Friday, April 09, 2004
Chinese chicken fingers
Lining up at Great Wall's extensive buffet the other night, I was struck by two things: people in Baton Rouge a) are fat (as chronicled in previous blogs) and b) dislike all things foreign.
Amidst the bountiful and surprisingly decent Chinese food (not coincidentally made by some of the few Chinese people in Baton Rouge) was a section of food clearly pandering to native sensibilities. Next to the general's chicken (and for once down here it wasn't General Lee) and pepper pork were onion rings, french fries, fried sweet potatoes and chicken tenders. There really should have been a sign over this section: For people who really want the exotic experience of a Chinese restaurant but want nothing to do with Chinese food. And, by the way, the sweet and sour pork was plentiful, the chicken tenders were low.
A less depressing meeting of cultures was the Szechuan crawfish, which was actually quite good.
On a similar note, I recently returned from a trip to Houston to see my San Francisco Giants defeat the Astros. The whole time I revelled in being the only (extremely loud) Giants fan in the section, successfully thwarting attempts to boo Barry Bonds.
While in town my friends and I went to a Mexican restaurant recommended by Joe, who spent a summer working for the Houston Chronicle. Called the Spanish Flower and affectionately referred to by Joe as the Deflower, it was fucking good and reminded me, once again, how depressingly bad anything other than Cajun food is here.
Oh, for an influx of Mexican restauranteurs.
Amidst the bountiful and surprisingly decent Chinese food (not coincidentally made by some of the few Chinese people in Baton Rouge) was a section of food clearly pandering to native sensibilities. Next to the general's chicken (and for once down here it wasn't General Lee) and pepper pork were onion rings, french fries, fried sweet potatoes and chicken tenders. There really should have been a sign over this section: For people who really want the exotic experience of a Chinese restaurant but want nothing to do with Chinese food. And, by the way, the sweet and sour pork was plentiful, the chicken tenders were low.
A less depressing meeting of cultures was the Szechuan crawfish, which was actually quite good.
On a similar note, I recently returned from a trip to Houston to see my San Francisco Giants defeat the Astros. The whole time I revelled in being the only (extremely loud) Giants fan in the section, successfully thwarting attempts to boo Barry Bonds.
While in town my friends and I went to a Mexican restaurant recommended by Joe, who spent a summer working for the Houston Chronicle. Called the Spanish Flower and affectionately referred to by Joe as the Deflower, it was fucking good and reminded me, once again, how depressingly bad anything other than Cajun food is here.
Oh, for an influx of Mexican restauranteurs.
