last supper

before Christmas, anyway.

Celebrating the end of one of my finals by eating three Banh Mi's = not such a great idea. I was stuffed and wanted to take a nap before seeing Drab for dinner so that my eyes would not look tired and puffy, but every time I would lay down, it would feel as though food were sitting in my esophagus. Not a very pleasant feeling. Perhaps I should have gotten trashed like the wayward Drab? Mm, but then the repercussions besides the hangover. Such is alcohol.

My first time out on the town in a while. And I spent it having dinner with Drab. Hmm, I should probably go out again. I cannot possibly end my journey in SF for this year with me having a drab dinner.

So Drab recommended earlier in the week that we go eat at Burma Superstar. It was on Clement, so I figured it wouldn't be so bad for an Asian restaurant, as the more favorable locales are most likely to be found along Clement or Irving. STAY AWAY from Chinatown, by all means possible. Any choice there would be even more disastrous than all of Drab's previous picks combined. Anyhow, what could go wrong? This restaurant has a smiling Buddha face for their logo.

What I didn't expect was for Drab to change the location on me the night of. First of all, I've gotten back into the habit of not showering when I focus on studying. So tonight, I finally took a shower, got dressed, and figured out how to get to the restaurant by bus. I had initially planned on taking the 28 up 19th, and then getting on a bus on Clement that would take me directly there. The only problem was that just as I had gotten on the intersection of 19th and Taradise, I saw my bus across the street leaving. I walked over to the bus stop, and it said that the next bus would arrive in over half an hour.

I pulled out my map to figure out another route to get over to this area close by Drab's neighborhood. I walked back 4 blocks to ride the Muni line to Forest Hills, and then I would take the 44 bus line up north to get to Clement and 6th, about 3 blocks away from my intended destination. Only, I didn't expect Drab to call me as I was riding the bus. He called because he wanted to eat somewhere else, for some reason, but I wasn't listening as I fumed over the situation. I immediately got off the bus, and luckily I got off one street away from Irving, where the N-Judah line stopped. I hopped onto the N-Judah, changing my route to get to Church station.

During my time on the bus, I was minding my own business, looking at my Muni map (much more useful than NFT, by the way, and for 1/3 of the price), and this old man in a navy captain's hat pops up right by my face, asking me if I needed any help. I had to dismiss him by saying that I was just looking. He talked to me even more, saying,"Well, you've got the right map there." Thank you sir, as if I didn't know that in the first place. San Franciscans trying to be helpful. Sheesh. If I need help, i'll ask for it.

Finally, I had made it to Church, but the problems never stop, do they? I ended up having to wait over an hour for Drab to arrive, all while fellow pedestrians ran into me or brushing against me. I suppose Bay Area natives are used to that crowded mentality on city streets. That must explain why they stroll along like cattle, not caring about whether they knock against each other.

Once Drab arrived, everything seemed like a blur- I can't quite remember what had happened up until the restaurant. OH, the restaurant! I can't remember the name. You don't want to either. It's just another Indian restaurant.

It would seem that Drab hasn't changed much, but the restaurant was dark, so I wasn't able to analyze him as usual. What I was able to analyze though, most importantly, was the food. I ordered a Mango Lassi and Lamb Bota Masala(?), a tandoori-like dish. The Mango Lassi, although amenable, lacked the chill that usually makes it a refreshing drink, but the taste was sufficient. My problem was the main course. The waiter had laid everything down on the table except my dish, but when he did, my visual field instinctively zoomed in on the placement of his hand on the fish. He had broken one of the cardinal rules of a waiter, which is to never stick your fingers into the food! His thumb was, no, he was elbow-deep in my sauce. I was just gawking as he took the other plates off our table while the red tandoori sauce dripped from his left thumb. UGHHH!!! Not only that, the meat was a bit dry for lamb, and the sauce lacked depth. It tasted more like those sauces you make from powder.

Drab said that I was too picky, which I can't really argue, since my entire family has called me that since I was young. My brother would always the the one to finish anything off my plate if I didn't like it. Maybe that's how he got fat as well, although we both ate pretty much the same amount, even up to now. I would say that I am rather a constructive critic. How can you expect the food to get better if everyone that goes in settles for mediocre quality? Grade for this place whose name I cannot even remember: B.

Memories of the night: "Enjoy me while you last," "my little whore," "Taste and Smell conference," and coming back with an empty suitcase. Ohhh that would be too good if that were to occur.
Drab had also asked if I had found Mi Gorengs over here, which I coyly implied that I forgot. Or maybe I just directly said I forgot and lied about? In any case, I may in fact know where to purchase them, and I may just be keeping the location of my treasure chest safe. He's after me Gorengs!

Lifelong dreams, hmm? One can only hope. I can only hope that I don't dream about Drab tonight. They usually occur after close encounters with that third kind. Adieu.