Death via mandarin food

Something-something-something there's a fork in the woods, by Robert Frost. Nestled in the middle of the fork is "Mandarin Chinese & Japanese restaurant" at 2618 Pico Blvd in Santa Monica, CA. Each path in the fork represents contrasting outcomes of ecstasy and certain death.

About three weeks ago, I started a new job at an indoor golf facility. The shop sits in the most cliche type of strip mall, the type that has undoubtedly been used as the setting for parking lot scenes in countless commercials. In fact, the indoor golf facility sticks out like a sore thumb among what is (and I cannot emphasize enough) the MOST cliche set of businesses. Among our neighbors are a liquor store, a laundromat, a Baskin Robbins, the Mandarin restaurant, an Indian restaurant, a shitty pizza parlor, and a donut store. The total package. The American dream.

Now because of the locale to my place of work, and because I am usually the only staff member in-house during my shift, AND because the facility is a membership-based business for which I need to cater to golfers, I can't really navigate too far to find a meal. Combine the geographical restrictions with my eagle eye for hidden-gem Chinese eateries, and you have what is the now - me, dismissing any ounce of evolutionary instinct that is that voice in your head that says "hey dude, you've been eating at this Chinese spot for one meal, sometimes two, every day."

In response I ask what else am I really supposed to do when there's legit Mandarin food that offers a Kung Pao lunch special with rice and an eggroll for less than $8? If it's any consolation, at least every time I go to place the order and then walk back to pick up the food, I'm getting like 35 steps in 4x35 is 140. 140 steps per kung pao lunch special. About time to find some better writing topics, huh?

And it's mostly my fault. The small portion of blame going toward the Mandarin restaurant itself for far exceeding my expectations for their quality the first time I visited. Alas, my expectation that I set upon my introductory visit to Mandarin Chinese & Japanese restaurant was vastly exceeded. It would've been so easy for them to fit the bill of a strip mall Asian joint with questionable food and even more questionable adherence to LA County food safety guidelines, but here we are with only the latter holding true.

There is no punchline, climax, resolve, twist or end fight scene to this blog. I actually just wanted to let y'all know how much I've eaten at this fucking restaurant. Here is a photo of my work schedule for last week:

*Friday was actually a 10am - 9pm shift.

It sickens me to actually look at this schedule and type out that I had eaten minimum one meal per day from this Mandarin restaurant 😬😬😬. As noted above, I worked an 11-hour shift on Friday, and you can take it to the window that I ate there twice. At this point you're probably wondering with severe intrigue - "Sam, please show us the amphetamine-laced food that has pulled you in like Kensington Ave in Philadelphia..." It's simple, really. While I look forward to the challenge of trying everything on their menu before the monosodium glutamate clogs my circulatory system like tampons in a sorority house's plumbing and kills me mid-meal, up until now I've only indulged in three dishes. All as spectacular as the last. Here are the three that have me in the palm of their hand:

宮保雞丁 Kung Pao Chicken Lunch Special w/ white rice and eggroll

盐胡椒鸡 Salt and Pepper Chicken

椒盐虾 Salt and Pepper Shrimp

So shoutout to this place. I can tell after a couple more visits I'll be getting the lunch special pricing on items around the clock, which is precisely why we play the game ladies and gentleman. To quote the great Thomas Jefferson: "I'd rather die with a stomach full of Mandarin food, than a mouthful of pride. Good day, and good luck.