Dinner
and a Movie
Out
of the Flying Pan and Into Thai Fire
By
Steve Herte
My
life is never boring. There's always something new to learn or some
new experience. Friday was indicative of this trend. Enjoy!
Wednesday
is the day I make my plans for Friday’s “Dinner and a Movie.”
As usual, I scanned the listings for movies playing at convenient
times and then restaurants nearby that are interesting and diverse. I
noted that all theaters playing Pan in 3D were no
longer doing so and this influenced my decision to see Pan before
it left New York City theaters altogether. I found a theater in the
East Village playing the movie at an excellent time and arranged my
dinner reservation accordingly.
Friday
came and subways were running on schedule and I arrived at the
theater with time to spare to view the previews. “That movie has
been canceled,” said the woman who took my printout ticket. “What?
I’ve never heard of a movie being canceled. What am I going to do
in the next two hours?” “I can transfer your ticket to tomorrow.”
“I can’t come tomorrow.” “Then, in that case, I can issue you
a refund.” I was flabbergasted. One would think, in this day of
instant messaging, one could notify Moviefone.com and Fandango.com
that a certain movie was not going to be featured before someone
innocently buys a ticket.
It
happens that I did have some shopping to do and the East Village is a
good place to do it. I called the restaurant and moved my reservation
from 7:00 to 5:30 pm and completed my shopping in time for dinner.
But what shall I write about?
Good
fortune smiled on me previously that day. My reviews have inspired my
friend Betty to take a college course in writing a review and one of
the movies she reviewed was The Incredible Shrinking
Man (1957). Her review caused me to want to see the movie
again and I found it on YouTube. Thanks, Betty, you’re a life
saver.
The
Incredible Shrinking Man (Universal, 1957) –
Director: Jack Arnold. Writer: Richard Matheson (novel The
Shrinking Man and s/p), Richard Alan Simmons
(uncredited). Stars: Grant Williams, Randy Stuart, April Kent, Paul
Langton, Raymond Bailey, William Schallert, Frank J. Scannell, Helene
Marshall, Diana Darrin, & Billy Curtis. B&W, 81 minutes.
It’s
1957. Sputnik 1 is launched into orbit by Russia, starting the Space
Race, nuclear power plants have been in existence since 1948, the
nuclear submarine Nautilus records its 60,000th mile,
America is deep in the Cold War with Russia, President Dwight
Eisenhower suspends nuclear testing for two years, and the Gaithers
report calls for more American missiles and fall-out shelters.
Scott
Carey (Williams) is an ordinary middle-class American and he and his
wife Louise (Stuart) are enjoying a sunny day on their boat. Scott
suns himself while Louise goes below for some iced tea. Suddenly,
from off the bow a strange radioactive mist flows over Scott and
leaves his body glistening and sparkling. Louise notices this right
away. He brushes it off and neither of them thinks any more of it.
It’s
not until later, when Scott tries on his clothes and notices that
nothing fits anymore, that he goes to see Dr. Thomas Silver (Bailey)
who confirms by x-ray comparisons that Scott is indeed smaller than
his last examination. After an interview, we learn that Scott had
also been accidentally sprayed with an insecticide (possibly DDT?)
and that the chemicals were reacting with the radioactivity from the
(unexplained) mist to cause his gradual diminution.
Scott’s
brother Charlie (Langdon) knows a specialist and when Scott has
shrunk to three feet tall they see Dr. Arthur Bramson (Schallert). He
injects Scott with an antidote (he hopes) and, for a little while, he
stays at three feet in height. By now the media is making a circus of
his plight (not surprising) and Scott gets tired of staying in the
house. So where does he go? A carnival, of course, and he eventually
meets the Midget (Curtis), who makes him feel a little better about
being small. But when he notices that he’s no longer taller than
she, he runs back home.
Things
get worse. Scott, at six inches has to live in a dollhouse (Where’d
they get that? They don’t have children) and he’s angry and
suspicious all the time, snapping at his poor, distraught, helpless
wife. The fun begins when Louise needs to go shopping and leaves the
door open just long enough to let their pet cat back in. The
obviously odor-blind cat thinks Scott is a mouse and attacks him,
shredding his clothes (no one explains where they got the
increasingly smaller sizes, either). At the top of the stairs to the
basement the cat bats the door closed and flings Scott into a box.
Louise
finds the shredded clothes and the cat and concludes that Scott is
dead. Smaller still, Scott is an explorer in his own cellar, makes a
home out of a matchbox, trips a mousetrap with a nail for the cheese,
and kills an orb-web-weaving tarantula with a hat pin (what?). When
mysteriously, the water heater leaks and floods the basement as
Charlie and Louise are about to vacate the house, Scott learns that
his voice is now too tiny to be heard and winds up clinging to a
piece of wood until Charlie clears the drain and leaves.
But
Scott is amazingly undaunted. His self-confidence is limitless. Even
when he shrinks to being able to fit through the holes on the screen
of the basement window, he’s thinking of the part he and others
like him (others like him?) play in this great universe.
Obviously,
this movie is a statement about nuclear uncertainty and chemicals
gone awry. Ever since Godzilla (1954), moviemakers
have been theorizing about the consequences of this new form of
energy. Since the 1940s, scientists have been experimenting with the
possible harmful effects of DDT. But it was not until 1962 when
Rachel Carson’s book Silent Spring came out that
awareness was heightened and 10 years later, the EPA banned the
insecticide in the United States.
Still, The
Incredible Shrinking Man is an impressive film for its time.
CGI was long in the future (the 1990s) and camera angles and split
screens were pretty much all that was available to convey Scott’s
dilemma. Today, we look at it and see the incongruities but then, it
was great sci-fi. I’m still wondering what the studio crew had to
do to make a tarantula run. They usually do not waste energy unless
an easy source of food is available. But I had to admire Richard
Matheson’s writing: The bravado in the face of overwhelming odds
and the horrors that could result from science gone haywire. You may
have seen more of his fantastic plots in the Twilight
Zone television series. I enjoyed re-viewing this film and
re-living the experience.
Rating:
3 out of 5 Martini glasses.
Ngam
99
3rd Avenue (bet. 12th and
13th Sts.), New
York
Had
my movie not been canceled this restaurant would have been the most
accessible for dinner, being only two blocks away. The hostess
graciously changed my reservation time with a “See you then.” At
5:30 pm, the restaurant (barely more than a storefront) still had
boxes of supplies stacked outside it waiting to be stowed. A small
white sign with the name in black and a child’s drawing of a red
daisy is the only distinguishing mark (as compared to the grand
awnings of other establishments in the neighborhood).
When
I booked my reservation, the attractions were “Modern Thai Comfort
Food” and the online photos of Chef Ngamprom “Hong” Thaimee.
Not only is she stunningly beautiful (she started as a model, but
switched to cuisine), but she’s also written a book, “True Thai:
Real Flavors for Every Table.”
As
I might have suspected (and did, but brushed it off) “comfort food”
does not necessarily imply comfortable seating. The website only
gives hints of the furnishings and I took that to mean a restaurant
designed for young people, i.e. high tables with
stools and hard wood benches and chairs without cushions. Couldn’t
have predicted it better.
When
I announced myself to the hostess as “the guy who changed his
reservation time,” she led me to a normal table with the choice of
a chair or the bench. I chose the bench. Much later on I was a little
sore. Ngam is not much to look at inside. The bar takes up much of
the space on the right as one enters and high-stooled tables are on
the opposite wall. The main dining area is small and the décor
rudimentary. The gleaming silver insulation on the air conditioning
ducts attracts attention away from the open brick and barely
plastered walls. The lighting is from a flock of spots suspended from
the ceiling like hunting spiders. No tablecloths, just black cloth
napkins.
The
place is definitely geared to a younger dining crowd, East Village
funk, right down to the blackboard advertising cooking classes with
Chef Hong and a giant photo of her as an adorable toddler. Among the
added attractions are that all their condiments are made from scratch
and they only use sustainable and non-endangered seafood in their
recipes.
My
server, Autumn, an appropriately named redhead, brought the menu and
drink list and took my water preference. The food menu features Small
Plates, Soups, Salads, Main Dishes, Noodles and Rice (dinner size),
Seasonal Specials, and Sides. There were many interesting potables on
the drink list (once my eyes got used to the lighting and small
print) and I chose the Mr. Marmalade – Maker’s Mark bourbon, Blue
Moon beer, orange marmalade, lime juice and orange bitters. It was
not too strong, not too sweet and just tantalizingly orange-y to
start off the meal right.
Given
all the categories on the food menu I had to ask Autumn’s
assistance in choosing three courses without ordering too much food.
She was a great help. She chose the appetizer from the small dish
category and the special soup (her favorite), while I chose the main
course. When I saw one price for “unlimited Singha beer” I asked
her about it. “Would you like to do that after your cocktail?”
“Sure!” “Let me know when you’re ready.” Singha is a Thai
beer (surprise!) that has been brewed since 1933 (double surprise!)
and it’s actually very good. It’s a hearty lager without being
too strong and only conflicted with my appetizer, the Thai spring
rolls.
The
spring rolls were served standing on end in a sweet, orange sauce.
They were filled with delicate vegetable flavors and glass noodles
and were delicious, providing you didn’t take a sip of the beer.
The next dish, which arrived simultaneously with the spring rolls (I
know, I didn’t warn them), was a special of the day, Tom Yum Soup.
This was the only spicy dish, one could say fiery – I could see the
slices of green chili in it. But it also qualified as Thai comfort
food. Several shrimp, pieces of calamari and the chilies shared the
flavorful broth with carrots and green vegetables.
I
was not quite finished with the soup when my main course arrived.
Served in a rustic wooden bowl was my red curry with duck. A leg on
the bone and breast meat joined farm fresh butternut squash cubes,
Thai basil, and Thai long chilies in a homemade red curry. Aromatic
white Jasmine rice was served separately in its own bowl. The first
thing I noticed was that “red” curry is not red per se. It’s
actually a pale pink (like a paprika cream sauce) and it’s only
mildly spicy. Comforting? Yes. Rich, almost earthy in flavor, this
curry was amazing. The duck was tender and easy to cut and remove
from the bone and the squash was like adding candy to the dish. I
took my time, enjoyed the beer (which was perfect with this dish) and
finished both the curry and the rice. The rice helped soak up the
remaining sauce.
At
this point I almost didn’t notice the bare wood I was sitting on.
Autumn asked if I was ready for dessert and I said yes. The poached
pear in chocolate sauce and sprinkled with shredded coconut was
exactly the right size and sweetness to finish the meal. The
Darjeeling lemon tea served in a copper press teapot added to the
post-dinner delight.
What
Ngam lacks in looks it more than makes up for in food. Opened
sometime in 2012, I’m glad I finally dined there. Next time I’ll
bring a cushion.
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