This evening, in the Ari neighborhood of Bangkok where I’ve lived for the last year, I went to one of my usual haunts for a post-workout dinner, as I do once or twice a week.
It’s a pretty simple place – traditional Northern Thai food served on wooden tables in a building with a roof but no walls. A few fans blew the day’s hot air around the 20 or so other guests.
I ordered my usual of moo yang (grilled pork), som tam khao pod (spicy roast corn salad), a small khao niao (sticky rice) and a large beer Chang, with lots of ice. Willie, Waylon and some other young guns I didn’t recognize were singing the classics on the stereo.
I’m reading about Beyonce’s deliciously subversive new country album “Cowboy Carter” on the NY Times mobile app when I hear loud laughter coming from the kitchen.
There, the entire staff is struggling to eat slices of pizza from 3 or 4 boxes splayed on one of the tables. My buddy who works there tells me it’s the birthday of one of the staff, she’s never had pizza, so he bought some for her and the whole team. It was clearly a first for many of them and they were finding it hysterical.
I had to laugh. You couldn’t make this up.
At times like this I think we’re all going to be ok.
