By Crystal K. Wiebe
As someone who makes a living as a journalist, I like to think I have good deductive reasoning skills, especially when it comes to reading. So, when I visited Thai Palace recently, a positively palatial restaurant at the 64th Street exit off I-29, I didn’t think twice about the odd name of the entrée I ordered.
In a posh dining room with lofted ceilings, fancy Asian decor and an attractive wait staff, Golden Crab Friend Rice seemed like an appropriately exotic dish. It took a little longer than expected for my order to arrive, and in that time, my mouth watered at the possibilities. I imagined lightly breaded crab and unusual spices. Or maybe Thai-style crab cakes served atop white rice with a fruity sauce.
And then, my hopes deflated as the waitress set a plate in front of me. On it: a huge mound of fried rice with little crab chunks mixed in. I felt so stupid that I could barely eat. Fried rice, really? That’s all I got for $10.95? But I should have known. Thinking back, “friend rice” is a misspelling I’ve seen more than once on Chinese menus (even fancy ones).
As soon as I got back to the office, I shared my humbling experience with Ferruzza. “Thai Palace?” he asked with a puzzled look. “Have I reviewed it?”
A few seconds passed.
“Oh, you mean Thai Place!”
Uh, I swear I thought that’s what the sign said, but it wasn’t a typo this time. Just my eyes playing tricks.
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