It used to be our last-resort for late-night feeding when everything else had closed down (and before we stumbled back upon this long-lost 24-hour diner). A last stop because Boston rolled up the sidewalks so early, and it was more or less close to some of the clubs people used to frequent. This was Chinatown, and in the ensuing years it’s become a dining destination of its own that forms the first stop more often than not. It’s especially helpful for when Kira and I need soup at the start or end of a wretched winter’s day.
On a recent trip, it also formed the backdrop (or foreground as the case may be) for my new project. Hush-hush on that top-secret endeavor for now – but it’s getting exciting. Just like walking through Chinatown in the middle of the night can be. There was only one sketchy section; chasing a shadowy shot, I took us down a narrow alleyway, which opened up into an enclosed little section of garbage and stair grates. A pair of men stood in the center, and the only way to the other side was to walk by them. Normally we’d have turned around, but then I saw that they were filming, hunched over a camera on a tripod, so unless it was some sort of snuff film I figured we would be ok. Kira struck up a conversation and they said they were working on a student project. We scooted by and found our way out.
We would return the next morning, in the rain, to enjoy a bowl of noodles at Pho Pasteur. There’s no better way to slide into a late-winter late-morning Sunday.
