Mopho Nola

So, one day, actually it was night. So, one night, a chef, two waiters, and two other people were whining about having to travel all the way to the West Bank of the Mississippi River the next day to buy a bowl of pho to cure their inevitable hangovers from the previous night's excessive drinking (I know, right?). We should create our own pho business so we wouldn't have to travel so far to get pho, one of the waiters suggested. It was a great idea, the other waiter concurred. After a brief pause, both waiters turned to face the cook with anticipation. The chef, who hadn't been listening (chefs typically don't listen to waiters, especially at a bar), responded defensively, "What?" The waiters enquired as to how challenging cooking pho would be. The chef answered, "I guess not too difficult. "All right, let's start a pho restaurant." The waiters exchanged nods of agreement. What, wait? asked the cook once more. a restaurant serving pho. They did so again. "Have you thought about the fact that none of us are Vietnamese?" said the chef. "Then where does it state that a Vietnamese person must be a restaurant owner of pho? Moreover, you are a chef!" The chef nodded and placed another beer order, confident that everything would work out by the end of the evening and that the wait staff would soon forget about it. The "For Rent" sign on the window of an ancient bookstore in Mid-City was called the following day by one of the waiters. Never underestimate the power of a pair of inebriated waiters to persuade a chef to do something.