Dodo Eggs

My favorite Chinese restaurant in Memphis is a small place called the Laughing Panda.  The odd decals plastered on the windows, walls, and menus inspire a different name.  The image is a panda leaning forward with its forepaws across its middle and mouth agape.  Regulars have come to calling it the Belching Panda.

The unofficial name has been good for business especially among the college guys that migrate over from the nearby campus.  Tuesdays and Thursdays are especially busy because of a new pinpoint promotion called Pang hu Sagwa.  If you order a beer you get a free serving of fried rice.  Order a pitcher and it becomes a family sized feast of greasy brown grains with sliver-sized bits of meat and vegetables.

I looked over at the most recent group of mop-haired, rag wearing young men.  They were clumsily circling the long table the hostess had shown them, laughing although no one had said anything funny.

“I told you we shouldn’t come on a Thursday night.”  My wife commented with a spoonful of egg drop soup only inches from her mouth.

I responded with a dismissive nod and a question, “I wonder what Pang hu Sagwa really means?  Have you ever noticed how the waiters smile whenever anyone orders it?”

She took a sip from her spoon.  “The menu says beer and rice so I’m guessing that’s what it means.  Why don’t you finish you beef and peppers?”

“If Pang hu Sagwa really means beer and rice, then why does the menu have a different name for rice over here?”  I flattened a menu and pointed at the listing for fried rice.  “And the beer has a different Chinese name when it’s listed with the other alcoholic beverages as well.”

“Do you really care?”

I whipped out my wallet.  “Darling, let me show you the power of a dollar.”

The next time our waiter stopped by our table I asked him about Pang hu Sagwa. 

“Sir, the menu says it’s our beer and rice special.  Free rice with beer.”

“Yes, I know that, but why the different names on the menus and why do you keep suppressing a grin every time I say it?”

He stammered a bit before I interrupted him with, “I tell you what, you’re looking at another extra dollar on your tip if you tell me the secret.  How do you feel about an extra Washington?”

My wife put her hand over her eyes.

The waiter and I stared at each other for a long moment.  I was waving the small greenback like it was the battle flag to the Republic.  He was conjuring then casting aside a million sarcastic retorts.
 
“Alright,” he took the dollar from me and slipped it into his pocket.  “Pang means fat and Sagawa means stupid.  It’s always good for a laugh.” 

I gave my wife another dose of my self-satisfied grin. 

“And for ten dollars sir, I’ll tell you passes in the kitchen for beef.”

• The Complaint Department
• Grab Bag
• Cooking With Love
• Latent Heat
• The Tin Tongue