Hell is a Sake Bomb: a short, true story

I simply adore crab rangoon. The Chinese food equivalent of chips & dip. I could eat my weight in Chinese food as a child. But crab rangoon was always my favorite.

Three weeks ago, my friends Chloe, Eva, and I had a craving for all things crab rangoon related. We decided on a Chinese food restaurant in downtown Boston known for being “all you can eat.” Let’s just say we got the memo. We ordered enough food to feed several New Year’s parties including Ryan Seacrest’s entire hair and makeup team. (Why hasn’t that man aged since American Idol?)

We got about 12 crab rangoon, I devoured 8 of them. We got more than 10 sushi rolls to try. Teriyaki salmon, shrimp tempura, and three kinds of noodles. I treated myself to a sake bomb (a shot of sake poured over a pint of cheap beer). That is not everything we ordered, but I won’t sit here and list everything. When we were all delightfully full, we decided to take the leftovers home.

Before we could get the bill from our waiter, a man approached our table. He looked at us like he had just flushed our goldfish down the toilet.

 “Hey guys..”

 The man speaks! 

“You do know that you have to pay extra for all the food you cannot finish, right? And they don’t allow you to take leftovers home..”

We quietly thanked the man for the information and he returned to his table. We sat for a second in disbelief. Then it was game time! 

We began stuffing our faces with food.

I started smashing food up into small crumbs on my plate. Chloe was not playing games as she frequently told us to “stop talking” until we could inhale all of the raw fish in front of us. Eva started crying and praying at one point. Our eyes were blood shot as we raised noodles to our mouths with swollen fingers.

When we finally couldn’t eat another bite, it was time for plan b. We started putting entire sushi rolls into napkins and stuffing them in Chloe’s tote bag. We would trade shifts as “waiter watchman” while the others kept filling the bag with food. 

By the time we cleared the table, Chloe’s bag must have weighed 12 pounds. I am still surprised we never got caught.

Luckily, our plan worked as we were not charged for any additional food. However, the night did not vastly improve upon leaving the restaurant. As dusk fell over Copley Square, myself, Chloe and Eva dumped fistfuls of Chinese food into a trash can. Full and ready to explode we waddled back to our college campus. 

I lived on Miralax and coffee for the following week. I haven’t touched a crab rangoon since that fateful night. The memory, however, was worth it. There’s nothing like a bag of fishy contraband to strengthen a friendship.   

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