Like - Being A Regular

Some of my fondest memories growing up were going to a Chinese restaurant on Ventura Blvd called The Bamboo. The Bamboo brilliantly catered to its clientele, who were largely Jewish and wanted solid Chinese cuisine in the neighborhood. The Bamboo delivered on every level. The food was very good, the waiters were great, the hosts, especially Eileen, were eminently hospitable, the interior was quiet, and there was a bar you could wait at while they cooked your order. They also did a booming takeout and delivery business. The Bamboo was a destination restaurant for locals. It was also my dad’s favorite restaurant. He loved going there. We’d sometimes go there two nights in a week, but only when my mom was away. We also never went longer than three weeks without going and when it had been that long, it felt like a mini-reunion. The closest I’ll get in my life to living out the scene at the Copacabana in Goodfellas was walking through the backdoor of The Bamboo, past the people eating their meals, and straight to the bar where I’d order a Roy Rogers. I wasn’t stuffing money in anyone’s pockets but I felt like I a very important kid. This all happened because we were committed regulars. At some point, going there wasn’t just about eating out. It was about having a place where you belonged and felt special. I miss having that in my life. I’ve come close with a couple restaurants since I’ve become an adult but it has never quite felt the same. I’m not worried though, I’ve got plenty of time to find my place.