At one put a couple weeks ago, when we were driving from Andy's house to 280, Andy commented there was a new restaurant along the route named Merlion. "Merlion?" one of us asked. "Is that like a cross between a lion and a fish?"
"Yes it is," was Andy's answer.
And, sure enough, when we drove by, there, standing proud, was a statue of a lion with a fish tail, spewing some water into the pool around its feet.
We had to go.
Yesterday, I asked Andy if we was up for going to Merlion with Mom, Kris and me. When he said yes, I made reservations, and the three of us, Mom, Kris, and me, went to pick up Andy last night to check out the new place.
The first thing we noticed was that the door you think is the front door, the one on the side nearest the big-ass Merlion statue-fountain along the major busy road, isn't.
The first door we went to said "go to the next one over." The next door over said, "go to the next door that way" without giving a direction associated with the "that." We eventually wandered all the way around the building, going the long way past the Potsticker King, before encountering the baby Merlion: a statue merely half the size of the fourteen foot statue we'd seen from the street and wandered past, twice, on the way around the building to the front door.
We entered, and were greeted by another Merlion, this one as big as the first, but not quite as spiffy: it was blind. Don't know what I mean? Go to the Merlion on Steven's Creek and see. Or don't. It can't see you.
So, we ordered our meal, after debating whether or not to order the $900 bottle of wine, eventually opting for the $40 bottle of wine instead (what's $840 among family and friends?).
Behind us, a large group was gathering. The tables were pushed together, and people hurried in to sit before the guest of honor arrived to celebrate his birthday.
Before the birthday boy could arrive, just after Mom had her meal set down in front of her, the lights went off.
We looked around, slightly perplexed. Power going out in a restaurant is never good. We figured if the power didn't come on in a few moments, candles would arrive for mood lighting.
Before long, the restaurant manager came up and apologized for the lights being off. The whole complex had lost power, not just their building. We didn't care much, as the rest of our meals were arriving. We had enough light to eat by, so eat we did.
As we ate, we noticed the place start to fill up with smoke. The power loss had, unsurprisingly, stopped the overhead fans in the open kitchen, though the grill was still on to finish cooking the orders placed before the power went out. When the birthday boy arrived a short time later, he and his brood of 30 were out of luck for ordering meal.
As we continued to eat our meals, the manager stopped by to apologize to us for the loss of power. We still didn't care since we had our food, so we kept shooing him away. Eventually, however, it became clear that he was concerned because, with the power out, he had no way to process credit cards, we'd have to pay cash.
Darn, Andy commented, why didn't we order the $900 bottle of wine. They can't expect us to carry $900 in cash with us to a restaurant, can they?
For some unknown reason, I happened to have a $100 bill on me, and was able to pay for the meal in cash. I have no idea what prompted me to bring that bill, as I normally have less than $25 in cash on me at any time, $20 of that being the emergency $20 that should be for emergencies only, but seems to be spent whenever.
We left our Merlion adventure shortly thereafter, passing the birthday boy brood trying to figure out where to take 30+ people at 8:00 on a Friday night without reservations. As we left, Andy turned to Kris. "Potsticker King next time?"
