Chef's Diary,
BREAKING LOOSE is a theme I have discovered
lately in my life,
and which I write about, possibly to re-live the experiences.
It’s
I’ve just come home from Chinatown.
After work, I decided to have some noodles.
the
you can get just about anything there round the
clock.
Noodle shops are inexpensive and usually
open all night, serving from a steam table filled with steaming pots of rich
broth, into which a wide selection of noodles, roast meats, vegetables,
dumplings, shellfish, are served in enormous bowls. It’s a meal in a bowl.
It was a busy night at the restaurant,
I invited the whole crew out to eat and unwind.
No one wanted to go, so what the hell
I can eat alone! I parked the Benz on Bayard,
and walked up to Mott about to go inside.
I hesitated outside the harsh fluorescent wonton
restaurant,
and there… across the street, neglected,
the dingy orange front of Hong Fat beckons.
Wow!
Old sorceress, you were always good,
I wonder if that old lady is still there…
She was always at the door, welcoming,
so gracious.
I enter the quiet restaurant.
"you have crabs
tonight?
"Yes".
"Good. table for
one, please"
I sit, facing the rear of the narrow store.
I don’t want to see people tonight.
Dollar bills are pasted to the walls for luck.
I order crabs with black beans, and steamed white
rice,
and I think, it’s late at night,
I should have some congee -
Chinese rice gruel, the traditional wee-hour
Chinese fortification.
Don’t knock it till you’ve tried it.
The Cantonese slang is "jchuk"
so, to impress the waiter
I ask for a bowl of "jchuk’
He looks funny at me, I am not feeling so kool right now.
"JCHUK! "
I still get a strange look, now, insecure as
hell, I give up.
"CONGEE"
"Oh, sure what kind?"
Defeated and sinking, I say "Chicken".
The steaming bowl is delivered, with a porcelain spoon, I dig in,
sucking air in and slurping loudly to let the
waits know I know
how to eat their food. The slurping cools the
soup,
and makes the flavor come out.
It’s delicious, sustaining, as it should be,
just what the doctor ordered.
That’s a thing about eating foods of other lands,
connecting with other peoples.
The place is almost empty, I look around
to see
there are a few fat heavily-tattooed
guidos finishing their meal,
the girl friend has too-big
too-black hair
and
too much makeup.
I turn back around and ignore them.
They have ordered beautiful green asparagus,
I yearn, but how much can one little guy eat by
himself? It’s always best to dine with a friend.
My crabs arrive. a
huge, piled-high dish, fantastic!
Loaded with brilliant ginger,
egg, black beans, and scallions.
Everything I hoped for. The chef has managed to
include
the briny home these creatures came from in his
flavor palate.
I attack, certain I will mess my hands clothes,
my face, everything.
There are only tiny paper napkins, I will wear
this food, I don’t care,
abandoning myself, I dive in, crunching down on
the shells,
gouging, chewing, sucking out the meat. It’s
sweet, fresh,
the seasonings enhance the crab without obscuring
it.
You know, I never liked crabs,
they were too much trouble for me to eat.
that was only… until I gave myself
PERMISSION to eat them the way they’re SUPPOSED
to be.
once past that first aversion, I was immersed. Do you
understand?
I let myself be conquered. surrounded
with marvelous sensuality.
I feel good. Hedonist.
I am wondering what awful thing will happen.
Does it matter? This is a moment of joy, it’s all
too good,
I stop for a full minute reflecting…
and thank God for everything I can think of, my
health
my life, my restaurant, family, friends, Chef
Stefan, my car, these
excellent wonderful crabs, and the inspiration to
make this
particular trip on this particular New York
night. To break away.
I am glad to be a New Yorker. Lucky. I’m a small-town boy,
so I’ve treated it as just a town, it’s about
knowing where
to go to find what you want, and I do.
It’s easy I’ve mastered something,
myself, maybe? Courage, it’s still about enjoying
the trip.
It always will be.
I busy myself with the crabs, creature
devouring creatures,
watching those four sleepy waiters in the back.
why so many waiters at an hour like this?
Almost in reply, twenty kids roll in from a dance
club. Harley
Davidson, pink hair, skinheads, ugly, noisy, and
hungry.
The still tableau becomes organized mayhem.
The waits spring to action, the senior one takes
charge.
deuces are formed into a banquet, "rickety-sprit".
The twenty are seated in a thrice, and their
order
is being taken by the old one who now has
them all under control so the food can get
written,
he brandishes his order pad as his symbol of
authority.
I love this!
I think of Kinzey at
his peak,
or sweet John, rising to any occasion.
but I had no want of their company
my moment had come to drive back home.
Back at the garage Duane was waiting to park the
car,
makes big eyes at my bag filled with the leftover
half of my meal,
"oh, is THAT for me?" (little extortionist)
(oh, shit!) "sure, this is for you"
(goodbye breakfast crabs!) hello wheaties
oh well, better this way.
I’d had enough. More would be excess.
I keep the left over soup,
I’d done a good nights work,
glad I wouldn't have to worry
about leftovers going to waste.
Last week I returned hoping to relive
that wonderful meal.
There was no more Hong Fat, the place had been
boarded up,
I shrugged and sadly turned back to the
Something had been lost from the
and from me, too. It was a landmark in my mind,
but I was glad that I had had the chance to savor
it that special night.
The roast pork and duck in soup with wonton at
the Garden was excellent
and always a wonderful place to go for a filling
and inexpensive meal.
They have congee in ten flavors, too.
And it's still all about enjoying the trip.