At the Lemongrass Cafe you can get a bowl of pho
For just a little bit more than eight dollars, but there’s
A rule about charging at least ten bucks on a card,
So I end up paying just under eleven when I go.
At the Lemongrass Cafe they’ve got a sign on the door
That says: “2013 Las Vegas Weekly Best of Las Vegas
Winner.” And I would daresay that remains correct,
Though the hipsters have moved on to this week’s flavor.
At the Lemongrass Cafe they never use the West side
Of the restaurant. I figure that the east side is enough.
The bathrooms aren’t all that clean and when the host
Has got the sniffles, well, you’ll know it from... The Sound.
I love the Lemongrass Cafe and it’s not just because
The broth is delicious, the noodles are fresh,
The water is rather clean (for a Vegas restaurant),
Or that the waiter never speaks a word to me,
But always seems to know what I’m ordering.
I love the Lemongrass Cafe because
It is a Vietnamese Restaurant built in a Five-and-Dime Diner.
When the ‘States waxed nostalgic about its glory days,
It built these monstrosities: clad in chrome, laid in glass-brick,
Bedecked with blue and red neon, it is a diner out of time.
There’s no reason for it to be out here in the desert
Other than the fact that logic hasn’t hit Vegas quite yet.
It should be rusting out east! A relic of times gone by.
But here it is! Younger than this millennium of ours!
And one day, because it is the natural order of things,
That stupid diner failed and Lemongrass took its place.
It filled the air with the smell of star-anise and chiles
And cilantro and citrus and—sometimes—garlic.
It was hard to love the diner because it was foreign
And it was too naturally a shallow, comforting lie.
It’s easy to love the Lemongrass Cafe because it’s
Never too busy for some quiet, soupy comfort after a hard day.
September 19, 2016
#
#
