Michelle, my cubemate, gave me a brief overview of what was about to happen. She said phrases like, “mystery meat,” “food on carts,” and “you don’t know what you’re eating,” but I threw caution to the wind anyway.
The restaurant used to be an old theater and the interior is just picturesque. High, domed ceilings with a scalloped inset, shiny gold paint, bamboo paintings on the walls, and baby pink tablecloths. Ok, the pink tablecloths were out of place, but the rest was pretty cool.
Before we even unfolded our napkins, servers were beelining it to our table to showcase the dishes on their carts. And Michelle was right, I couldn’t pronounce or identify any of it. Luckily our coworker speaks fluent enough Chinese and understood and ordered for all four of us (it’s family style). Knowing I don’t eat seafood (hey, ‘transitional picky eater’ not a ‘fully-reformed picky eater’), he ordered mostly meats.
I tried a few things and was open to suggestions until my coworker ordered chicken feet. I know they were chicken feet because they fucking LOOKED like chicken feet. Breaded, fried, and covered in goo, but definitely poultry feet.
My look of disgusted horror as two of my coworkers set to sucking the ligaments and juice from the feet was unparalleled. Except for maybe the time a former coworker showed me a picture of his broken front tooth from biting into a giant turkey leg at Disneyworld (I have a thing with teeth and fingernails).
Michelle attempted to cut the “meat” off with her fork and knife when she was informed “there’s not really any meat.” Then I saw one of my coworkers spit out something that resembled a chicken toenail. Further, after nibbling on a second or third chicken foot, I saw him spit out a HINGED TOE JOINT.
Game over. I stopped at a coffee joint on the way back to the office and ate a giant Rice Krispie Treat in less than 15 seconds.
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