I ordered dinner from the Chinese restaurant that is around the corner from my house. Mrs. Pincus and I have been ordering food from this restaurant on a semi-regular basis for many many years. It's gotten to the point where I walk in and the nice young lady behind the counter says, "You're getting the all-vegetarian order, right?" when she sees me.
So, approximately thirty minutes after I placed my order, I hopped in my car and drove over to the restaurant to pick it up. When I walked though the entrance, the small area in front of the counter was filled with a group of people — which is actually a rarity. For years, I have always been the only person picking up an order, although there are usually five or six neatly packed bags, perfectly lined up on the counter, waiting for a hungry patron — one that I never see — to bring it on home. This particular day, the compact "lobby area" was alive with anxious energy.
The group was comprised of two older women (and by "older," I, of course mean "of my own age") and two young ladies, perhaps in their late teens or early twenties. (Once you reach my age, people are either "older" or "kids.") The foursome were very busily and very intensely perusing a now-unfolded paper take-out menu. Based on their conversation (which because of my close proximity, I heard every single word), I quickly surmised that these folks had never set foot in a restaurant in their lives and they were completely baffled as to how the ordering process works. The young woman behind the counter was overly and commendably patient as she tried to gently coax a cohesive order out of these... these... um... people. The two women ordered first — hesitantly — stumbling over nearly every word in their brief directive. The two young ladies squinted their eyes and screwed up their faces as they, apparently read words they had never before encountered. Finally, one of the girls announced, "I want chicken and rice."
I have been to countless Chinese restaurants in my life, both pre-vegetarian diet and post. I know, as I'm sure you do too, most neighborhood Chinese restaurants offer — pretty much — the same things, save for maybe three or four "specialties of the house," which are often just a re-working of some other item on the menu. I know — for a fact — that "chicken and rice" is not a standard entrée on
any Chinese restaurant menu. A Mexican restaurant's menu, perhaps, or the punchline to a sequence on an episode of
I Love Lucy, where the irrepressible redhead is clueless on how to prepare "
arroz con pollo" for her Cuban-born husband. But on a Chinese restaurant menu...? Oh, no sir-ee.
The young woman behind the counter tried to clarify the order, as the girl was offering no further explanation.
"Do you want chicken fried rice?," she asked, as she pointed to the words on the menu. The girl made no attempt to look where she was pointing, instead, she directed her attention to one of the women and repeated "chicken and rice." This time, the tone of her voice grew angrier and more impatient. One of the women asked "Is the fried rice made with white rice?" You and I and
every one in the Chinese food-eating world knows that
fried rice comes out
brown no matter
what color it starts out as. We also know that if this girl has her heart set on "chicken and rice" that she ain't gonna be satisfied with anything that doesn't look like the picture of "chicken and rice" she has in her mind — even though she really has
not described what exactly she envisions. The young woman behind the counter named all of the components of "chicken fried rice" and the girl frowned at the mention of each ingredient.
One of the women took the menu in her hands and gave it the ol' "once over." She pointed to a photo of chicken with broccoli listed under the heading of "CHICKEN." "Is this what you want? Chicken with broccoli over white rice?," she asked. The girl grit her teeth, now getting very annoyed by the additional questions. She finally spat out,
"Yes! That's what I was saying!" Her words were filled with vitriol and she stomped her foot hard on the carpeted floor and folded her arms across her chest in a final gesture of
"This conversation is over!" By the way, this was the very
first time that the concept of "broccoli" was introduced into the ordering process.
I skirted the foursome and paid for my order. I was not planning to be there when the wrong configuration of "chicken and rice" emerged from the kitchen.
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