Tan Dinh

We descended upon Tan Dinh an unholy, dirty mob of testosterone.

It was me, Falcon and the Snowman. With us were the Doppelganger, Mama’s Boy and, just back from a three month stint in Turkmenistan (not kidding), was the Dumbest. Engineer. Ever. (DEE)

Got a chance to catch up with Doppelganger and Mama’s Boy. Doppelganger, on his current relationship’s status: “There’s a toothbrush at my house but no dedicated drawer of clothing.” Mama’s Boy on being an thirtysomething and temporarily suddenly living back at home with his mom: “I was playing a video game at one a.m. She told me I needed to go to bed because I had work tomorrow.” We all feel great pity for Mama’s Boy.

DEE just sat there and drooled on himself. His brain does enough work just remembering to breathe.

I wasn’t particularly hungry because of an unfortunate morning’s bout with a jar of peanuts. But we were at Tan Dinh so something had to be eaten. DEE and I shared an order of the grilled pork spring rolls. Light, herby and delicious; mine dipped in fish sauce, not the default peanut sauce DEE insisted on plunging his food into.

Falcon continued to surprise with his newfound sense of adventure at the Vietnamese establishments by ordering the Pho. He ate it all and did not complain once, so it must have been decent.

The Snowman had the grilled pork plate, never a bad deal, although I always order the pork buffet: grilled pork, shredded pork, Vietnamese quiche and a sunny-side egg. I’ll give the guy a break, as it was his first time there. He’s easing himself into the cuisine gently.

The Doppelganger had a clay pot full of rice and sausages and the such. He ate. Mama’s Boy ate vermicelli and chicken. He ate. DEE went a little off the beaten path, getting the grilled shrimp, but instead of the regular rice, he had them with the sticky rice, a seared rice cake sweetened with a little coconut milk. Personally, I think they’d be a lot better if done in more of a savory style, but I’m not Vietnamese, so what do I know about what tastes good?

I've also decided I'm not a fan of shrimp at Tan Dinh. Just an observation.

After we finished eating, we probably spent fifteen minutes inflicting Mama’s Boy with the myriad things we had to deal with his kid. We asked him about his curfew, if he had to check in if out after dark, whether we could come over and ask his mom if he could come out and play. Lots and lots of fun at MB’s expense. But at the same time, you could sense a palpable sense of tension at the table, as the rest of us asked ourselves, “What if this happened to me?”