Trà Sữa Trân Châu Part II – 213 of 365

The Mango Version

Just a few days ago we visited Tapiocup in the Parkson’s food court for a passion fruit trà sữa trân châu.  Remember that one?  This is where the girl kept mentioning “petting tits” rather than passion fruit.  In case you missed it, for two years now I’ve been going to this frustrating food stall, and each time the experience disintegrates into utter unexplained chaos.  They tell me “cannot” when I order a small passion fruit and all sorts of inexplicable hell breaks loose.

A friend suggested I return and order something else to see if it’s just passion fruit that is the problem.  So I figured why not?  Perhaps this will crack that elusive code, and Vietnam is a land of curious riddles and mysteries.  I hesitate sometimes to scratch below the surface for this place can be a Pandora’s box.  One wrong move and gotcha.

Now I do realize we just sampled this soy milk, ice, tapioca pearl and flavoring concoction, and a repeat meal does little advance this journey of sampling Vietnam one bite at a time.  But please understand Tapiocup has irked me for so long, and why I can’t order a small passion fruit is about the biggest concern in my life.  And yes, what a wonderful state of mind that is when your only trouble in the world is if the Tapiocup girl is going to be a pain in the butt or not.  I fully realize the mysteries of Tapiocup do not rise to the level of some 30 year old cold case murder or other matters of deeper importance, but this matters to me.

My nemisis saw me coming and giggled loudly while covering her mouth.  She said, “no petting tits.”  OK, I am not here for that right now anyhow so just give me the mango.  This is the first time I have varied my order in two years and I waited with baited breath if mango would yield first time success.  Of course I always receive a helping of petting tits, I mean passion fruit, in the end but not without a lot of fanfare and drama.  I am sad to report mango crapped out as well at first.

But this time I finally slayed the secrets and cracked the code.  A girl emerged from underneath the counter where she had been napping and told me, “Small size no flavor.  Big size flavor.”  OK, great but why doesn’t the menu indicate this?  You people could have saved me two years of gritting my teeth and wringing my hands!!  I mean who lists over a dozen flavors and clearly puts a price for large and small right there next to them?  Only in Vietnam can such a simple concept of a properly annotated menu be so corrupted and fouled up.

You know what though?  Now that this place doesn’t serve up frustration anymore, it’s just not as fun.  Now if I go back things will be so predictable and I will know to just order the large.  I guess it’s time to pass the torch to the next westerner needing some long term entertainment and mystique.

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Categories: Vietnamese Food

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