steeple-chasing dinner

Last night was mom's last in London. Something special was in order to celebrate two great weeks of vacation – and the imminent return of calm to my apartment. We decided to follow TimeOUT's advice and eat at Sushi-Hiro, apparently one of the best in London. The restaurant is far out in Ealing, in West London, and also far from expensive. Another contrast to overrated Soho kitchens: no risk of being polonium-poisoned.

Exactly as it should have, the evening turned out very nice, but getting there was like running a steeple-chase with skirts on. It started with the tube's maintenance workers going on strike at 6pm. Consequently, all but three lines shut down. Taking into account that three million take the tube every day, you can imagine that a strike has an effect similar to jamming a log into an ant hill. Chaos and pandemonium, in other words.

Riding my bike home, I was struck by traffic (though luckily not by a car). I've never seen so many vehicles in the streets. Most were sitting idly, waiting for the hundreds in front to move. The bus we took out to Ealing was packed like the proverbial can of sardines. I didn't mind so much. Loads of cute sardines were squeezed in along with us. A feast for the eyes as an aperitif. Maybe I should take public transportation more often.

In Ealing, we missed the right stop because I wasn't totally sure where the restaurant was. I noticed it by the road when the bus had just left the stop. The restaurant didn't look open. When we had walked back from the next stop, it turned out to be closed for summer vacation. "We apologize for the inconvenience."

This being London, there is no dearth of restaurants, no matter what out-of-the-way borough you happen to be in. Walking back the high street the bus had brought us up we passed half a dozen before settling on Siam Royal Orchid. I haven't had Thai in a while, mom likes it, and I was hungry. We walked in before the BYO sign registered. When the waitress asked us if we had brought a bottle as they were only offering soft drinks and tea, we stayed anyway – and ordered jasmine tea that was constantly being replenished over the course of the meal.

The restaurant was a modest family operation. After we had ordered, I deemed it wise to inquire whether credit cards would be accepted. Negative, only cash and checks. My fifteen pounds wouldn't get me very far. I slipped out for a moment in search of an ATM.

This was found quickly at a gas station, oops, I mean petrol station, right next door, but fate hadn't thrown its last stick between my legs. The ATM just sat there blinking, refusing any card approaching its dark toothless mouth. The grocery store inside the station didn't offer cash-back on debit cards. Anything else wouldn't have gone with the theme. I spent the next fifteen minutes running up and down the street before finding an ATM that worked and gave me money.

When I was back in the restaurant, the fishcake starters were cold. They were tasty anyway, as were the main dishes. I had picked Gaeng Massamam, a dish I always relished at Thai Siam in Salt Lake. Once again, it was excellent. But how can something with potatoes not be good?

Taking advantage of a mild September night, we forewent the bus. Walking leisurely down Uxbridge Road, we were back home after less than an hour. London is much smaller than one thinks. It just appears huge because motorized traffic is moving at a snail's pace. Especially with tube strikes.