Eddie and I decided that tonight would be a good night to shamelessly gorge ourselves on Taco Bell and KFC, but fate had other plans for us.
We were buzzing down Westford Street when we went past Amae, a new Vietnamese restaurant in Lowell.
“Ooh! Want to try something different?” Ed says. Off we go. We — well, I — nearly caused a three-car pileup banging an illegal and highly unwise U-turn… but we got a spot right in front of the restaurant so the end justified the means.
Unlike many dressed up American-style asian fusion restaurants, Amae is the real deal, offering things like Pho, Glass Noodle soup, and a host of different seafood dishes in a fun atmosphere. Vietnamese television shows play on in the background, families come to enjoy authentic family-style Vietnamese dishes, and there is a GIANT SQUEEZE BOTTLE of tastebud-eradicating Hot Chili sauce on the table. Where can you go wrong?
*** Funny story about the Scoville punishment factor of Vietnamese food… My mom has a co-worker from Vietnam who eats possibly the hottest chicken and rice on the planet. Every time she sits with him for lunch, he digs into a giant dish of the stuff and about ten minutes in, says, “Jeez. My wife. I think she trying to *kill* me.” My mom always asks “Well then, why do you eat it?!” He mops his brow with a napkin, smiles and then says, “Cuz it GOOOOD.” ***
A quick look through the menu offered many choices for dinner. Ed decided on something tame - crispy chicken and rice.
I went for something a little more adventurous. I started out with spring rolls - not those sissy deep-fried things you get at the local Jade, but soft rice-paper rolls filled with shrimp, basil, lettuce, glass noodles, and something I couldn’t identify that tasted pretty good!
Things took a different turn at the main course. I decided on Clay Pot Pork… which is basically sliced pork simmered in scallions and a savory pepper sauce, served with white rice. When I ordered, our very sweet waitress gave me a sympathetic and hesitant look. “You sure? You probably won’t like it. Umm… It Vietnamese. It… smell.” She then complimented me on my jewelry, a diamond pendant with “Ai”, the Kanji symbol for love. She knew a little Mandarin, she said. I think she was trying to distract me into sticking with something more tame. Undeterred, I ordered it anyway. She gave me the three-second pause to back out of the deal, then went off to fill our order.
It’s possible she ran back to the kitchen to tell them to make the tourist version of “Clay Pot Pork” for the ridiculous girl who had made a horrible error in judgment, but whatever came out of that kitchen was damned delicious! The pork was cooked perfectly, wasn’t cuss-inducing spicy (although Ed did manage to wipe some chili sauce on my tongue and almost send me to the hospital.) She was still a little worried that I didn’t like it until her second visit back when I’d nearly wiped it out, and said I’d order it again. Ed nearly sent them to the store to restock on chili sauce, so a good meal was had by all. We wrapped it up with a Vietnamese version of miso soup, made with flatleaf parsley and morels.
Beside the food, the thing that charmed us most about the place was the sheer friendliness of the new owners. They were obviously in love with the place, and were thrilled that at 7 o’clock on a Monday night, the restaurant was bustling with families. Both of the owners came by to chat for a minute, making sure the meal was good and that we had everything we needed. We chatted a little about the lounge area (they’re still waiting on the liquor license - hop to it, Lowell!!) and how excited they were to finally be open for business. Just the personal attention to your visit is reason to stop by again soon!
As promised, a review of tonight’s Spinners Idol competition, which took place at the Skybox in Tewksbury!
Every year, the talent scouts of LeLacheur Park come out to the ‘burbs to find songbirds for the upcoming Lowell Spinners baseball season. I decided to mosey down and try my hand along with the rest, have a few drinks, and listen to Frances Scott Key’s best-known ditty (which was actually just a poem at the time).
First off, I was VERY surprised at the turn-out! I got there at 6pm sharp, and was *26th* on the list! There were another seven or eight who wandered in after me as well. Everyone settled in for a few hours of auditions, as the Thirsty Thursday crowd and the Bruins game 7 bandwagon rolled in. The place was at capacity when the first contestant took the stage, an adorable toe-headed kid of about 8 years old who reminded me of the precocious little scamp from “A Christmas Story”, right down to the water-slicked part in his blond hair. No glasses though. It would have been incredible if he’d been toting a Red Rider BB Gun (with a compass in the stock), but his mom probably made him leave it at home. He was a great ice-breaker for the crowd, and had the adorable factor going bigtime.
There were some truly talented people there! One kid played the Anthem on a trumpet, a trio performed in a surprisingly chipper 3-part harmony, and there were a few well-trained voices in the crowd as well. The judges had balanced critique for everyone, and even through forty auditions, remained upbeat.
So how did I do, you’re wondering? Well. It could have gone better, to be sure. During the first 15 seconds of “Fly Me to the Moon” (my first song), the Bruins scored a basket (kiddddiiiinggg) and the crowd went from zero to deafening. No worries, I ramped it up and boomed right over them. This earned some bonus points from the judges. The Anthem? Mehh not so much. The trouble started when I caught a glance of my very excited stage mother-in-law singing along with me. For anyone who hasn’t had this happen, it’s kind of the equivalent of having someone yell random numbers at you when you’re trying to tally a stack of change: you IMMEDIATELY forget where you were Not so bad. “O’er the ramparts” became “And the ramparts”, but the show carried on. I had a pretty manky top note as well, owing to the fact that I left my falsetto back in the music room in high school and never remembered to swing by and pick it up. No worries. Like any true Sox fan, I’ll just say there’s always next year.
In the end, a girl with a REALLY fabulous voice won the chance to sing at opening night, as well as some studio time to record a demo. She was second runner up for the past two years, and this year was the charm. So if you’re at opening night on June 19th, rest assured you’re going to be treated to not only a great ball-game, but a truly lovely serenade to kick the whole thing off.
I was walking down Market Street in Lowell today, to find that apparently, Dharma has rented some space in downtown Lowell and thought I wouldn’t notice!!
No… it’s not what you’re thinking. As much as I would be thrilled for a Lost ARG right on my own street, it’s not the Dharma Initiative. I guess I’ll just have to get to the Island some other way.
What is it then? It’s Dharma Buns Sandwich Company! Looks like a new kid is moving into town, a kid that loves Beat Poets and Crazy Primetime Television. I have to say, I can’t think of a better combination. Just as long as Hurley doesn’t own/run the place… I hear he has bad luck with food establishments.
I just finished enjoying my first cup of George Howell’s Terroir coffee (Tarrazu, Costa Rica). As the mug cools, I regard the grounds collected at the bottom, like tea leaves, trying to divine some inspiration.
The Market Street Market, only recently established, carries these and other blends of beans. Walking through their already open door, we were greeted by Robert Nason, owner and resident cashier jockey, which combined made me feel immediately welcome.
After reading about their imported chocolates on Kathleen Pierce’s Gourmet Gal blog, I knew I wanted to try the Taza Mexican discs - bitter dark chocolate made with dried chili for a bit of heat in the finish. I think it’s important for a proprietor to know more about the products they carry than just the SKU numbers and Robert was no exception; he informed us about the Somerville-based chocolate company and the texture of their organic, stone-ground candies.
But it’s not all fancy coffee and chocolate, they also carry all the staples. In no particular order, I saw rows of fresh produce, peppers, cereal, frozen waffles, olives, oils, goat & mozzarella cheeses, homemade cannolis, flowers, paper products, made to order calzone (also known as dinner), and the pièce de résistance, a hand-squeezed orange juicer.
(Aside: at 7:30 p.m., there weren’t many fruits and vegetables left. This was encouraging; a high turnover rate ensures the food you’re getting is fresh.)
To my relief, they open early enough for my lifestyle (8 a.m.) and close reasonably late (8 p.m.)
Welcome to the neighborhood! I’m sure you’ll be seeing more of us. Thanks for enabling my burgeoning coffee snobbery.
Okay.. This is my first blog post for Nablopomo! Hooray for high-volume monthly competitions! Good luck to everybody taking part in the May Madness!
A disclosure about my participation: I do not care about typos this month, and at least one post will be video imbeds of the antics of Maru the Cat. We’ll call it my cheat day. If you don’t know Maru, have no fear, for you will still love him as much as I do. (If not, you’re a communist. There, I said it.)
Okay, so the swine flu. Possibly the only thing less attractive than the influenza virus, is the influenza virus that comes from pigs. Let’s face it. Babe is not a pig. Wilbur is not a pig. Those little rascals are just adorable snouts and curlicue tails, misspellings and blue ribbons and backflips and shitloads of friggin’ adorable.
This is a pig.
There now that we’ve cleared that up, let me tell you about MY fun week avoiding that bastard H1N1.
One aspect of my day-job involves sending sales reps off to exotic locales for tradeshows. One of my reps went to a tradeshow last week. Where? Oh yes. Mexico City. Ground friggin’ zero of the aporkalypse (Thank you Twitter, for another fantastic new word.) So when my phone rings the past Monday, and said rep has “some stomach trouble” I immediately stop making Peter Sarsgaard SARS-Guards ™ jokes, and think , “Are you serious?!”
Rep goes and gets the business end of a flu test. Rep is fine and dandy. Belynda is much relieved.
Yesterday, I pass my very tanned-looking neighbors in the hall, toting carry-on luggage.
“Ooohh you guys look good where you been?”
Do I even need to tell you?
Dee asked me if I wanted a kiss. I believe my response went something like “If you bring your porky lips anywhere near me, it will be the last thing you ever do.”
But at least I’m never home and I don’t really see my neighbors.
Enough is enough right? No, of course not!
I open Yahoo news? “Massachusetts Confirms Two Cases of Swine Flu”
Where?
IN MY TOWN.
At this point, I begin my #reasonstomovetoandover hash tag, to try to impress upon @defeated the need for a slight change in domicile. Andover, of course, lives in a biological bubble - like the Realm of All Magic from “The Flight of Dragons” only with a better school system and marginally less dragons. Marginally.
So this is my personal involvement with porcine biological warfare. The pigs have declared war on all those bacon-crazed f#!%rs who have been devouring their kind beside eggs and on sandwiches for far too long. Porky is mad, and he’s not gonna take it any more.
If I were Wendy’s, I’d maybe tone down the advertisement on the Baconator. It will only make them angry.
About the author
I’m a writer, artist and degenerate internet addict. I have a day job only to keep the lights on and the internet working. I’m not always PG, but I’m always A+ (not to mention humble.) Please do not try to make me think before coffee. It will only end in tears.
Not so bad. “O’er the ramparts” became “And the ramparts”, but the show carried on. I had a pretty manky top note as well, owing to the fact that I left my falsetto back in the music room in high school and never remembered to swing by and pick it up. No worries. Like any true Sox fan, I’ll just say there’s always next year.
