In more ways than two, I could use a hearty meal at everyone’s favorite local Thai restaurant. The proof is in the Pad Thai. The dim (sum) lighting and general feng shui (or vibes, if you will) of the establishment welcomes each guest… at arms length. Customer service is not over-the-top, and the collective We wouldn’t have it any other way. It would be a massive overstep to demand above-par hospitality from my dearest friends, who only charge $6.95 for an industrial amount of food, so shyly hiding behind its modest namesake, the “Lunch Special.” Appetizers and meals are prepared with love (without borders) and utmost respect for thy neighbor. Each spoonful of eggdrop soup, coupled with a singular crunchy (and overly girthy) spring roll, generously dipped in Hooters orange Sweet and Sour Sauce, heals (the soul) and washes away the nonsystematic portion of my everincreasing karmic debt. As this variety of family-run operations is reminiscent of the ubiquitous struggles of colorism in a White America, such establishments deserve the highest of praise and the prettiest of pennies. The Wok constitutes the bulk of my weekly expenditures, but I’d sooner max out every line of credit than abandon my principles and dine elsewhere, and that’s on #Yang2024. You talk the talk, but can you wok the wok? It is They that have had the unique privilege of watching me dissipate into nothingness and oblivion over the years, and I’m proud- nay, THRILLED to announce that we are in the homestretch, fellas. Pad-SEE-U later!
Unsolicited Takes 