Between it being Christmas, this crazy fucked up blizzard and my sheer and utter laziness, I have not written for a couple of days. Hopefully, you are all getting over your Christmas/Kwanzaa/Solstice/Hanukkah bloat and are ready to focus on the task at hand: Bitchy Waiter. I must share with you my Christmas Eve meal because it was kinda amazing. I went to a place called Kittichai for your typical holiday meal of modern Thai cuisine and lots and lots of cocktails. Loved. It.
Starting at the bar, I was overwhelmed with options for my starter drink. They all looked so good. I laughed to the bartender, “Can I just have a taste of every single one?” The bartender clearly had no sense of humor because he just rolled his eyes and said no. Or maybe he did have a sense of humor but was in an understandably shitty mood since it was 8:00 PM on Christmas Eve and he has to make cocktails for an alcoholic bitch like me. I meant to write down the name of every drink but I assured myself I would remember the name and all the ingredients in them as well. Fail. My first was called something like a chili citrus martini and it made my face melt off with deliciousness. I do recall that it had Citrus Vodka, Limoncello and hot peppers muddled in it. It was so freaking good. After the first sip, I thought it was too spicy, but after sip number three it was just right and after sip number ten I was just said that it was gone. Go there. Order it. Tell them The Bitchy Waiter sent you. They won’t know what the fuck you are talking about, but say it anyway.
At this point, the table was ready and I ordered cocktail number two. Again, I forgot what it was called and even what was in it. Vodka, I know that. Cocktail number three was called Thom and was citrus vodka with fresh mint. Again, it was perfection. Of course at this point they could have served me leftover dog drool with a garnish and I would have been happy. The food was divine as well. Crispy rock shrimp and coconut chicken in lettuce wraps gave me a Thai boner as my apps and for dinner I took a virtual bath in the green curry. Dessert was the flourless chocolate cake. I felt like I climaxed. And swallowed.
The service was top notch. After my days at The Place that Shall Not Be Named, I see how the inner workings of fine dining go. When I got up to go to the men’s room, I watched as a backwaiter rushed to my table to refold my napkin. After the entree, someone glided over to crumb the table. Our order was taken by a manager who seemed like an Asian Ana Gasteyer and was eager to share her extensive menu knowledge. She was friendly and attentive but I couldn’t help but wonder if she had a little bit of Holly Hobbie going on.
At the end of the night, my stomach was as full as my wallet was empty. But it didn’t matter. This was my Christmas present. I bestowed fat tips on my server, the coat check girl and the front bartender. I was content. The meal was perfect and I had not one single solitary thing to bitch about. A true Christmas miracle indeed.