Being a white girl with a thing for Asian guys is kind of like being the token gay friend, you know the one everyone tries to set up with the only other gay person they know and assumes they will hit it off because they are both gay “oh I know a gay guy, you should meet him” because it makes total sense that one gay guy should like another gay guy…
I’ve lost count of the number of times I’ve been told “oooh I know an Asian guy, want to meet him” so the answer to that question is probably yes, however just because he’s Asian, doesn’t mean I will automatically like him. Friends with the best intentions (I think) will even go so far as to search their Asian mental dictionary of random Asian guys they know to try and set me up with them “My doctor is soo hot and he’s Asian” or “There is this weird Asian guy in my apartment building, I can’t tell if he’s hot but you might be able to cause you like Asians” and then there is my ever helpful friend who grabs me and points out every Asian man they see, even the 95 year old man who takes 2 hours to shuffle around the block in my neighborhood every day. As you can imagine this tends to get a little tiring, especially in Strathfield where there are more Asians then you can poke a chopstick at.
So about a year ago when a friend who lives in Cabramatta wouldn’t shut up about a hot guy who worked in his family’s Pho restaurant I wasn’t too excited and I was dragged their against my will.
Being a former vegetarian and pretty passionate animal rights activist I was horrified as I was dragged down the corridors of hanging carcases in the local butcheries and even more traumatized after I was told we would be dining next to them… “breathe through your mouth and don’t look at them” I kept telling myself.
I was almost ready to make a run for it when I saw the guy who was about to take our order, my jaw literally dropped open and I lost all fear of the fact that I was surrounded by hanging flesh.
He was literally gorgeous, even in the fluorescent glow of pink light from the dodgy surroundings, I don’t think I’ve ever seen such a good looking guy in person before let alone standing there all hot and sweaty, all ready to take my order. I was so lost for words I didn’t even think to ask what Pho actually was or take any notice when he kept correcting me “It’s pronounced like “Fur” ” and asked him what he thought I should order, he said something, don’t ask me what but I just nodded and smiled, and smiled even more when he walked away.
Yeah he was hot and I spent the next 10 minutes telling my friend I was going to come here for breakfast, lunch and dinner until the Pho came… I can only describe it as strips of meat, floating in a gigantic bowl of meat juice, smothered in more meat… um yeah for a fussy eater and not the biggest fan of meat, I found it pretty confronting.
I’ll do sushi, Thai, Chinese, Korean bbq (even braved the ox tongue to prove to “The One” that I was open to it) but I’ll be damned if I ever eat pho again. its just way too much meat.
Then he took his shirt off… yeah, he did! he was now wondering around in a skin tight singlet while his mother smiled at me proudly waiting for me to taste her Pho, and if there is one thing I know about Asian mothers, it’s that if they cook for you – you eat it! after delaying as much as I could while she chit chatted about her sons (wait, sonS? were more of these gorgeous offspring running around?) and I did what white people do and asked for cutlery (I can use chopsticks but I prefer cutlery)… I eventually gave in and took a mouthful.
My now frenemy was happily amused taking photos of me as I braved the meat juice bowl from hell, forcing down mouthfuls every time the hot guy walked past or looked over, needless to say his mothers attempts to set me up with her older son failed when I left leaving the bowl half eaten (She loudly told me and the rest of Cabramatta that I was too old for the hot son, however she had an older son I should marry).
After fleeing the scene my friend bribed me to stay in Cabramatta with an offering of sugarcane juice and some fun posing japan style by some bull balls, I happily agreed because… who wouldn’t want to do that?
I have yet to attempt pho again but I’m sure I’m still traumatized as even when “Captain Vietnam” mentions the dish I turn white with fear (whiter then I already am).