General Tso's chicken
Her living room had all the ambiance of the salad bar portion in a Midwestern Chinese Buffet restaurant and I know that sounds unfair, but I could never shake the resemblance.
Her whole house had that quiet, unassuming air of the kind of establishment that signed a rental agreement in a strip mall, filling the gap between a shoe store and a chiropractor, a hole left by an unpopular Italian restaurant.
The fruit laden grape arbor still hangs over the hot bar, plastic vintage failing to even marginally understand the Mongolian beef, and the cheap wine-bottle wainscot wallpaper border smells like sweet and sour sauce when you get up close.
No, the residual décor is not happy at all.
The resulting atmosphere is tense.
You could cut it with a knife, but there are only chopsticks.
Outside on the window, written backwards in Italian with a bar of Irish Spring, there is hateful, antagonistic graffiti:
“General Tso’s chicken.”
Last edited by Charlie; 07-05-2011 at 06:03 AM.