Make it Spicy
I started eating Chinese food back in the early 1980's.
Unfortunately I started eating it at a restaurant in Mill Valley, California where the food was better than any Chinese food I've had since.
Dad was the influence behind trying the Chinese place all those years ago and we went to that particular restaurant at least twice a month for just about a year.
The chefs couldn't possibly prepare our food spicy enough and when the entire crew of Fazzolari's were in there...
...they must have gone through five jars of hot oil.
We had a lot of laughs back then.
There was the day when the waitress introduced us to a Chinese kid who was spending his first day in America.
Dad taught the kid that the English word for 'Hello' was 'F&*k'.
About halfway through our meal that night Dad waved at the kid across the crowded restaurant and the kid yelled out his new found hello.
F&*K! ...
...echoed through the room and the smiling kid was whisked into the back room.
I was a willing participant back then.
We'd try all the new foods.
We'd share our plates, as much as we could, so everyone found what they liked.
Back here in Western New York there are a number of decent Chinese restaurants. I sometimes hit them with my Asian buddy and he orders for me in the native language and he laughs when he tells the chef how spicy I want my food to be. I was once eating at such a place when three of the cooks exited the kitchen and stood by the table to watch me eat the tiny little red peppers.
In broken English one of them said:
"You stomach must be a mess."
Perhaps.
On Friday night we were kicking dinner ideas around.
"The kids want to go to the Mongolian Barbecue."
I took a look at their plates.
A lot of crab legs, ribs and sweet and sour chicken.
I had a coffee cup filled with hot sauce so I could dip the pepper steak in it.
The waitress looked at me kinda' funny.
Then I told the kids about their grandpa trying to teach a young Chinese kid he American word for 'Hello.'
"That was Papa," Matt said.
I fished out a tiny red pepper from the General Tsao's chicken and glanced to the ceiling of the place.
Spicy.
Everything about our lives had spice to it.
Unfortunately I started eating it at a restaurant in Mill Valley, California where the food was better than any Chinese food I've had since.
Dad was the influence behind trying the Chinese place all those years ago and we went to that particular restaurant at least twice a month for just about a year.
The chefs couldn't possibly prepare our food spicy enough and when the entire crew of Fazzolari's were in there...
...they must have gone through five jars of hot oil.
We had a lot of laughs back then.
There was the day when the waitress introduced us to a Chinese kid who was spending his first day in America.
Dad taught the kid that the English word for 'Hello' was 'F&*k'.
About halfway through our meal that night Dad waved at the kid across the crowded restaurant and the kid yelled out his new found hello.
F&*K! ...
...echoed through the room and the smiling kid was whisked into the back room.
I was a willing participant back then.
We'd try all the new foods.
We'd share our plates, as much as we could, so everyone found what they liked.
Back here in Western New York there are a number of decent Chinese restaurants. I sometimes hit them with my Asian buddy and he orders for me in the native language and he laughs when he tells the chef how spicy I want my food to be. I was once eating at such a place when three of the cooks exited the kitchen and stood by the table to watch me eat the tiny little red peppers.
In broken English one of them said:
"You stomach must be a mess."
Perhaps.
On Friday night we were kicking dinner ideas around.
"The kids want to go to the Mongolian Barbecue."
I took a look at their plates.
A lot of crab legs, ribs and sweet and sour chicken.
I had a coffee cup filled with hot sauce so I could dip the pepper steak in it.
The waitress looked at me kinda' funny.
Then I told the kids about their grandpa trying to teach a young Chinese kid he American word for 'Hello.'
"That was Papa," Matt said.
I fished out a tiny red pepper from the General Tsao's chicken and glanced to the ceiling of the place.
Spicy.
Everything about our lives had spice to it.
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