While walking down Ekkamai Road earlier in the week, I noticed a sign advertising a local Italian restaurant. Underneath the name it said: “Stylish Italian Cuisine.” In typically convoluted Thai fashion, I assume these people meant to imply that the interior of their restaurant looks stylish and oh-so-trendy (another popularly abused Thai term). But to describe the food they serve as stylish would be, uh, odd. Personally, I’d rather dine somewhere that has delicious or scrumptious offerings on the menu. I don’t want fancy, fusion, or some other type of foo-foo cuisine. I just want good, tasty, honest cooking. Stylish? Leave that to the hairdressers.
Over at the Mall Bangkapi one day last week I decided to have lunch at Black Canyon. I sat down at a table and waited for a waitress to bring me a menu, even though I already knew what I wanted to order. From across the room, I noticed a young waitress approach, a look of fear in her eyes. Yes, there was no getting out of this unpleasant task: she was going to have to speak to a dreaded farang! This type of trepidation is common at streetside Thai restaurants, and even in chain joints like Black Canyon. Most of the customers are Thai and as a result most of the employees are not used to dealing with foreign customers. Even if they can speak English, and most cannot, they fear making a mistake or drawing the wrath of the notoriously surly farang if their food is not cooked to specification. I always try to smile and speak Thai when ordering in these types of places, hoping that will help to lessen the shock value for the poor waitress. Sometimes it works, and sometimes it seems to spook them even more! You just can’t win.
Friday was a Buddhist holiday here in Thailand, and that morning we had many customers in the store, including our fair share of children from hell; loud, whining, rowdy kids, the type that pull books off shelves, toss them on the floor and take turns trying to spin the revolving card racks as fast as they can. And of course the parents who were supposedly “supervising” these hellions were pretty much oblivious to the commotion. Is this some sort of “Free Range” approach to parenting? Just let your kids run around wild and never discipline them? Or maybe the parents have just become immune and numb to such child-induced chaos that they consider it normal? I complain about such children often, but honestly most of the kids that come to my shop are a pleasure; they are polite and well-behaved, and say please and thank you, and don’t feel the need to shout and run around the store like it’s track and field day. That’s why having to deal with hyper little monsters is such an ordeal.
