Yes, there's at least half a dozen dead chickens hanging not so neatly in the window of the noodle restaurant on 6th street in Chinatown, DC. They hang there cooked, ready to be eaten by the customers who dare enter down the little steps into this den of delights. So far, I've only been able to watch the cook make noodles by watching him through the window they've set up for passersby to see what's going on. For some reason, it's enough for me to be entertained by this, and it hasn't drawn me in to eat there. We usually go to the slightly more upscale restaurant a few doors down where I can be sure they make really good martinis with the vodka I like. But one day, I'll be there with some risk-taker who will go in with me and, by God, we'll order Kung Pao chicken made with one of them dead birds hanging in the winder.
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