State Street Eats: Bangkok Wasabi
A Culinary Adventure
The lunch hour has already passed when my hunger gets the best of me. Just as I’m getting out a plate for a peanut butter and jelly sandwich, my phone rings. It’s my lawyer, with a proposition.
“What the hell kind of restaurant is Bangkok Wasabi?” I ask.
“I think you can guess.”
“Some kind of Thai-Japanese fusion? Sounds terrible.”
“No, it’s a normal Thai place that also serves sushi. The food is pretty good.”
“I’m in the middle of making a sandwich.”
“Give that slop to your dog. We’re going out.”
“Fine,” I look at my watch, “when do you want to meet?”
“I’m parked out front. You’re driving.”
Even though we arrive after 1, there is still a wait for a table.
“Why don’t they just seat us there? That one is open.” I point to a vacant table in the middle of the dining room.
“They’re probably saving that one just in case a cripple shows up. Terribly litigious, those ADA types. My cousin Arnold lost a tool and die business to one of them because the curb cut on the sidewalk at the corner of his lot wasn’t compliant. He was jammed up with depositions and hearings for months. Cleaned him out, and that was before he lost.”
“Dang,” I say, “your cousin, huh? Did you represent him?”
“No. I’m not that kind of attorney,” he replies offhand. “Yup, ruined the guy. So, spare a thought for the small business man in these trying times. Do you want that waiter to have to close up shop and go back to the old country in shame? How do you think he’d look in a tube top and fishnets?”
I shake my head, fending off the hyperbole.
“Seriously though, I’m starving. There are two more open tables now. They just need to be bussed. If we have to wait three more minutes, I’m going to say something really mean about their royal family.”
The hostess shows up just in time to spare Air Chief Marshal Fufu my wrath and shows us to our table.
The waiter doesn’t keep us waiting. We order, and he brings us our drinks instanter.
The place has the usual trappings of a Thai restaurant—fake plants, gold embroidered tapestries of elephants in a rice paddy, statues of oddly articulated young women in pointy hats—with the addition of a sushi bar and a few Japanese decorations. It’s clearly family run: dad working the sushi counter, mom and maybe an aunt back in the kitchen, the youngest generation waiting the tables.
“You went with the Pad Thai, huh?” asks my attorney with an air of indictment.
“Yeah,” I reply defensively, “I happen to like Pad Thai. And it’s a good benchmark for a new Thai place. I always order it somewhere new.”
“Then you’re missing out anytime you go someplace new.”
“Let me guess, you’re an expert in Thai food?”
“Well, I have been to Thailand, so yes.”
“Really? What were you doing in Thailand?”
“That’s privileged information. Move to strike.”
I shake my head.
As we wait for our food, we discuss the Thai government’s efforts to standardize certain dishes at home and abroad. Over the years they have launched various programs and spent millions of baht to keep tourists and foreigners happy. My attorney lists off eleven authentic recipes developed by Thailand's National Innovation Agency.
“Ha! Pad Thai is on the list.”
My lawyer shrugs. Our food arrives. The Pad Thai hits the spot.
Bangkok Wasabi is located at 124 S State Street in Orem.