Just walking up to this place is a
sensory overload. In a country where most food joints are shophouses
about as wide as a 1978 Caprice Classic is long, this two story palace
rises like some sort of out of scale temple to all things charcoal can
singe. Two grills out on the street, smack dab in the middle of the
entrance where people walk I might add, send fragrant smoke signals all
over the place.
Baby boars skewered on pitchforks lining
an outdoor wall like columns of e. coli are what we came for. Oh yeah,
that’s a sanitary sight isn’t it? But who cares…Great taste overrides
any of the nasties we worry about so much in the west. A guy stands out
there in the heat rotating the hollowed out carcasses back and forth as
they make satisfying sizzles and pops over impossibly hot embers.
The sidewalk display of boar is the
perfect only in Vietnam type prelude to some seriously gaudy décor that
is an amazing testament to just how tacky interior design can be. Huge
ornate chandeliers presumably laced with cubic zirconium, plastic patio
furniture, strips of neon and a crappy sound system belting out “Happy
Birthday” over and over again let everyone know we aren’t exactly in
Kansas anymore. I love it. Actually it’s a lot like some Tunica,
Mississippi casino gone horribly wrong but mercifully without all the
slot machines and old women chain smoking through their oxygen masks.
Actually the entire meal was amazing
right down to the fried tofu, steamed vegetables and some sort of fried
sticky rice cakes. They even brought out an appetizer of tiny black
and white eggs with the fertile embryo gestating inside. I tried them,
and we’ll just leave it at that.
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