By Amy McCarthy
By Scott Reitz
By Scott Reitz
By Lauren Drewes Daniels
By Alice Laussade
By City of Ate
Giant golden Buddhas: 1
I was at Preston and LBJ (mainly just to raise the ratio of adult people to small people in strollers, because I know that pisses off North Dallas) flipping off Chili's like I always do on Wednesdays when I saw it: Scuba store? Hell, yes. White Rock Lake is about to get scoobed—after I eat at that Chinese restaurant. (FYI, Shanghai Restaurant is next to a tailor, too, so once you buy a scuba outfit you can get it bedazzled while you munch on free fried stick things dipped in everyone's favorite sweet pink sauce from a weird jar.)
I ordered the lunch special for $6.50, which includes one entrée (picked from a solid list of about 20 options), one soup and an egg roll. I went with chicken lo mein, wonton soup and added on an iced tea. For a buck more, you can order the Biggy Special and get all the same stuff that comes in the regular lunch special, plus a "30 percent larger entrée." Warning: If your entrée stays 30 percent larger for more than four hours, you should totally consult a doctor.
I think my egg roll was really good, but I was pretty distracted at the time by my nose catching on fire and my eyes shitting water at the taste of the hot mustard I dunked it in. I took a breather, noted that the plastic tablecloths they have would be great in a projectile vomit situation, got hungry again and scarfed down about 3 pounds of chicken lo mein. My waitress packed the other 3 pounds of lo mein that I hadn't finished into a to-go box and then it was fortune cookie time. My fortune read,
I regret to inform you that later this afternoon, you're gonna be conducting a movement. Dropping some angry kids off at the pool. Making some brownies that look and taste like shit. Apple Z-ing. Logging out.
The only beef I have with Shanghai Restaurant is that the utensils they offered me did not include chopsticks. They totally fork, knife and spooned me just like the last Chinese restaurant I went to. Half of my craving for Chinese food is about wanting to see the people around me look like total dickfucks the entire time they try to eat using sticks. It's like my own personal Survivor episode. C'mon, Dallas Chinese restaurants. Chopsticks.