Around the World in 80 Dinners - Bill Jamison [92]
In the store, Cheryl mentions to Patty and Simin that we looked without luck all over Hong Kong for someone to burn our trip photos onto a CD. Simin says, “Oh, I can do that. It will just take a few minutes before we go to dinner.” The pictures intrigue her when she loads them into her computer and she requests permission to make copies for herself, too, so she can dream about traveling someday to all the places we have visited. “Who is the little guy in these shots?” she asks about Flat Stanley. Cheryl introduces the two and they become instant friends, posing together—and with the rest of the Calabash office staff—for their own photos.
The Olivers have planned dinner at an upscale establishment they call “the Door Man’s Restaurant,” a nickname derived from the owner’s skill in making handsome carved doors. “It’s right on Chaozhou’s version of Tiananmen Square, built as a new city center for government offices just five years ago,” John says. “Since then, the whole town has shifted in that direction. The old center, where we live, will be historically restored and made into a pedestrian-only zone.”
Simin’s parents—introduced to us only as Mr. and Mrs. Wu—join our entourage at the restaurant. When John and Patty first moved to Chaozhou, they rented rooms in the Wus’ home, where they began teaching Simin English when she was just twelve. Mr. Wu is a highly regarded sculptor, currently working on a piece commissioned by a Chinese peace organization to present to President George W. Bush on an upcoming visit.
The Wus and the Olivers order for the table, just discussing the possibilities with the waiter rather than studying a menu. In halting English, Mr. Wu says, “The Chinese always try to get balance in a meal between the yin and yang, so we talk it through.”
Patty mentions that Chinese restaurants dominate the dining scene. “So far, there are no Western places at all. Occasionally, you see a menu offering a ‘Western dinner,’ usually something odd like Salisbury steak over spaghetti.”
The dishes tonight, roughly in order of service, include a warm soup; steamed vegetable dumplings; turnip cake similar to the carrot cake we had in Singapore; oyster omelet; stir-fried leafy greens; stewed sweet potatoes; and tender strips of beef with green and red bell pepper, tofu, and shiitake mushrooms. Dessert combines crisp apple slices and tiny tomatoes. John complains that the kitchen is off-key this evening and the Wus agree. Mr. Wu comments he can tell from the texture that the dumplings were refrigerated before cooking, clear evidence of a deficiency in freshness. When Cheryl compliments the turnip cake, Mrs. Wu says, “You will like mine better. I’ll send some over to you with Simin.” No one objects to the price: U.S.$20 total for eight people with tea and Chinese wine.
After dinner, we walk over to the huge square across the street, where hundreds of people are watching the Saturday-night entertainment. A group from the Chaozhou opera company performs in one corner, and in another, fountains on a pond splash towering columns of water skyward, forming a screen for projected scenes from the movie Finding Nemo. Neon lights outline the mid-rise buildings surrounding the square and some feature additional neon images, one an elaborate rendition of a pagoda and bird. Grinning children and teenagers rush up to practice their English on us, repeating after one another “Hello,” “Welcome to China,” and “Good-bye.” A number of them and their families gather around Cheryl for photos with a blue-eyed blonde, like she’s from Mars or maybe even Hollywood.
On the way back, Ziggy drives us through a night market jammed with stalls specializing in clothes, and then down another lane lined with new upscale boutiques that John and Patty have dubbed “Hong Kong