There we were, on our way back towards Ho Chi Mihn city after having been riding through Laos and Cambodia for the last 3 days we stopped at a Pizza parlor ,of all surprises... near the
border.
It was '95 or '96.. the Khmer Rouge still had some zany pockets of rat bastids along this road so we were wearing our helmets. I waved my ‘crew' over to this Pizza shack and we all walked in together, to be met by a very amicable fellow that apparently had read us correctly as he first saw us entering his fine establishment and began chiming a practiced phrase of 'Welcome, You Try Very Happy Pizza! You Like the good gravy!”
The name of the place was ‘Happy Pizza’ so it made sense that the man would be pushing the namesake of his location… but he was offering me and my American/Australian contingent a ‘Very Happy Pizza’. How could we resist? I figured a Pizza would be a safe bet to eat on this road side stand in a country where not an hour before I had passed by small cages full of dogs, a few of them hanging from hooks, already gutted and prepared for stewing…or whatever the simple but charming people that eats dogs do to a canine in order to eat it did. I was thinking about the ‘gravy’ comment as we took our seats at the only table available in front of the Happy Pizza Parlor and could only assume that some Navy S.E.A.L from DEEP Georgia had prowled through this area, years before, that being the reason why the sophisticated jack that stood before me now describing his amazingly potent marijuana pizza sauce as 'Gravy'. Most likely after 'The 'NAM" because our troops were never in Cambodia during the Vietnam conflict/Police action'.... , and people that called pizza sauce, gravy, don’t usually take the time to divert their ‘spendin money’ on a trip to Vietnam. Uncle Sam most likely footed the bill for whoever told this guy his sauce was 'gravy'. “You betcha! We’ll have three large very happy pizzas with olives, mushrooms and hot peppers, (I would have added pepperoni but I don’t eat sausage products in the far east) The Pies arrive and they were thin crust and very oily. Just the way I like it. We were packing a veritable mobile bar inside of our rucksacks and only needed a case of Coca-cola to mix our own drinks while we sat aside discussing the days events(that’s another post) and began to attack the molten disc with a vengeance, hunger would not be the proper term, we were attacking these pies once we tasted the ‘Very Happy’ Pizzas main ingredient in its sauce…Marijuana. I could tell that the person responsible for this variation of the classic pizza sauce knew their stuff. It was excellent. It was clear to me that while we were eating a simple pizza, that the person responsible for the sauce was quite adept at properly preparing Pot sautéed with Garlic and butter separately, before being combined with tomato puree’ and paste so that the taste offered to us was a actually a delicate blend of fresh herbs, spice and mature Sativa ‘fluff’. I had cooked many a brownie and made a few sauces with weed before, but only with the ‘shake’ leftover from a quarter pound, but never with actual mature and tasty buds… The pizza was exceptional to say the least and I couldn’t help but think that it was a shame that just because a bunch of crotchety old white guys decided to make Marijuana illegal just because some white party girls were hanging out with black jazz musicians in the 20’s and 30’s was just a Damned shame. We ate our share, and then began ordering slices with extra sauce. It was late in the day and we had to return our bikes to the ‘rent shop’ before 10pm or suffer an additional SEVEN dollar rental fee. The cost of the bikes didn’t concern us really, there were plenty of rental bike shops in ‘Nam, but we were going to be there for another 2 months and wanted to maintain good relations with the closest motorcycle rental proprietor, and the Aussies all had girls waiting for them back at the ‘Hotel’ we were all staying at in the ‘Ex-Pat’ district. I was prepared to ride up the road and to sleep in my one man capsule tent until I could see straight again, but…the Aussies were beginning to coalesce into a ‘Need to get back to base; we have Women waiting for us’ Group… and the 3 Americans, besides myself, wanting to just sit there and enjoy the sunset while eating more Very Happy Pizza. After about an hour transpired while we sat there before all of the Aussies and 2 of my own traitorous country men decided to mount up and return to their bikes and begin the 3 hour ride back to the ‘Bike Shop’. My friend and I decided to hang out and suffer the 7 dollar late fee and go it alone…maybe even slabbing with one of the local ladies. They just looked so sexy walking around with an Uzi strapped over their shoulder that it just called out to our simple man brains to stay and attempt the improbable. It is the improbable variants of male/female relations that enrich the life experience of persons of all cultures that makes the ‘Probable’ seem as if it were scripted. I would have none of that this vacation, so I paid the ‘Happy Pizza Parlor’ owner 3 dollars for a quart of his Very Happy sauce and I saddled up. I had to tie the quart of Very Happy Sauce to the handle bars of my bike within a custom web of twine. Thankfully I had earned by Wolf badge as a cub scout learning to tie nautical knots, else I would have wasted another hour trying to figure out how to mount the sauce to my vehicle, like a Home-Depot weekend warrior tying 4x4’s and 2x4’s to the top of his minivan. The next few hours are a bit cloudy, when I try to recall everything that occurred…, but I do remember one thing in particular. Me and my friend ,Mark, passed by three guys that flashed a sign’ SHOOT BOMB AT COW’…I could not ride past such an esoteric offering, as I am both crazy and curious. We turn around and go back to the man holding the sign and not a second after I have shut down the bike one of the fellows runs up to me, pointing his hand towards me while yelling ‘Happy Pizza!, Happy Pizza!’ He knew where I had just come from…. I spoke to the men as well as I could until I realized that they were basically charging 50 American dollars to fire a Vietnam War era ‘RPG’ (Rife propelled grenade) at a Water buffalo. I’ve been accused of doing crazy things before…but I would never fire an ‘RPG’ at an animal unless I intended to eat it afterwards, and I had just eaten almost 6 slices of very happy pizza and had no appetite. My buddy and I mounted our bikes and continued on our way down the dirt road towards Vietnam to take a hot shower and head out for a night on the town. I looked down and noticed the lid of the ‘very happy sauce’ had worked its way loose, from the jarring it was taking strapped to my handlebars. I pulled over and began working the twine over the top of the small bucket as a three wheeled Toyota ‘truck’( a wheel in the center of the front and two in back) sped by us, I could here the driver yelling something at us as he passed us by, a tall stack of empty baskets strapped to the bed of his vehicle as he bounced down the road to disappear around a turn, the sound of the truck soon absorbed by the jungle surrounding us on either side of the road. Finished with a new web of twined arrayed about the sauce we started the bikes up and continued on our way. About 20 minutes later I could see the 3-wheeled Toyota ahead of us, laying down on its side, the pile of baskets strewn across the dirt road. We slowed down as we approached the mess to see if we could be of any assistance before we realized that the driver was nowhere to be found and that the front of the truck was pocked with bullet holes. Fluids from the engine were pooling in the dirt as we watched. We could smell gunpowder in the air. But could do not hear nor see anything suspicious other than the empty Toyota on its side in front of us. Mark yelled “Let’s go man! Let’s Go!” as he lit the engines of his 500cc Honda dirt bike and not looking back as I could see him going into ‘speed’ position in his seat…He was a professional sport bike rider and I was not so as I twisted the throttle of my motorcycle all the way ,the front tire lifted off the ground and I almost lost control and came close to riding off the side of the road into a tree…or worse. I reached forward and pulled the small bucket of sauce out from the web of twine that was holding it in its place and tossed it aside, as I knew it would be splashing up on me very soon at the pace I had planned on maintaining as I put as much distance between me and that truck in as short a period of time as possible…unlike Mark though, I did look back. First in my mirror and then over my shoulder as I could see two men rushing out of the bushes along side of the road and appearing to level a rifle at me as I turned back around, laid myself down as much as possible and leaned forward as I gunned it, I wasn’t going to let the bike have a chance at bucking me off this time. I’ll end the memory of that day here, as it mostly has nothing to do with the ‘Very Happy Sauce’, but If we hadn’t of pulled over and that Toyota hadn’t have passed in front of us…who knows?
but Alas,all good things must be ruined eventually.The thing that has me Flummoxed about all of this is, the AC site is such a quality place to be and must be for a reason and that Apparently I am a Horrible Person and at some point along the way, stepped out of line. If anyone so chooses to visit 'AtlantaCuisine' I highly recomend it if you are a foodie worth your salt...
Just remain civil...breathe...drink a beer but not TOO much beer... Search the forum board for any food topic you could consieve of, any technique and any ingrediant. I GuarAnteee you will find it thar...Also, They have my first ever Guerilla Chef diaries...
If anyone that reads this is from the AC, let me just say I am missing you and will miss you all.
