KUNG FU CHICKEN – NO CASHEW

Okay, I promised you guys some true stories way back when, and I think I’m going to use ol’ Bloggy here to post them.  I’ve got a bunch.  I already posted GAY PARADE HOT DOG on Ashevegas, and I’ll save ONE EGG and ORDERING IN FRENCH for another time, but  for now, I’m going to start right out of the gate with my greatest restaurant story ever…

KUNG FU CHICKEN – NO CASHEW

This is a totally true story.  If I’m lyin’, I’m dyin’.

When I was a young man slowly dropping out of college in Boston, Mass, I had a good friend named Pat.  Pat and I worked together at a pottery shop, and we would also spend all of our free time together.   We ate a lot of lunches.

One day we were eating at a place called Thai Bangkok on Boylston Street in Copely Square, and as was my habit at the time, I ordered Chicken and Cashew, with no cashews.

Chicken and Cashew was my favorite dish back then.   I loved the chicken, the sauce, the veg, everything but the cashews.  I was a weird kid.  I’m over that now, but back then… 

It was always an ordeal to convey my strange wishes to the waiters and waitresses of the various Asian restaurants that I ate in, due to the language barrier, and the complete and total absurdity of my idiotic request.

Me – “I’ll have the Chicken and Cashew, please, but with no cashews.”

Server – “Chicken…  cashew…  ???”

Me – “…with no cashews.”

Server – “No cashew?  Ahhh…  What number?”

Me (pointing to the menu) – “Number 57, no cashews.”

I think they thought I was fucking with them sometimes, but I was sincere in my request, and my dislike for the cashews in Chicken and Cashew.

So, this one time, at Thai Bangkok, after the usual misunderstandings and disbelief, I finally convinced the waiter that I did indeed want Chicken and Cashew without the cashews.  When he returned with our food, however, my Chicken and Cashew had cashews.  I pointed that out, and he took it back.

The next thing we know…

He comes crashing backward through the swinging doors from the kitchen into the dining room, in the crane stance  — I shit you not  —  hopping on one foot, hands poised to deliver the death blow, kicking at the chef, who is chasing him, also throwing kicks, ready to strike!

They are screaming at each other in an Asian language that I do not understand, but  —  I swear to God  — the word “cashew” was being thrown as often and with as much ill-will as those kicks!  Holy fuck!

The entire wait staff had been eating their lunch at one big giant table and they all jumped up!  The kitchen crew came pouring out of the swinging doors en masse, and I thought that it was going to a full-on Kung Fu fight!

Fortunately the two teams pulled the warring waiter and Karate cook apart, and the whole place eventually calmed down.   Pat and I were like, WWWWTTTTFFFFF????

Like, two seconds later, the same waiter brought me my Chicken and Cashew, sans cashews.  He looked a little rumpled, his hair was a tad mussed, but he maintained his sense of dignity while finishing up our service.  As if that whole thing had never happened.  Good job, Buddy.

I was too nervous after all that to eat anything, so I barely touched my lunch.

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