I need to preface this article by saying that I absolutely adore Chinese takeout. There’s something truly fulfilling with having my food in a little white box while sitting on the couch. Since The Boy and I always eat at the table, Chinese is often times an enjoyable break from being civil (because, you know, The Boy and I are so very proper!).
We got a flier for a new Chinese place. Yippee! Of the options we had, this was the cheapest one, so I was totally in. We call, muddle through the language barrier, wait our ‘ten minute’ (I have a theory that if we ordered half a cow, it would still only take ten minute to cook) and venture out to pick it up.
And as we turn on the road, I start to get concerned. Now I must tell you, dear reader, that the area that this place was located is in a fairly factory-based area. I tried to argue with The Boy that perhaps we should not order, but he insisted and won. And as we turned onto the street, I was reminded that this was his idea.
Even moreso, I was reminded that it was his idea when we turned into the driveway and found a row of storage containers. No joke. Storage containers. And in one of those storage containers, someone had opened a “Chinese diner”.
The Boy went in to get the food, but decided that I had to see the inside. It truly was nothing more than a big empy room. I don’t know how they cooked the food. I don’t know…I don’t ask questions.And yet, after seeing all of this, we still decided to eat it! Ordinarially I don’t condone eating food from storage units, but this one smelled particularly yummy. So when we got home, we set out with total confidence that we would be juuuuustttt finnneee.
And ultimately, the warehouse Chinese was AWESOME! It tasted wonderful and was the right price. It’s also been a few hours, so I feel confident that we won’t be getting sick.
Next weekend, we’re going to find a Greek restaurant in a back alley.