I went to this Pan-Asian restaurant in Flushing (home of the Mets) with my girlfriend and two of my friends . On the table was the most wise-ass menu in Queens. It explained what a beverage was. Something to the effect of "mostly made of water, for human consumption." Not only did this menu make me feel stupid; I also felt unimaginative. I should have thrown beverages at womens' faces, fucking up their mascara. Or I should have called the Wildlife Preservation Center and said "I'm sorry, we have a liquid that is strictly meant for spotted owl consumption. No take it back, only Asiatic black bears have a strong enough stomach lining for Bubble Tea."
The menu, in addition to giving superfluous information, witheld important details. It didn't disclose what the spring roll sauce was. I assumed it was soy because the sauce was black, but turns out we were given A-1 steak sauce. I didn't want to start a fight with the waitress, so I said "Interesting, this isn't soy sauce, what is it?" She looked down for a few seconds and then said "Kikiriki" or some bullshit. No my friends; this establishment thinks we are a bunch of stupid Americans who love huge plates of spring rolls with steak sauce. Good thing she gave us small portions of A-1; we might have drank it all, or painted a mime's face with it.
2 comments:
heh, asian menus are works of art...
Yeah you would expect lazy Engrish, but instead there's perfectly written condescending English on the menu.
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