I judge a restaurant by its name. So when I found out Fat Panda is a Japanese restaurant, I'm already squatting in a thinker pose in the middle of a koi pond pondering.
Pandas are not Japanese!
Japanese food doesn't make you fat! WHAT ON EARTH?
My friend told me I should get up from my suggestive position and just walk in and see for myself. I obliged after 4 hours when my thighs got numb. Waking in, the sensor doors slide to unravel another puzzle: Fat Panda has a sushi train, dining tables and a bar? What is this puzzle of a restaurant? Chirpy waitstaff get me seated and take me straight to the alcohol list as if they were telepathic. They know me!? But how?
The menu has all your favorites like teriyaki, decently fresh sashimi and gyozas but those waiting for grilled Panda will still need to fly to China. Ok so it's not very authentic in the sense the chef was a ninja from Kanazawa and hurls plates of sushi like shurikens, but you would've figured it out already by the restaurant name right? So instead you have a Mr Nguyen doing a decent job at it instead. Hell the kitchen makes a mean creme brulee to finish that puts some Frenchies to shame.
Ah ha, I got it! Fat Panda leaves you feeling like you just hugged a Fat Panda - a little warm and fuzzy. I haven't hugged a real one, but I "imagine" that's what it would feel like. read more