Has Anybody Seen My Pot Stickers?

WHENEVER WE ARE DOWN IN TEXAS visiting family there is one thing we do as a group – and we do it very well.

We eat. Man, do we eat.

During this currant voyage to the bottom of the State someone suggested that we order “Chinese Food.”

“OK by me!” “Sounds good!” “Let’s eat!” “I want Crab Rangoon!” “Me too!” “Me too!” “Me too!”

I don’t like Crab Rangoon. And Rangoon isn’t in China anyway. So much for authenticity.

There is only one option for “Chinese Food” in Sinton, Texas. It is a town of about 5000 people and it has 3 Donut Shops, 7 Bail Bonds Storefronts, and an infinite number of Taquerias. And a Pizza Hut. The one “Chinese Food” place is a clone of the little restaurants worldwide. It is in a small strip mall wedged in next to a Subway and a place to get your nails done. If you blink you might miss it and end up going out for donuts.

It was a few nights ago when “Chinese Food was presented as an option. I kept quiet and silently nodded my willingness to “go along to get along.” It wasn’t that I was opposed to the idea of “Chinese Food,” it was that I wasn’t feeling very good.

I never feel all that good down there. My sinuses were alternating between being clogged like the only toilet in an Iraqi prison and running like a Community Theater recreation of the Johnstown Flood. My head ached from the 99 degree heat outside and what felt like 37 degrees in the house. Crab Rangoon was the last thing on my mind.

When you have a dozen people looking over the menu so that one person can call in the order it can get chaotic. The kids keep changing their minds and one person’s dinner request is, “What’s that dish with the noodles and some vegetables, with some meat? Oh, yeah, and some rice. I’ll have that.”

With some rice…well, that narrows it down.

After the list of wants was complete the “Order Phoner” asked me what I wanted. I did not answer “Two weeks in Bermuda” which was seriously on my mind. Instead I opted for the most innocuous thing I could think of. 

“I’d like an order of Pot Stickers.”

I figured that I could nibble on those little dumplings without too much gastric rebellion.

“Get him some Green Pepper Beef with Onions too. He likes that.”

Thanks Anonymous Menu Suggestor. Bell Peppers and Onions are just the ticket for a sleepless night.

The order was called in and all that remained was to get someone to go pick it up. The “Chinese Place” does not deliver. The owners moved more than 8000 miles to get to Sinton and they weren’t going one foot farther. I can’t blame them. They must be tired.

In an effort to stave off Stockholm Syndrome and Cabin Fever I volunteered to go along to pick up our food. I knew the way – all of a quarter mile, and I needed to get a break in the action.

Inside the “Chinese Place” we were helped by a lovely Mexican girl who bagged up everything and handled the money. So much for authenticity again. Images were being shattered.

It was a sumptuous meal for all of us. There was plenty of food – enough for tomorrows lunch even. I downed about half of the Green Pepper Beef with Onions. I enjoyed it over and over again all night. My Pot Stickers? Somehow they never made it onto the phoned in order. However, there was an extra order of Crab Rangoon.

 

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