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Stephen is here. We had lunch at Son Sung, a Vietnamese Bistro in Westport. It is one of my favorite places. They recently turned their lunch into a buffet with noodle bar. Good stuff. About one third of the buffet is raw, fresh salads and dishes, including spring rolls in the non-fried version. (I never know what to call them to differentiate…)

I always seem to forget the photos while the food is still pretty on the plate…

Not wanting to lessen the wonderful lunch with Stephen, I am highly compelled to offer up our meal’s entertainment; the two women at the table over Stephen’s shoulder. It really was non-stop oddness.

Seriously.

To start, the poor observational ability. Fair enough, some people just do not take in the surroundings quickly. Case in point, Sriracha sauce. You know, right…? The hot sauce with the rooster on the bottle. The ones that sit on each and every table in the place. They found the peanut sauce and hot mustard at the buffet and started wandering about asking everyone about the Siriacha sauce. When Stephen was kind enough to gesture to the one on our table, one commented that she would simply have to come over to borrow ours in a bit. At that point, I was compelled to point to her own bottle, just feet away. No, please, come no closer…

Next would be the ordering from the noodle bar. They have images posted with descriptions, the Vietnamese name and a number. She didn’t indicate any soup listed so much as announce she wanted tofu and veggies. Surely it was up there somewhere, and it was… She asked the man behind the soup bar what it was called. To my amusement, he answered, “a broth soup with rice noodles, fresh vegetables and tofu…”

*giggle*

My answer to the question is, simply put, “Number 11.”

She continued on point, beginning to slaughter his language. Now, I will give her credit for wanting to learn to pronounce the Vietnamese words for her order, but it was nowhere close. He seemed happy to have numerous soup orders to hurriedly get back to…

If I may move on, next would be the drink order. The one that would later produce a brocade pouch and pull out an Eastern-style hand fan to cool herself (in the well air-conditioned restaurant, you know, because it was a Vietnamese restaurant and therefore required that she have an Eastern-style fan…) ordered a Vietnamese coffee. She then proceeded to describe to the Vietnamese woman taking her order exactly what Vietnamese coffee was. Seriously.

At this point, it really was more mild amusement for me than anything. There was a bit of the moment of realization that this is exactly why some other nationalities do not care for Americans. At this point, I hoped – and may have even prayed a little – that the two were not world travellers. Well, maybe cruise ship travellers, but this behavior may well be expected from them… LOL.

Then, it all went horribly wrong. I mean worst horror movie ever… The fan lady’s companion returned to the buffet…

With. Her. Dirty. Plate. In. Hand…!

Ugh.

Seriously, what kind of rock does one need to live under to not understand this is an unacceptable choice…?

Ew.

Seriously. She must have seen the big huge ginorous stack of plates right there in front of her. My comment? I just know the sort of person that reuses buffet plates is likely also the type of person that uses the buffet serving utensils to rearrange the food they place on their filthy plate….

Did I say “ew!” yet…?

Ew.

It would seem that I cannot move past this moment to relate the rest of it… It grosses me out that much. Narly. With a spoon…

Ugh.