Number Thirty-Six

I had lunch at the Mekong restaurant in St. Louis today, where I am always torn between trying new things and revisiting old favorites. Everything they make is so good!

Today I picked entree number 36 off the menu. Sorry, I forget what it was called, and my grasp of Vietnamese lingo is tantamount to a random-syllable generator. I can only describe it as stir-fried chicken, carrots, broccoli, and snow pea pods in a deliciously seasoned oyster sauce. In a less public venue I might have licked the plate. That's how happy it made my taste buds.

When I took my Dad to the Mekong a couple months ago, he memorably remarked that eating the Pho Tai was like drinking perfume. It's true, in the sense of something that tastes as good as perfume smells when it isn't frightfully overdone. And the last time I was there, I caved in to my craving for curried squid, mussels, and scallops; this house specialty was as good as I remembered. I'm beginning to think that if they offered hot braised rat with a chaser of fermented horse piss, it would be worth trying.