On the recommendation of a certain biology professor from HMC, we set sail for Tokyo Kitchen, a place of reputed sushi. Believing this to be an inexpensive option, we were disappointed to find that they had no full entrees under 16 dollars. One would think that this blunt realization would be a profound step backward for you ever-fearless reviewers.
Instead, we took two steps past Egghead and one toward Nirvana -- a restaurant boasting genuinely inexpensive Indian cuisine. Feeling warm fuzzies violating our personages, we shared a smile at the thought of some yummy curry chicken for less than your average mother's haircut. Of course, we cut our mothers' hair for free, so that doesn't mean much to us, but we thought it sounded slick.
Tumbling into Nirvana, we glibly opened the door, poked in a nose -- Andy's -- and were stunned to find a sea of tables beautifully ornamented with polished silverware, napkin-bearing water crystal and linen tablecloths. Recalling the image of himself in the mirror earlier that day, Andy realized that he closely resembled a slob. Before the hitherto comfortably seated, slightly underworked and overly eager maitre'd was fully vertical, and before Ryan's nose even graced the plane of Nirvana, Andy panicked.
Feeling the breeze of Andy's former presence, Ryan was left bereft of any appropriate response, staring at the locked knees of the appreciably bewildered and not-quite-upright proprietor. Feeling the breeze of Ryan's former presence, the maitre'd reversed his aborted erection and flaccidly returned to his kumquat snack. (Please refrain from lambskin prophylactic jokes.)
Ryan found Andy a few doors down attempting to be inconspicuous while he evaluated the requisite attire of a Chinese house of nourishment. Unfortunately, the windows were not tinted to our advantage, and all we were able to see were our contorted reflections mashed against our faces. Not until insatiable curiosity forced us inside did we notice the smothered snicker of the maitre'd, who had been watching our unflatteringly chubbied faces from the decidedly advantageous side of the tinted glass.
Quickly regaining her composure, and setting aside her kumquat snack, she directed us to a seat far from the door before Andy had a chance to former his presence.
So, yes, we hereby review yet another Chinese restaurant in YAFUMM (see Collage, Sept. 23, 1993).
For about 11 dollars apiece, we were treated to a full meal complete with soup, appetizers, and not-too-fresh fortune cookies with not- too-enlightening fortunes. The service was very functional -- fast, consistent with those all-important water refills, and barely audible aside from a concerned warning regarding the Pao in the Kung Pao Chicken (those sneaky little red peppers). As is the case with most of the Chinese restaurants we've been able to afford, we found the emphasis on fried appetizers and slippery entrees to be too heavy for our light tongues.
The interior was attractive, with perpetually entertaining smoked mirrors on the walls that gave rise to infinite visual feedback loops and pitched us into a tinted oblivion in which all vantage points were mutually disadvantaged.
Anyway, enough about restaurants, let's talk about those new-car- smell scented auto air fresheners that dangle from your rear view mirror. We know very little about them, but we do know y'all have 'em -- even you carless saps who suspend them from your desklamps in hopes of some day sandwiching them between a pair of fuzzy dice. Please share your thoughts and feelings on them with us.
As you may have noticed, we've received information from you loyal readers and we have learned that kumquats are a food item that maitre'd's often enjoy as a snack while they await the arrivals of guests nourishing themselves before they field test lambskin prophylactics. Our most groovy thanks to those of you who responded.
Royal China is located at 8851 Central Ave., in Montclair. You need a car to get there. But not even a car -- much less a big, scary, landlocked boat -- can get you to nirvana, which is only next door.