I don't think I've ever had a worse food hangover than this past tuesday morning.... the morning after Asia.
Welcome to drinking at bars in Asian restaurants. This is a series of posts where Myself, Dietz, and several other "Alcohol Professionals" descend drunkenly upon unsuspecting and usually family-oriented Asian restaurants and proceed to drink as much of their booze as we can while indulging in whatever the fuck they have.
In the first post we were pleasantly surprised by how good Kon Asian Bistro was. Clearly, we let our luck get to our heads...
I decided that Kon was too "high brow" for what we were trying to accomplish. We needed to slum it, I wanted Pu-Pu Platters goddamn it, and umbrellas in my drinks. Asia (Millcreek, South Portland) seemed to be perfect. Our companions for this venture were: Nolan (Beer Buyer, Downeast Beverage), Drew (Manager, Old Port Sea Grill), Kelly (Avid Drinker), and Sarah (Avid Drinker).
Asia's sign immediately sets the tone. On one side there is an image of a boy wearing a coolie hat holding a fish, and on the other is an identical image that portrays the boy to be badly burnt. We drank recklessly before we arrived. Once again I perceive myself to be blacked out, so I fire up the voice recorder on my phone. Unfortunately, there were only 4 seats at the bar and 6 of us, so we settled for a table in the "lounge."
Our waitress, Sue, seemed only mildly amused with us at first, which would progress into mildly annoyed. We order two scorpion bowls and a volcano bowl to start, with plans to conquer the entire drink list shortly after (zombies, suffering bastards, pearl harbors, etc.).
With drinks ordered I start my campaign for ordering three Pu-Pu platters, my argument being that the menu says each is "for two people." I meet strong opposition, even from Dietz, and am forced to settle for two. I drunkenly declare that the bar is not made of magic, like Kon, but rather out of Howie Mandel. What the fuck I meant by that, I'm not quite sure.
3 flaming bowls of liquor arrive at the table. The scorpion bowls actually taste pretty good, although we decide, in our inebriated state, that there's not enough booze in them. We frantically blow out the fires to preserve what we can of the Bacardi 151 used to ignite them.
I'm having a pretty good time at this point, though Dietz tries to rain on my parade by saying that the food is going to put us in a "hurt locker." Drew suggests that if I get any louder, I may need to go sit in the "time out chair," sans my scorpion bowl, for five minutes. Listening to the recording is starting to make me cringe at the sound of my own voice. I yell at the speaker for myself to stop interrupting people.
The Pu-Pu platters arrive and we seem to have had our fire privileges revoked, as there was just an unlit Sterno in the middle. We also get an order of steamed dumplings, which no one comments on so I'm assuming were pretty forgettable. The chicken fingers, wings, barbeque pork, fried shrimp, and beef teriyaki are all on par with any other run-of-the mill Chinese-American restaurant. The crab rangoons, however, were fucking awful. They had minimal filling and resembled over-cooked fortune cookies.
After destroying the Pu-Pu platters I declare, for the first of about 10 times, that I feel like "I'm going to die." There's actually video footage of me talking about having trouble breathing and feeling like I was "about to die." After Dietz and I polish off the bowl of liquor, I decide that i'd like a Pina Colada. Sue was completely indifferent when I expressed my disappointment about the lack of umbrellas in my drink, and I can't blame her.
Things really went downhill when the entrees showed up. My orange chicken was actually pretty good, but that was the only one that was passable. The worst offender was Nolan's sweet and sour pork, that was barely cooked dough around some grayish meat with pineapple syrup and maraschino cherries. Dietz's Hunan beef and Kelly's Hunan chicken were almost as bad. I point to the TV and loudly announce "Well, thank god the game's on!" Talk begins of the possibility that I may, in fact, die before this meal is over.
Nolan tries to get me to eat some of his bullshit pork, and I decline. Everyone appears to be running out of steam at this point and I suggest we order snifters full of 151. Thankfully, everyone ignores me.
The subject matter of our conversation begins to cause bar patrons to leave. I express that I'm proud of this fact, and Sarah suggests that it may have been when I was talking about someone being "gang-fucked by Neanderthals." I declare that it's time to end this recording. We all toast to our Asia experience and we get our check. I invite Sue to come play Big Buck Hunter at Howie's with us after, and she declines. Our bill comes to around 200 dollars, and my fortune cookies are stale. Oh well, time to go to a bar.
I last for about 2 drinks and 5 horrible rounds of Big Buck Hunter at Howie's (295 Off-Ramp, Washington Ave.) before I need to be taken home. I'm in bed by 11.
