Photo by LP Hastings Let us take photos of food!
When I say the parking lot in front of Tra House is a mess, I don't mean that figuratively. Most of the painted lines that separate one space from the next are either faded or nonexistent, and if you manage to find an empty spot in the anarchic chaos that ensues every Saturday night, your car won't likely fit unless it's a golf cart. After you leave your vehicle, hoping it'll survive the night un-dinged, you tiptoe around a postapocalyptic landscape of cigarette butts, errant bits of trash and bald spots of dirt, then pass an open garbage container whose stench makes you instinctively cover your nose and mouth. But as with anything in Little Saigon, you can't judge the restaurant by the parking lot, especially this one. The Boiling Crab empire was born right here, and its original location still packs 'em in a few doors down from Tra House. But these days, Tra House is the main draw--and it's an oasis of cool and a sanctuary from the hellishness you just trudged through.