THE SEA AND CAKE
Monstrously satisfying.The other night I tried a small Nepali restaurant. I walk or bike or walk my bike past this place every day. It's so small and unassuming I wanted to approach it. It seemed nonthreatening, so I knew things could go two ways: the restaurant would be fine, or the restaurant would seem fine, but really be awful, like one of those small chirpy dinosaurs in Jurassic Park that acts like a baby bird but spits paralyzing tar on Newman from Seinfeld before nipping him to death.
Including the waiter, I was one of six in the room. Of course that discounts Monica, Chandler, Rachel, Phoebe, Joey, and David Schwimmer. There was a muted television above my right shoulder, not a great sign for the restaurant—also not something I could notice from outside. The waiter was attentive to the few customers, but hypnotized by subtitled Friends when not refilling my water.
I ordered, checked my email, pulled out my Moleskine, and ate my in-no-way-Nepali green salad with bleached lettuce and rubber carrots—all before noticing the TV. It was an early episode of Friends, before Chandler began to look like an actor with real life problems. In this episode, the characters walk between the two apartments constantly; I wonder if it's "The One Where They Walk Between The Two Apartments Constantly." Once I noticed the TV the bit of dialogue I caught was incredible:
RACHAEL GREEN: Chandler, Monica just broke my seashell lamp.
CHANDLER BING: Neat. I'm going to die alone.
I was still thinking about friends the next day when a girl with the lowest center of gravity ever asked if I was going to ride that thing, or just walk with it. She was at a bus stop near the Nepali joint and wearing moccasins. I looked at my bike and said: "walk." She asked if there was something wrong. I told her the bike was just another part of the mirage.
And the tires were flat.
Turns out the video for "Coconut" rules.
THE SEA AND CAKE on MYSPACE
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