As a novice regarding the nuances of fine dining upon Siamese shores, I would invariably dissect my chosen fare before consuming it, and when one day, during my honeymoon period with the country, I was presented with a plate of khao mun gai, or chicken on oily rice, I was rather pleased to have implanted such a procedure.
Placed before me by a gentleman whose face looked like it engaged battle with the contents of his wok on a daily basis, were three separate dishes;
1 x bowl of soup, unceremoniously garnished with a roughly chopped chunk of Chinese winter gourd.
1 x saucer, containing a zesty medley of ginger, garlic, chilli and soy sauce.
1 x plate of oil-drenched rice, several slivers of boiled chicken, a smattering of cucumber slices, a few sprigs of coriander, and a blob of matter.
A conversation regarding the aforementioned matter transpired:
Slap: Say you! Yes, you with the apron! Did you accidentally shat your spleen out onto my lunch?
Khao Mun Gai Establishment Operative: Speak English not.
Slap: You appear to have set my plate off with a fucking Star Wars extra.
KMGEO: Arai WA?!
Slap: There's a functioning substance in my fucking food!
KMGEO: *Starts whimpering before brain implodes*
Slap: Anyone! Somebody! What is this shite? *Stabs fork into matter before hloding it aloft for the whole eatery to see*
Random purveyor of restaurant: Sir, what you have there is a hunk of congealed chicken's blood. Don't be scared, it tastes wonderful. Look, watch...*slowly masticates offending fare*
Slap: Fucking savages! I'm off to McDonald's. At least they disguise the fact they're dishing up tripe.
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