Restaurant Review
Palms Thai
5900B Hollywood Blvd. 90028(323) 462-5073
$10-$20 per person
Open daily, 11:00 am to 2:00 am
My friend Michael once told me, "Thai restaurants usually let you choose a spiciness from 1-5 because 6-10 is only available to Thai people. Numbers 6-10 are Thai hot." Does that mean that one can never get a true Thai experience unless one is, in fact, Thai? Indeed, ethnic favoritism at Asian restaurants does often put non-natives at a key disadvantage. I'm sure everyone has experienced it at some point: you walk into a small Chinese restaurant and you are handed a yellowed list of your typical dishes, like orange chicken and moo goo gai pan, dishes that probably never existed on the other side of the Pacific; the Asian couple next to you, however, receives a gold-bound two-inch-thick menu, written entirely in Chinese, and minutes after they order, the chef brings out a three-foot-long live King crab for their approval. Could we ever be so lucky?
Palms, I was told, serves unashamedly authentic Thai food. It was a place to shuffle off the pad thai, red curry chicken safety net into which one can settle, given the Thai options in Pasadena. Sure enough, a quick look at their online menu revealed dishes I had never even heard of before. Raw naked shrimp? Holy basil? I wonder if any of this is Kosher.
Patrons sit at long, uninterrupted tables, smashed together communally in wicker chairs while an Elvis impersonator croons at the other end of the restaurant. Brusque service is to be expected, though this is the first I've seen with waiters putting in orders through wireless headsets dangling oh so rudely from and open ear. The advantage is that now the staff can work like an efficient beehive, trays and plates dancing around each other effortlessly within the limited high-traffic areas. Tell one person you want an iced tea, and half a minute later someone completely different arrives at your table with a glass filled to the brim of that sweet nectar -- but that half-minute can easily turn into fifteen minutes if your order gets lost in the mix.
Clearly, this place is full of contradictions. A little East-meets-West, a little Bangkok-meets-Hollywood-meets 1950s Nashville, a little much, perhaps, to take in all at once. Steaming, cooked rice is portioned out from a camping cooler while your dishes are plunked unceremoniously in front of you, though not necessarily in the order in which you ordered them. The din of frenetic motion hangs in the air as we are forced to raise our voice just to be heard across the table. Ah, the food an service of a hole-in-the-wall with the atmosphere of a karaoke bar.
Take the larb, for instance. It's not much to look at, it smells like hell, and yet ground meat (beef, chicken, or pork), swimming in pull-you-eyes-out spicy, face-implodingly sour, dead-awakening fish sauce could never have imagined a finer incarnation than that which sits atop this plate. Like a shaggy dog I waggle my head furiously as if to shrug off the world outside. "Man, that's some good larb," I exclaim. Is this real Thai food? It's certainly not your mommy's Saladang.
They won't let me order a chicken in jungle curry because I've never had it before. They are convinced, it seems, that I'll hate it. How on earth, though, would they know? I'm better off anyway, because I am quickly informed it tastes like durian. As we settle on beef liver salad, deer with green peppercorns and curry sauce, and a plate of wild boar in curry sauce, Elvis continues to find his way into our hearts. We start singing along, and before long, our tablemates, complete strangers, jump in on the festivities. Everyone is here to have a good time.
wise men say only fools rush in
but I can't help falling in love with you
Yes, it seems everything in here has been turned up to 11.
Elvis is in the building Wednesdays through Sundays starting at 7:30 pm.