The Fried Rice Cock-Up: Chicken, My Anoose!

[Lewie London]

Right lads, still hanging me hat here in the LOS, despite the bike problems yesterday and all the other recent palava. Alas, I awoke this morning thinking I’d keep things simple by grabbing me some local lunch grub for a change. Too many bloody pub meals lately and I’m starting to look like a right porker. There’s this little street-side spot near me gaff, nothing posh, just red plastic chairs and wobbly tables, you know the kind, but the food’s usually a decent nick and portions are good sized. I reckoned a plate of chicken fried rice would do the trick for a change, so I mustered up me best Thai and ordered, “Khao Pad Gai.”

 

The waitress gives me the nod and scarpers off, and I’m sat there feelin’ well chuffed, like the locals appreciate me speaking some of their own language and that. Then the plate shows up, and what do I see? Bloody shrimp fried rice, "Khao Pad Kung" innit, and big shrimps at that, FFS mates. I clocked the pink tails and near chundered on sight. I ain’t being dramatic or nottin, lads, I’m proper allergic. Shrimp turns me into an even bigger puffed-up mess than I already am and faster than you can say "puffball face".

 

I call the waitress over, trying to sort it nice and calm, but she’s already got the ump. Then the owner pops out like final judge and jury in some budget cooking show, starts rattling on about and telling me I ordered shrimp. I goes, “Nah darlin, don’t start taking the piss. I said chicken. Gai, right. Not Kung. I know the bloody difference in words.” She’s already got her knickers in a twist, waving her arms all about and getting right stroppy. I says, “Oi, keep your hair on love, don’t throw your toys out the pram just over a bit of rice now.”

 

Then they reckon I gotta cough up another 100 baht if I want the chicken version I ordered. "I go, ‘You what? Good money already for this muck and now you want more?” But I was starving, and arguing in 35-degree heat is like trying to outdrink an Irishman during last orders. So I forked it over and waited.

 

Meal comes back, this time with chicken, but I’d lost all interest. Chicken was drier than a nun’s fanny and rice was proper hot, but tasted like they forgot to fry it. I pushed it away, slapped the cash on the table, and flounced off right quick.

 

Made me way back to me trusted pub, ordered a shepherd’s pie and a pint, sat meself down under the big ceiling air-con and tried to remember why I ever left me dear old Blighty.

 

Next time I get the bright idea to “eat like a local,” someone give me right a slap in the tits and remind me that there’s nowt wrong with chips and gravy and a fackin menu in English, lads.

[Harrisfan]

Khao Phad Dung

[petermik]

Loneliness leads you down the path of writing nonsense... change your medication and lay off the booze and wacky baccy ☹️

[NativeBob]

What a lovely story - love you style @Lewie London

Please write more!

[StandardIssue]

A Bob by any other name writes just as ... fill in the blank _______________

[worgeordie]

Bob you should just stay in the house and play with yourself, there are

too many problems for you in the real World , everyday it's a problem,

and you let us know about it....all , do you not think we have plenty of

our own , ...

 

regards Worgeordie 

[KannikaP]

13 hours ago, NativeBob said:

What a lovely story - love you style @Lewie London

Please write more!

Are you any relative to the aforementioned Bob?

[StandardIssue]

His name is Bob. Even Tony Clifton knows.

 

 

[jvs]

Really? Big shrimps in normal Khao pad Kung?

Never happened,same as you other bs stories.

Good try Bob.