Oh, well I guess Trip Advisor is OK. It’s part of what’s right and wrong about the Internet, a bunch of strangers giving reviews about places to eat, while on vacation–everyone wants to weigh in I guess. It’s normal human behavior.
So this place is called the Cat House, and its close to the Tha Pae Gate, where all the tourists and the backpackers can be found, a place with some really good food, as well as some really not so good food.Trip Advisor, huh? That crowd sourcing, review laden, where is the best place to eat website, where if you don’t give me what I ask for, or piss me off in any way, shape, or form I’ll write a nasty review, like some food critic Mount Olympus mini God on a tight budget, wanting to see as many countries as possible in the shortest amount of time and be heard in the process.
I demand to be heard! I have an OPINION. Yes. me, that guy from Wayne, New Jersey. Yes, him.
Well. good for you, but the reviews are dubious, and professional food people you are not, so I ignore it and just figure things out myself, the old fashioned way, trial and era, still one to believe that we learn from our mistakes.
Yes, I can be difficult. That is what my wife says, opinionated, and harsh–direct they call it where I come from. Honest, a word that has lost all meaning. Honesty is in short supply. But that’s a story for a different day. OK, back to the Cat House. So we stopped on a recommendation, which had nothing to do with Trip Advisor. The place was quiet. It was a Friday night, and Chiang Mai is dead, and I don’t know why…
The waitress was a bit snarky. The menu was OK, a bit light weight I thought, but the prices were good. It was quiet (I said that), I mean, they didn’t believe in music, playing it, or piping it in, humming it even. It was a music free zone of some sort, like eating in a church, so I started to whisper.
What you having, I whispered to Joy. Not sure
—And for the menu being somewhat of a quick read it took a very long time. Maybe I was falling asleep. It was OK, because we ordered, and as we waited for our food some young backpackers, or frontpackers, or no hope packers walked up and started talking about how they all used to sleepwalk when they were young, and how cool it was waking up in another room in your own house besides your bedroom. It was like music, the most boring and vapid that I ever heard, like listening to Enya or Kenny G, and I wanted to change the station, except it was a human voice and it would have been rude to feel around for a button or nob on the front or back of a person I didn’t know.
The food arrived. We ate, we whispered, we listened to other people’s stories, and then we left. I’m not telling. Just read Trip Adviser and see for yourself…