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My friend Tommy Woo said, “This is pork, just eat.” And so I did, though I had no clue what part of the pig these lumps belonged to. “Not bad! What is this?” I pointed to a black-colour-rice-shape thing. “Black bean.” The answer came out of Tommy’s teeth which was biting a piece of chicken. “I really like it!” I declared to him, while nodding my head.
That was not my first encounter of Chinese food, but surely one of the most delicious. Thanks to Tommy, while other classmates were stuffing burgers and fries, I had BBQ fried rice, wonton noodle soup and beef chow-mein and loving every dish. We would go to a Chinese restaurant and order out, then go to the park and share one order. And if we were ‘rich’ that day, we would go with a couple school friends and headed for dimsum.
Tommy never told me what dimsum was, but after a couple meals, I thought I had figured it out. And as long as I stayed away from chicken feet and spicy stuff, I quite enjoyed them. Our Chinese food excursion had been cheap and fun, until the day we took our so-call girlfriends out for dimsum.
“OK, I’ll go.” Helen looked at me and said seriously, “But don’t force me to eat anything I don’t want!” Fair enough, so we found ourselves sitting down with Tommy and his girlfriend Liza in a brand new Chinese Restaurant on Fraser Street.
Helen was from Regina and Liza’s parents came from Italy, neither of them had dimsum before.
The Har-gou (Shrimp dumpling), Beef-ball and Siu-mai (Pork dumpling) were well-received by the two ladies, but things got a bit out of hand when Tommy tried to pull the same trick.
“What is this?” Liza asked, while Helen listening closely with a suspicious look.
“This is pork.” Tommy said.
The girls each took a piece and carefully inspected the strand of meat, looked at each other and put down their forks.
“No way this is pork!” Liza declared.
“I am not touching it.” Helen proclaimed.
Tommy looked at me, asking for help. I could not do a thing simply because I had no idea what it was.
“Alright, this is pork tripe.” Tommy said quietly.
“Hun, what is tripe?” asked Helen.
“Tripe? No big deal, my mom cooks tripe all the time, but not like this.” was Liza’s response. “Don’t know why you have to lie, we’ll find out sooner or later. It is better to tell us what’s in the plate than making things up?” She then told Helen that tripe was the stomach.
Helen turned to me and complained, “Yuk, why don’t you tell us this is tripe? I almost ate it!”
“I don’t know what it is either!” I replied, “But it is tasty to me.”
“But you told me you are a Chinese food expert!”
“I only eat what Tommy orders, and believe whatever he says. He’s Chinese after all!”
“You are such a fool. Next time please find out what it is before you put it in your month!” Helen was almost yelling at this point.” Lucky for me, the dish of Calamari Tommy took from the dimsum cart was so aromatic and golden delicious; it took the girl’s attention off the tripe. Then I heard Tommy said loudly and clearly, “This is Chinese style Calamari, deep-fried.”
Though our romance was short-lived, my Chinese food exploration definitely turned a new leaf from that day on. Now, I can proudly say I know what is in my plate 95% of the time! |
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