In an effort to get out from under the rock where I've been hiding, I was enticed to Trader Vic's last night. I am, of course, always going to bite on that because of my little tiki problem. (The problem being I can't figure out where to put a full fledged tiki bar in my house.) And last night was no different. So off we went, down to the one in Palo Alto (the 'tiki-lite' Trader Vic's) so we could meet up with Ceej and David, who are also easily swayed by the lure of the faux Pacific. And it was wonderful weather for it, the tiki torches were all lit and their flames just a tad bit high in the breeze. They had their thatched umbrellas out on the veranda and I sunk down amidst the poly-Polynesian and potted palms while we waited for the others. I can't tell you the love I have for this silly chain. I'll probably never make it to the Mai Kai. I know I'll never see the most of the other mega temples of days gone by which are by now most likely used-car lots. But there's still Trader Vic's, even though the original (in Oakland) is as gone as the Kahiki, they still make an amiable effort to showcase their history. And for me, that's enough.
But once at the table, the drink menus appeared. I'm convinced these menus haven't changed for decades, mostly because they are all falling apart- which is a bit incongruent with the rest of Trader Vic's current image. Anyway, rather than deciding, I often just ask the server based on what I want. Last night, I got back 'scorpion.' Well, alrighty then. I know I like that one, it's one I make at home. That's when David made the fatal suggestion:
"Why don't we get one of those bowls and split it?"
Wow! Did that sound like a friendly guantlet landing at my feet or what? And truly, I knew it wasn't, because it's common knowledge I don't drink as well as I pour. So essentially, it was like Michael Schumacker reving his engine next to me at a light. But it was one of those kind of evenings, so what the heck. Alrighty to that too, then.
The bowl arrived like one of those tureens someone's grandmother always serves soup in. Well, if grannie was a surfer, anyway. With two ridiculously long straws propped against the edges, we could conveniently set the bowl between us. Honestly, the straws were insane. They made me feel like I was puffing on a hookah instead of sipping my lil frufru drink. It was impressive how fast David and I made it down to the crushed ice remnants. Almost as if there wasn't anything but ice in the bowl. You would have thought there would be more drink there...
I suppose it would have helped if I'd had lunch. But I didn't. In fact, since I'd slept so late Saturday morning, I'd pretty much only had some chips and half a pop tart all day.
And rum is one of those alcohols where you really can't miss the effects. By the time the appetizers arrived, I'd decided being quiet was my best option, and tucked into crab rangoon (the *other* reason to go to TVs) while being hyper aware of my surroundings and unable to feel the tops of my forearms.
Nope. Definitely not a time to open my mouth and say something stupid. I was more concerned with the fact that the bathrooms were down a flight of steps. While I lamented on this poor design for a restaurant built on booze, David 'freshened' the drink. This time it was a 'Giggle' which I didn't care for as much as the scorpion. But I *still* sipped at it, albeit with less enthusiasm.
The end result was that there was a half hour or more where I was the least sober I've been in my life, barring one unfortunate mixer where I had ONE drink on top of the meds I'd been given for my cracked ribs. And did I learn anything from this?
Let's See:
The tiny Asian woman at the next table thought it was acceptable to put her bare feet on the seat next to her. (I'm guessing she came in with shoes on but there was a tablecloth.) The birds on the top drawer of the little console table by the women's bathroom look like finches, the console birds do not match the bird cabinet inside the women's bathroom, most of the dining room furniture has french polish on it, the brazillian tile in the hallway to the bathroom is the same one my co-worker used for his porch, the white tape they use to outline the steps for safety is for some reason not grip tape, and the Vic painting behind us with the miscolored horses isn't really as bad as I thought.
No. Not really.
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