Since I am now a bachelor, I shamelessly frequent the Thai restaurant on the corner. The decor is terrible; they practically chose teenage blood to adorn the walls. But the food is good, and so is the economy. Thursday evenings are the best because they have a live jazz trio play in the restaurant. Total rescue from the vagaries of soft rock satellite radio they play afternoons and all other times. Which rips at me, and yet the two men who always work graciously make me feel as though they've never seen me before. I'm doing an exhaustive study of their Vegetable Drunken Noodle, so many many a drunken noodle that it's to the point where I wish I could tell them they really rocked it on the broccoli tonight. And there'd be hi-fives.
At the risk of being repetitive and depressive, I find this ritual really comforting. There's good color in the food, in the spice. And on Thursdays is the chance to transcend milieu and hit the woody allen new york cruising altitude of awesomeness.
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