Krua Thai/Jitlada

This blog has brought on a level of mistrust and suspicion not seen since HUAC attempted to root out the commies in Hollywood. My innocent invitations to lunch are now met with icy stares, hemming, hawing, and finally with the question, “Is my picture going to end up on the internet?” Well, no, I answer, feeling like J.Edgar Hoover, this is about lunch and conversation, that’s all. I’ve had to readjust my strategy when approaching someone accompanying me on a “99.” My new strategy: don’t tell them about the blog.
“Terry,” as I will call her, wants her anonymity protected because she is presently “talking to someone.” This phrase “talking to someone” has changed from when I was roaming the halls of high school and college. If I had feelings for, say, Lisa Mowry, the high school cheerleader, I might tell my buddy “Lisa talked to me” as in, Lisa told me to move. I was blocking her locker. This was neither a moral victory for me nor a consolation prize. It was simply the status of our relationship. Lisa doesn’t like me and she doesn’t think me a leper. She talked to me. I’m not a cactus plant to her.
But fast forward a few odd years and “talking to Lisa” could mean that I’ve crossed all the bases with her and came out for a curtain call. What a sea change in our times and a reflection of the funhouse mirrors of our technological culture. Yes, I’m talking to you today but tonight I may be talking to the next girl who texts me. This is not to make any grand assumptions on Terry, this is just an observation of the tenuousness of language, where “hanging out” and “talking” and “kicking back” have taken on other meanings. Or the original meaning depending on the context. Or not.
I met Terry at Krua Thai in North Hollywood. She, by her own admission, is a finicky eater so she was not quite prepared for Pad Thai, beef tendon soup, or pork salad. I happen to be a more adventurous eater (though I do have my serious dislikes) so I wanted to step into something bold. But Krua Thai is a family joint and there is nothing scary or unusual about the menu. Still, if you’re not used to Thai, hey, then it’s all Greek. She ate the food she didn’t pick at and I took the remains in little boxes. We talked about a woman’s favorite subject: themselves. Just kidding. We talked about many engrossing topics but, to protect the innocent, I’ll remain mum.
Jitlada. I’ll repeat. Jitlada. Three syllables, one concept: Thai. No, wait, not just Thai. The. Best. Thai. Joint. In. LA. Do you get it now? If you do, then get in your car and take the 101 North and exit Sunset on your way to Thai Town. Stop at Jitlada and order the beef salad, which, I told my dinner companions, was addicting. No, forget the beef salad. Get the Bang Kok Duck which was a gorgeous dish of soft flesh of duck over a bed of greens. Or try the green curry shrimp, which, when I closed my eyes I recall what Thai is when done right: flavor, heat, more flavor. Why couldn’t the Top Chefs this season remember that it’s not about innovation or “taking chances” that brings home the brass ring. It’s the flavor. They passed me a crab/shrimp concoction that I inhaled. Then there was this pad thai thing that was as comforting as menudo on a Sunday morning. Jitlada. That’s it. Now go.