In the summer before my freshman year of college I helped a friend of mine (the ex-boyfriend of prom story fame) move into a new apartment near where he was going to school. After an afternoon of carrying boxes and furniture up three flights of stairs we were tired and hungry. B- suggested a nearby Thai restaurant that he had come to like during his last year going to school near by.

We left the apartment building darted across the street, past the building across the street, down an alley, then cut through a basketball court, and then a few more blocks before stopping at a small house nestled in middle of multi-story buildings of downtown Portland. The only thing that indicated this building was a restaurant was a sandwich board sitting in front of the deck, and a round table with a large umbrella that looked like it should be on a restaurant deck. Inside the building it was clear that it used to be a residential dwelling before most of the walls were removed at some point in the past.

When we arrived the waiter’s face lit up and he greeted B- by name and seated us. The menu was pretty standard faire, including three levels of spice on most of the dishes. I considered, and still do, myself a connoisseur of spicy food, so I mentioned to B- that I was going to get the Noodle Soup, spicy. He looked at me and said “you don’t want to do that, you should probably start with the mild, they’re serious about the spice here”. I chuffed, dude we’re from Rockwood, we’ve grew up with access to good spicy food, you know I’m good for it. He repeated his warning that I really wanted the mild. Yeah what ever dude, I always was the more rugged of the two of us.

The waiter came and took our order, I don’t remember what B- order other than it was mild, weak sauce dude. The waiter turned to me, “oh, Noodle Soup, spicy and a Thai tea please”. His eyes narrowed, “I haven’t seen you in my restaurant before, you want the mild.” No I really did want the spicy, B- piped up that he tried to explain this to me already. I relented, ok fine, I’ll take it medium.

A few minutes minutes later the waiter brought us our food, and it was wonderful. The soup broth was a menacing red, and gods was it spicy. I managed to eat the noodles and solids out of the soup and loved every bite of it, but my lips were blistered and every bit of the inside of my mouth was enflamed. It wasn’t until it was too late that I realized I had barely managed the solids and still had most of the broth remaining. I had a few spoonfuls of broth, and they all burned wonderfully, but with tears flowing down my cheeks I was forced to admit defeat.

I never got a chance to go back a second time, have no idea where exactly that little house of pain was to go back. It’s probably long gone by now, but decades later I still remember that soup fondly, even if I couldn’t finish it. The only other time I cried over food was also Thai food, but that was on the other side of the country and over a decade later.

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Filed under: Auto-biographical - @ 2023-01-27 17:06

Tags: FridayNightStoryTime