point,” Bom said, arguing in favor of the tax. “No companies or anyone will try to take the responsibility or volunteer to stop the emissions without any policy or government interactions.”
Anna pushed back, arguing such a tax would create global tariffs and destabilize the economy.
It was a moment the students had been working toward for the last 10 weeks. So had Khadija Kele, youth coordinator of the Department of Workforce Service’s Refugee Services Office, who has seen students, many of whom arrived in Utah as refugees, “come alive” as they’ve discovered the power of their voice.
“They’re the ones that are wanting to have these challenging conversations,” Kele said. “They’re pushing others to have these conversations.”
Those voices filled classrooms and auditoriums at the U. on Dec. 4, during the fall tournament of the Refugee Community Debate League, a program that teaches debate and argumentation to middle and high schoolers who are refugees in Utah.
The University of Utah Department of Communication and John R. Park Debate Society, in partnership with the state’s Refugee Services Office, established the program in 2022. Averie Vockel, assistant director of forensics at the U. and the debate society’s outreach coordinator, said it was created to expand the department’s community outreach.
“We wanted something that was offering debate in a new space,” Vockel said.
(Leo LeBohec | Amplify Utah) Jeremy Curry-Young, a panel judge, listens to a student present an argument about how lower-income populations may be affected by a carbon tax, at a debate organized by the Refugee Community Debate League at the University of Utah on Dec. 4, 2025. A panel judge, Jeremy Curry-Young, listens to a student speech about how the lower class could be impacted by a carbon emissions tax. (Leo LeBohec)
More than 21,500 refugees have resettled in Utah over the past 27 years, according to data from the Health Resources and Services Administration. Since 2015, more than half have been children.
Vockel oversees the league, which has run in both the spring and fall semesters. She works with students for more than two months, building from debate basics to research skills, case building and presentation.
Each new group of students chooses a topic area for policy-oriented debate, Vockel said. In past semesters, they have tackled education, health care and gun control. This year’s debates centered around capitalism, with participants making arguments for and against universal basic income and a carbon tax.
“They never [try] to avoid anything controversial,” Vockel said. “Debate is a space where you have those hard conversations, and it’s structured in a way that’s meant to be productive.”
Research supports the effects Vockel has seen the program make. A 2019 study in the journal Educational Research and Reviews found high schoolers who participated in debate were 28% more likely to enroll in a four-year university than those who did not. In 2021, research from the University of Michigan found debate students had an .66 point higher average GPA, as well as higher math, reading and writing scores on the SAT.
Alya Al Mashhadani’s 14-year-old daughter, Basma, took part in the debate league this fall. The program strengthened her communication skills and self-esteem, Al Mashhadani said.
Al Mashhadani’s family moved to the United States from Iraq in 2013, which she said makes opportunities like these even more significant.
“People see refugees like they don’t have enough knowledge or underestimate them,” Al Mashhadani added. “Maybe because of the language barrier, but that doesn’t mean we are not capable.”
Kele said the students’ experiences as refugees help them see more perspectives in their debates. She noticed many of the kids struggled with self-doubt at first. But as the weeks went on, she said she watched them recognize their abilities and potential.
“A lot of times, people only see [refugee kids] as, ‘Oh, the poor refugees,’ but this gives them an opportunity to just put themselves out there and leave the label to the side,” she said. “It’s given them an opportunity to show themselves in a different light.”
Vockel added that building arguments helps students look at the world through a critical lens and form their own opinions, fostering a sense of political efficacy, advocacy and belonging.
The program also works to bridge higher education gaps by offering free college credit to students in ninth grade and higher, Vockel said. Making education more accessible is important, she added, since a refugee family’s immediate needs can overshadow college.
“Higher education resources should be put in places where they’re needed,” Vockel said. “Education is good, access to spaces is good, and having more voices, I think, makes policy better always.”
Students who make it to the final round get $1,500 scholarships to the University of Utah, Vockel said, and the winner gets a new laptop.
The tournament brought together students from countries like North Korea, Ukraine, Somalia and Afghanistan.
Bom, from North Korea, ultimately bested her Ukrainian opponent, Anna, with her argument in favor of a carbon tax, and left the U. as champion.
For Bom, Anna and the other participants Kele watched that day, the tournament was more than a competition. It was a marker of the group’s hard work and growth.
“A lot of these kids … entered in shy,” Kele said, “and they’re coming out empowered.”
Elle Crossley, a recent journalism graduate from the University of Utah, wrote this article as part of a collaborative including nonprofits Amplify Utah and The Salt Lake Tribune.
Now that he’s 21, Finn Reilly said he’s thrilled to use his ID.
Reilly doesn’t drink, so the allure of tequila shots and cheap beer doesn’t do much for him. But music and entertainment does, and, for his birthday, he wanted to get into Why Kiki to finally join his friends for a night of fun.
“We were able to get a table at the front for their nightly drag show, and it was so special,” he said. “I felt like the belle of the ball.”
Reilly, who loves live shows, said young music fans like him often feel shut out from experiencing Utah arts and culture because of the state’s liquor laws.
“A lot of smaller artists I wanted to see only play in bars,” he said, “and when friends would go up to the 21-plus areas, I didn’t have anyone else to hang out with.”
Reilly said he never had a fake ID when he was under 21 — he hit that milestone birthday on April 3 — but he knows many underage music fans will use them to see their favorite bands.
Kylie Fitch — who’s the marketing director of The State Room Presents, the booking agency that operates The State Room and The Commonwealth Room —said that although “21+” is prominently displayed on the company’s website, ticket stubs, social media and buildings, people still miss the disclaimer and are turned away.
“When we pull in talent that has a younger fan base, sometimes people will miss that and buy a ticket anyways,” Fitch said. “They get angry at us, and we’re like, ‘There’s just nothing we can do.’ We’re doing our best in the state of Utah.”
Whether a venue is all-ages or 21-and-over can divide Utah’s music community along age lines rather than musical taste. Greta Sommerfeld, who is in her 30s, said she appreciates age-restricted venues whenever she goes out for a night in Salt Lake City.
“It’s not about the alcohol for me,” she said. “[Unrestricted venues] remind me of an all-ages nightclub or school dance.”
(The State Room Presents) A line of music fans outside The State Room at 638 S. State St. in Salt Lake City. It's a popular music venue, but is a 21-or-older venue because it serves liquor.
Now that he’s 21, Reilly said he can attend events and venues that were previously inaccessible. He said he appreciates Utah’s strict regulations, which make it easier for him to “feel normal being sober,” while still enjoying the entertainment and social aspect bars provide.
“Having something to do on a weekend can keep a lot of kids ultimately out of trouble,” he said.
Some underage fans say they turn to fake IDs to access shows they’d otherwise miss. A few students, who requested anonymity because they use fake IDs, said they agreed with Reilly that venues should welcome fans of all ages.
“The fact that minors aren’t allowed in some venues just because they serve alcohol is ridiculous,” said one student who uses a fake ID to attend concerts.
Utah’s liquor laws, these students said, shut out an “entire demographic” from the music scene. Though they understand the serious consequences associated with using fake IDs, they said they decided the risk is worthwhile to see their favorite artists perform.
“It goes against what music is,” they said, referring to the exclusive nature of 21-plus venues.
Fitch, who grew up on the East Coast, said she sympathizes with younger fans. “When I was a college student and I was under 21, if I had been shut out of concerts at that age, I would be royally pissed,” she added.
Moriah Glazier books events for S&S Presents, which manages Salt Lake City venues like The Depot, Kilby Court and The Urban Lounge. Kilby Court stands out among those as one that consistently accommodates fans of all ages.
“We try our best to match artists with the venue that will allow the majority of their Utah fanbase to attend,” she said. “Due to the availability of venues at any given time, this isn’t always possible.”
Glazier said she hopes younger fans who miss shows will have opportunities to see their favorite artists when they return to Salt Lake City. Glazier’s boss, S&S Presents owner Lance Saunders, acknowledged it’s a challenge to book acts in Utah and comply with the state’s liquor laws, no matter the effect on young fans.
(Francisco Kjolseth | The Salt Lake Tribune) The door into the main stage area of Kilby Court, one of Salt Lake City's most beloved all-ages music venues.
Utah’s Department of Alcoholic Beverage Services started in 1935, two years after the repeal of Prohibition — the constitutional amendment that banned the sale of alcohol across the United States. (The Utah Legislature clinched ratification of the 21st amendment, by being the 36th state to vote to repeal.)
The agency’s purpose, according to its website, is “to make liquor available to those adults who choose to drink responsibly — but not to promote the sale of liquor.”
Being a control state, the agency said, removes the economic incentive “to maximize sales, open more liquor stores or sell to underage persons.” Utah is not unique as a control state; 17 other states and a county in Maryland have similar policies.
The agency carries out the state’s alcohol policy, but doesn’t make it — the Utah Legislature decides that.
Both older and younger generations agree that the 2002 Olympics brought changes to Utah’s liquor laws that made venues more accessible. According to the article, one of these included Bud World, which took the Gallivan Center and “featured concerts” and created a “festive atmosphere” including lots of beer, of course.
Venue staff, like Fitch, said they believe more relaxed regulations would boost Salt Lake’s economy.
“Salt Lake is just getting more and more liberal,” she said. “If the city and the state know what’s best in terms of a positive economic impact, they will continue to reshape the laws around alcohol that will keep them from being so stifling for businesses.”
Sommerfeld said she agrees Utah should modernize its approach.
“Surely, there is a way to get the best of both worlds, like making sure underage people don’t get access to alcohol, but also catering to the 21-plus crowd,” she said.
Reilly said he believes there’s potential for places like Area 51, The Beehive and the Granary District as potential models. These spaces host events for mixed-age crowds, serving alcohol to adults with designated wristbands while welcoming younger patrons.
Other states offer a different model, Fitch said, where venues welcome all ages while maintaining connected bars. Fitch said she finds Utah’s split-room approach problematic, describing the user experience as “not great.”
Saunders emphasized that music, not alcohol, remains central to the experience.
“Obviously, it’s nice to have the option of a drink or a snack while you watch the show, but it doesn’t seem like a deal-breaker for most concert attendees these days,” he said.
For Reilly, however, access to 21-plus events provides community.
“A lot of bars here have live music, drag shows and other bigger music events. And it’s nice to have somewhere to go out and dance,” he said. “It’s a third place I usually feel welcome in.”
And that’s why Saunders said this emphasizes Kilby Court’s importance in a restrictive landscape. It’s a space that welcomes any fan or artist, no matter their age.
“In the past, many touring artists have played in rooms that are generally 21-plus,” he said. “That is why we love Kilby Court so much. It’s not just an all-ages venue, it’s a social network with a heartbeat of its own.”
Laney Hansen wrote this story as a journalism student at the University of Utah. It is published as part of a collaborative including nonprofits Amplify Utah and The Salt Lake Tribune.
