It’s ironic I’ve ended up living near what’s considered one of America’s premier “foodie” cities, because as a kid I spent less time at restaurants than Abraham Lincoln passed surfing the web.
The first time I remember eating in an actual dining establishment was during my senior year of high school. When the place where I worked closed for the summer, Barney, our boss, decided to reward his half-dozen high-school-aged employees with a trip to a local restaurant. Since the community where we lived was completely devoid of eateries, our dining out experience would take place in an adjacent town.
Due to my inexperience in the sort of surroundings I’d be visiting, or perhaps because I was something of a picky eater, my mom gave me a pre-night-out talk about proper restaurant etiquette. She encouraged me to have an open mind, and to try a little bit of everything. She also stressed the importance of saying “Please” and “Thank you” to the people who’d be serving us, and to Barney for his kindness.
Our destination, it turned out, was the Golden House, which on the outside looked something like a pagoda. Never mind Asian food; the closest thing I’d experienced to any ethnic cuisine was my mom’s meat-and-vegetable sauce poured over La Rosa spaghetti. Barney announced he’d do all the ordering and began by requesting a Pu Pu platter. For obvious reasons I didn’t want any part of anything with “Poo-Poo” in it, but remembering my mother’s pre-dinner instructions, I gritted my teeth and accepted the first item sent my way, something called an “egg roll.” I had always hated eggs, but there was no dog under the table to surreptitiously pass it to, so, water glass at the ready to provide a chaser, I braved a tentative nibble from the suspicious-looking golden-brown object.
It wasn’t too bad, so I took another bite. Then I devoured the whole thing, along with the remains of one the kid next to me had foolishly placed on a napkin that was within my reach. When the main dishes (several of which were aflame) arrived, I heeded my mother’s counsel, trying a little bit of everything. For openers I sampled the pork fried rice and vegetable lo mein. Then I took some moo goo gai pan. After my third helping of pepper steak, I loosened my belt a notch, then removed it entirely a few moments later, after dispatching yet another steamed dumpling. I’m not sure my mom would have approved of having her son take his belt off in public and stick it in his pocket, but by the time I did so, I was confident that my pants were in no danger of falling down. Besides, I needed to breathe. The meal concluded with a fortune cookie, although I’m still waiting for the good financial news that the paper inside it promised was right around the corner.
When it was all over, I couldn’t believe I had let 18 whole years go by without knowing of the existence of Chinese cuisine.
I’d love to go back to the Golden House sometime, assuming it’s still in existence. Now if only I can find a boss willing to pick up the tab for me and five age-alike friends! <
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