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P.F. Chang's, Boston

Foods that Gloria will not eat

 

1.      Sea urchin – have tried it 3 times, including once at Morimoto’s restaurant. I know it’s an acquired taste, I just can’t acquire it.

2.      Blood sausage – I just don’t like the taste and texture of coagulated blood.

3.      Durian – The only exception to my “I’ll try anything once” rule. I can’t get pass the smell. It’s like rancid meat coated in rotten eggs living in a gym locker.

 

And now there is a new addition to the list: P.F. Chang’s.

 

I had never been to P.F. Chang’s before – I’ve always considered it an Asian Cheesecake Factory. After all, the P.F stands for Paul Fleming, hardly authentic. But, people seem to like it regardless: Dr. Marc loves the Mongolian beef, Carol raves about the lemon scallop and Steve enjoys the double pan fried noodles.

 

We were downtown for the Neko Case show on Thursday, and I wanted Chinese, Steve wanted wine with dinner. The intersection of Chinese and alcohol (unless you are having Tsingtao) is P.F. Chang’s. We shared the salt and papper calamari. It was weird, the salt and pepper was served separately in a ramekin, and the batter was too thick and tasteless. The Mongolian beef was dry and salty and the double pan fried noodles were simultaneously dry and gloopy.

 

Fast forward to 45 minutes later; we are standing in the Wilbur Theater in the area in front of the stage. All of a sudden, I start feeling nauseous, my vision goes blurry and I feel dizzy. According to Steve, I “wobbled like a bowling pin” and down I went. That’s right, folks, I was flat on my ass on the ground. Steve helps me up and I cling to him as I wait for the world to stop spinning. I manage to make it to the bathroom, and I think I feeling better. I go back in to the concert and 10 minutes later, the nausea returns, I try to make it to the bathroom before I’m on the ground again. I turn to go and vertigo hits me again and I smack in to the guy behind me. Luckily, Steve caught me before I hit the ground again. My return trip to the bathroom involves throwing up my dinner. Goodbye, P.F. Chang’s. I feel instantaneously better and was able to enjoy the rest of the show.

 

I’ve never experience anything like this before – I have an iron stomach and can eat (and enjoy) pretty much anything. I mean, I had street food in India. *Indian street food* did not do this to me, Paul Fleming Chang’s did. Needless to say, never again – Steve will have to enjoy his double pan fried noodles without me.

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