Like books, you cannot judge restaurants on appearance
alone. Fire Street Food on 13 East Perry Street is a shining example.
Everything inside is so perfect and so hip it hurts. When I
see an interior that is so nice, I automatically assume that the restaurant is
so successful, they can afford top of the line everything.
This place is so cute inside |
On Friday night, Mike, Ingela and I sauntered in to Fire
Street Food at about 10 p.m. and there was a line. Good sign.
We learned two things standing in that line. One, they ran
out of sushi by 8 p.m. that night, and three, despite boasting many flavors of
bubble tea, by10 p.m. on a Friday, they were out of a few of them. Bad sign.
Traditionally, I order things I know, but this blog has made
me step outside of many of my normal boundaries. So I decided to try the Laos
Egg Noodle Soup with braised pork.
My Laos pork soup |
When the manager dropped my soup off at the table, he asked,
“Do you want hot sauce?” I agreed
and proceeded to make my once clear soup a pleasant pink with
the addition of about 10 shakes of Sriracha. And while I could handle the heat,
the taste of the soup was just not good.
There were a few pieces of pork that tasted like the pork
from fried rice at a Japanese restaurant, there was an unidentifiable floating
substance that I shared with my dinner companions and they also had no idea
what it was. It looked like tofu, but it tasted like meat.
Did I mention how cute the inside of this place is?
Mike's Gang Dang Gai |
Mike had the “Gang Dang Gai” with chicken. The menu
description lists this as a curry, coconut milk, basil entrée. Sounds good,
right? Unfortunately, this was also not very tasty. Mike also ordered a green
tea flavored bubble tea that he didn’t enjoy. Seriously, as I’ve mentioned
before, Mike eats and drinks everything. For him to not finish a meal or a $5
bubble tea, you know something is wrong.
I tasted his meal and I’m sure I’ve had much better curry in
at least two other restaurants in the city.
Ingela's winner chicken sandwich |
Finally, of course, we laughed at Ingela when she ordered an American
chicken sandwich. Of course, I tasted said chicken sandwich. Of course, said
sandwich rocked my world and I ate half of her dinner. It almost tasted like a
Louisiana Po-Boy with the same messy and delicious factors. To top it off, her
French fries were banging.
So three Americans walk into an Asian restaurant and the one
who orders the American chicken sandwich has the best dinner. The end.
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