It must be exhausting to be a manager, I thought to myself. To stop at every table and say a variation of the same thing—are you folks having a good time? Do you need anything else? Can I clear that? How are you this evening? Some people barely acknowledge you.
Others are polite. A few appreciate what you are doing but can’t wait for you to move on so that they can get back to their conversation. I thought about this recently as I saw the manager at Thai-Chi on Manyani Road doing his laps and thought, I couldn’t possibly survive the job— people are exhausting.
Thai-Chi is the kind of place for conversations. You go to eat Thai food, or you go to eat Thai food and drink.
There is the restaurant side, where I had a memorable breakfast last year but then there is the loungy garden side facing by a wide-armed bar. I love bars that aren’t shy to announce themselves. Bar that think of themselves as the very giver of light and life.
On this particular night, a friendly female deejay was playing Amapiano in the wooden booth, presiding over a scattering of customers. It’s the sort of place that can get full but still gives the illusion that there are more tables left.
Heaters glowed between tables, further warming conversations. I sat at the bar across from a bunch of summer bunnies who were celebrating something. [To be a summer bunny is to be celebratory] four men and two ladies.
Two of the men had the same nose shape (dented] so I assumed they were brothers - or fighters. Nobody else was having a better time than that group. It was a great December night, the sort that deceives you into believing that we won’t have to do it all over again the following year.
I had white house wine and some sort of chicken marinated in mild spices and grilled on bamboo skewers. Succulent. There are restaurants you visit and you feel the need to go to a club or bar after. Thai-chi isn’t one of those places. You want to go back home because you don’t want to spoil the good taste it has left in your mouth.
