Last night we ate at Thaiku, on Ballard Ave. The pelting rain had put me in the mood for soup, so I chose Guay Tiow Bed, which now that I think about it sounds a lot like “go to your bed,” which is what I should have done with my own version of Thai noodle soup. It was described on the menu as “rice noodles with sliced duck in a rich anise, cinnamon, and sweet soy broth.” The noodles were overcooked to the point of mush, the broth, while probably once delicious, was lukewarm, and the duck’s skin didn’t have enough crispiness to be edible (this from someone who almost always eats the fat with the meat), so I spent the better half of the meal with my fingers in the soup, picking off the skin. At least it wasn’t hot enough to burn myself.
I think I have enough inspiration in me for a haiku for the duck, which didn’t deserve to die for this dish:
duck in a cold bath
I pluck your rubber skin off
pray for your next life
Only after writing this do I look at the take-out menu to double-check my spelling of the dish. Right there on the menu cover, it says:
desire food with fire
where taste and poetry make
I do not feel the Zen.