Text 2317, 93 rader
Skriven 2013-07-09 11:42:00 av MICHAEL LOO (1:123/140)
Ärende: picnic trip 850
=======================
I heard about this place called Eat More Chicken, supposed to
be really good, near the Petworth Metro stop (whence I could
take the bus to Silver Spring and transfer for the one to
Burtonsville, the usual Dale and Gail pickup spot). It had
gotten a hard time from the Chick-Fil-A people for using this
term (not clear on the legal niceties), so it had changed its
name to Eat More Fried Chicken and then to what looks on the
marquee now like Chicken Pt. It had an open sign out, and so
I went in and after considering for a moment hailed the young
Korean woman who is described in the online reviews as the
owner and asked for a two-piece dark special (comes with
fries and a drink) for the not inconsiderable price of $7.
She went out back to the kitchen and returned with the news
that there was none. An oddity, as this is supposed to be a
chicken place (maybe the sign reads Chicken Pl). When will
it be coming in? Tomorrow, sorry. Someone out back yelled,
this afternoon. We smiled at each other and I left. To be
fair, the joint also offers an assortment of Central American
plates and chicken tenders, as evidenced by someone waiting
for a takeout order. Later I checked on the Internet there is
one Google hit for Chicken Pl and Petworth, none for Chicken Pt.
And the main criticism of the Pl or Pt is that its hours seem
totally arbitrary. So much for that.

I walked downtown a bit; nothing looked even vaguely promising,
so I had the choice of walking back up a few blocks to the
express bus stop or just hang out on the corner for the local,
from which I could look out the window and hop out if anything
suited. The local wasn't too crowded, so I took a double, one
for me and one for my luggage, but within a couple stops people
were filtering in, so I put my stuff on my lap and immediately
was joined by a big, big woman with her bags. So much for the
agility plan. I saw a few places go by that might have served
well, including a Popeye's, but the tummel I'd cause by trying
to move was too great, so I contented myself by looking out
the window at places that I remembered from 50 years ago, when
Georgia Avenue was somewhat less seedy. The place where the
best Chinese restaurant in the city, Chi Hai, had been still
had the same distinguishing ornamental work but obviously had
been derelict for decades; I think that Seven Seas in Rockville
might be a successor to it, maybe run by the grandchildren, but
there's no real evidence to support that. Gifford's, where
butter brickle was the best in town, was also long gone. So
much for going home again. The woman eventually got off, but
there wasn't much of interesting, so I got off where the route
veers off Georgia, intending to assuage my disappointment with
a dozen brinies at Crisfield, but guess what? Closed Mondays.
Thinking later: maybe Chicken Pt's shipment hadn't come in yet,
and they didn't have any leftover from the weekend, and maybe
I was lucky. Anyhow.

So I sadly trudged up toward the bus stop and on the way decided
to look in on Golden House, which I had passed by a dozen times
on my way to or from Crisfield: it's a dingy storefront in a
dingy strip mall near the Guatemalan consulate, but the smells
coming out seemed okay, and there was a sign out front proclaiming
that it was one of the Top 100 Chinese restaurants in the US (the
only other time I had ever seen such a sign was when Swisher
pointed one out to me in Anchorage, which makes the entire thing
kind of doubtful). At the counter was another sign or certificate
to the effect that it had the best General Tso's chicken in the
neighborhood, as attested to by some bogus agency or other. So
in a contrary kind of mood I ordered this Tso on the lunch
special, $6, expecting some slop from a steam table, and sat down
for the expected 45-second wait. Instead, I heard cooking noises
from out back and smelled vinegar and hot pepper, and if they
had left out 90% of the cup of sticky goo that was on top, they
might have been onto something. The chicken was about 2.5 thighs'
worth of chunks, battered and deep-fried and coated in the
regrettable sauce. I asked at the counter for hot oil, and the
girl pulled out one of those tiny coffee-creamer cups with red
stuff, and guess what, it was really hot, and if I shook off
the sweet red stuff and dipped the chicken in the hot red stuff,
I discovered that the thigh meat was fresh and of good quality,
and I had a proper lunch in front of me. This came with what
might be some of the best fried rice I've ever had (actually soy
sauce broken rice with perfect texture, laced with frozen peas but
fresh carrots) and what might be one of the worst eggrolls I have
ever eaten, as it was fried nicely golden brown but in way too
hot oil so the inside was raw, and who wants to eat celery mash
in layers of noodle dough anyway. A Coke filled this meal out,
and counting tip I got out for less than $10. I will be back,
next time I'm in town and Crisfield is closed or I am feeling
unflush; I'll maybe investigate the difference between Hunan beef
and Szechwan beef (at most places there isn't any, as these are
as much American restaurateur inventions as chop suey and chow
mein, though they may - or may not - use authentic flavorings)
or test the cook in a more sensible way by ordering half a Peking
duck for $14.

___ Blue Wave/386 v2.30
--- Platinum Xpress/Win/WINServer v3.0pr5
 * Origin: Fidonet Since 1991 Join Us: www.DocsPlace.org (1:123/140)