Double Cup Love Read online

  “I guess it’s the same everywhere.”

  “Not really. In New York, you have so many different people, things to see. China changing, but still too much of the same and not enough of the old.”

  “How so?”

  “China, Chengdu, it’s not the same anymore. We used to have so many trees, they said Chengdu was like heaven. Clear sky you could see the sun all the way to heaven. Chengdu looked like it was in one line to heavens.”

  “Yeah, you go to Manhattan. Manhattan don’t got trees! But you want China to stay the same and be all trees? It can’t stay the same if you want other people here one day, too.”

  “No, I welcome them to China! I want them to come stay Hakka Homes!”

  “Ha ha, but you can’t just see them as customers and transients. If you want white, black, brown people to come then you are going to have to let them bring their culture, their food, their values as well.”

  “I mean like this. China building and changing, but everything they build is the same. It is all malls! Malls, malls, malls, everywhere malls and all the same stores. China try to impress new world, new customer, new people, but we not showing people real Chinese. Nobody want to see these malls! These malls not Chinese!”

  “For real, I rode around the other day and saw three Chanel stores. In all of New York City, there’s three Chanel stores. I went online, Shanghai has five Chanel stores!” said Evan.

  “And it’s OK to build some malls, but now it is all malls and no teahouse. All the old teahouse, small restaurants, and nature go away. China find one thing that make money and people like: malls and that’s all they build. The things that make Chengdu special all gone.”

  I started to appreciate Hakka Heather. She reminded me of twelve-year-old Eddie with the Wu-Wear in Orlando, associating difference with righteousness. The feeling comes from an honest place: being born an outsider and learning to love it instead of lamenting. You hang onto difference and deviance, taking them on as your identity. Over time you evolve from insisting on your difference to understanding it. One day, maybe you don’t even need it. That day just wasn’t today. I couldn’t navigate acceptance. I only knew difference—and I stayed my ass outside.

  —

  The next day, Heather took us for a walk behind the Super 8. She wanted to show us another side of Chengdu off the main streets. We walked about a quarter mile down a back street, hung a right past some stalls and small grocers. This part of the neighborhood still had trees; there weren’t fast food franchises, and families lived there. Every family sold something. Underneath every apartment was a garage that housed scooters, mopeds, and a business. Some sold wind-up toys, others functioned as hardware stores, some had produce, one dude cut hair, and everyone wore sandals.

  “This is like Chengdu used to be. Much more relax, family hang out, lots of trees, not so fast and noisy.”

  We walked another half mile with more of the same. Tea spots and family restaurants started to pop up. There was a breakfast spot on every block that sold steamed buns, soy milk or peanut drink, and dumplings. None really stood out, the quality was mediocre, but they functioned like the coffee and bagel carts that served New York neighborhoods. It was a humble street with some charm, and if I had seen it as a twenty-two-year-old, I would have spent eighty pages proudly telling you how this is what the rest of the world should be.

  After a while we stopped in front of a storefront.

  “This is rabbit restaurant,” Heather announced.

  This was the main event on Hakka Heather’s tour of local Chengdu foods. She knew that I wanted to understand Chengdu cuisine and took her role as an ambassador very seriously. I appreciated it.

  The rabbit restaurant was a big restaurant with a huge menu containing seventy or eighty dishes. To contrast with the wei ji rou restaurant and its one primary dish, Hakka Heather chose the large menu, Shopsin’s-like*12 approach with the rabbit restaurant.

  I let Heather handle the ordering. What people don’t realize coming from abroad is that Chinese food in China is constantly changing. I remember in the early ’90s when you wouldn’t leave a Sichuan joint without eating ma po tofu, oil braised fish, spicy intestine casserole, or smoked pork belly with leeks. These days, those dishes are dusty. People fuck with them, but they’re akin to steak au poivre, tableside Dover sole, or beef bourguignon. It’ll always be in the DNA, but they keep it moving. The difference between Heather’s rabbit joint and some goofy Sichuan-inspired modern “Chinese” restaurant in America is that Heather’s spot wasn’t inspired by Chengdu for downtown New York.*13 Heather’s spot is the evolution of a craft that retains the characteristics and values from the source recognizable in its modern form. It survived independent of foreign consumption and could tell a story all its own that tourists could choose to understand or keep walking by.

  Heather copped a fish mint salad, tea-smoked ribs, stir-fried rabbit bits with fresh chilis, ginger, and of course the whole roasted and shredded rabbit. I didn’t mind rabbit, but I usually ate it in French restaurants like Brasserie Ruhlmann that served it over pasta or in a casserole with all the little bones. Here, the rabbit bits were picked up in a wok with high heat, glossy chilis, and a bit of ginger to neutralize the game. The temperature and a bit of cornstarch gave it a sheen that locked in moisture while still providing a nice exterior. Like the French rabbit dishes I’d had, though, it was a temperamental dish that relied heavily on who was on the wok. Today, it was a revelation.

  The next dish was tea-smoked ribs. For generations, tea-smoked duck has been a cornerstone of Sichuan cuisine, and this was the first time I saw the technique on a St. Louis rib outside the crib. A lot of Chinese Americans or inquisitive Chinese aunties have taken their technique to the St. Louis rib, but I was hyped to try it in a restaurant, and it didn’t disappoint. I gripped one up and the rib had a 3M sheen on the exterior.*14 I took a bite, and it opened up like valet. It was tender but not flabby, toothsome but giving.

  Then came the whole roasted rabbit—well, they insisted it was roasted, but I knew it had Spanx on. I took the skin, tapped it with a spoon, got up under, and the protein had the tightness that comes from a quick douse of hot oil or a body suit. It was a great move. It brought back a little moisture, broke it up for better mouthfeel, and gave it a thinly crispy exterior. It had the skin of Cantonese roast duck, the sweetness of rabbit, and the texture of pulled pork, with an exquisite chili oil over the top.

  “You should try the head,” said Heather.

  I’d heard that rabbit head was a Chengdu favorite, so I dove in. It wasn’t like other gag foods where you’re eating for the shock value or to say you survived it, like snake’s gall bladder. The meat on the head was delicious, like juicy, fibrous, oxtail meat that happened to be on a rabbit’s face: Protein Pangaea. I broke open the skull and ate the brains, too.

  “That might be the best thing I’ve had in China,” Evan said, and I agreed.

  It felt great to be in China with my brother. Getting learned on Chengdu, Hakka people, and rabbit heads in our native habitat. Something about it was the same, but different, as if the spirits circling me had been present all along but were suddenly visible. I felt accepted by Hakka Heather, I was comfortable in Chengdu, and I felt a connection and familiarity to everything I was seeing and eating even though it was all brand new. Like a girl you met in a bar who you took to your apartment and who one day will take you to Scranton, Pennsylvania, so you can see her at home, au naturel, maybe even on a toilet.

  I went back to Hakka Homes and was ready to call my mom.

  “HALLO!”

  “Hey, Mom, how’s it going?”

  “SLAVING. Your dad never help. I am cleaning the whole house, mopping, washing dishes, making him food, never stops, never helps!” It always made me mad hearing about this, but I tried to hold it together. I couldn’t get derailed today. There were truths to tell.

  “Well, make him help! And if he doesn’t help, leave it dirty, stay in a hotel, and come back
when he helps,” I said, giving her the same play to run I’ve been giving her since I was twelve.

  “Ay-yah, you don’t understand, Eddie. Not possible! This is just how your dad is, and I have to take care of him.”

  “Why do you have to take care of him? He’s old enough to take care of himself.”

  “No, no, no, opposite. He is too old to take care of himself. He gets confused all the time now, ha ha. He never remember where anything is now.”

  “But you don’t have to pick up after him and clean everything. You’re not his gofer.”

  “Eddie, Mom just complain to you. It’s OK. He is your dad. He did everything outside the house, so I do everything in it. This is the way things are. How are you?”

  “I’m good, Mom. I’m really good.”

  “Oh? Really? What happen? You have good news? New show?”

  “No, not a new show.”

  “Hmmm, good business? How is second book?”

  “It’s good. I haven’t been writing, but I wanted to talk to you about something.”

  “Yeah, tell me! What is it?”

  “You promise you won’t be mad?”

  “I cannot promise that. You need to tell me first.”

  “Mom, you have to promise to be fair. I will tell you, but don’t be emotional.”

  “Eddie, I don’t know what you are going to tell me, but I cannot guarantee anything. Just tell me!” My stomach was in knots. I couldn’t even say it.

  “Eddie….What’s wrong?”

  “Nothing, Mom. I’m really happy.”

  “That’s good! That’s good! Mom is happy, but what’s wrong? If you are happy, why can’t you tell me?”

  “I think you’re going to be mad.”

  “OK, baby, Mom won’t be mad. You tell me.”

  “Mom….”

  “Yes?”

  “I want to marry Dena, Mom.”

  “OH MY GOD! OH MY GOD! BABY, YOU MISUNDERSTAND YOUR MOM!”

  She started crying hysterically. I didn’t know what to say.

  “EDDIE! All of you in the family misunderstand me. Why you all think I will be mad? I am so happy for you. You find someone to be happy with, who you have life with, you make family with, what mom will be mad? If you love her, if you pick her, then I am happy for you! Eddie…don’t misunderstand your mom. Your mom love you no matter what. No matter what, no matter what you do, Mom love you. You are from me. You come from me. You are part of me. I am part of you. You are your mom. I cannot hate myself! I always love you and now I love Dena. I am your mom!”

  “You are not mad she is not Chinese?”

  “No! So silly! Your dad Chinese, he the worst. Ha ha, no, I love your dad, but it doesn’t matter. Who cares if not Chinese?”

  I thought about it for a second and came to a very disturbing revelation.

  “I care.”

  * * *

  *1 The only time you will see mayonnaise at a Chinese dinner is Cantonese wedding shrimp.

  *2 HANH, you see what I did there. My favorite verse about Houston’s is Jeezy: “While y’all robbin’ and boostin’, I’m standin’ over the stove like I’m the chef at Houston’s.” #Snowman

  *3 The first time I smoked a Newport, it felt like eating Sichuan peppercorns.

  *4 I didn’t want to ask Heather her age, but I was told she was twenty-seven.

  *5 “Popular Demand”…Pusha T.

  *6 The god Sam Perkins can’t do shit but shoot flat-footed threes, but it’s enough.

  *7 “LOUIS, YOUR SON HAS LOST HIS DAMN MIND!”

  *8 “Ayyy, you added vinegar again!” complained my dad.

  *9 Take note: my dad is constantly speaking in broken English, but make no mistake. Homie had an extremely wide base of food knowledge. He owned, by my count, eleven restaurants over the years: Atlantic Bay Seafood, Cattleman’s Steakhouse, Fajita Grill, Shrimp ‘n Brew, The Mill Bakery and Brewery, Cattleman’s on I-Drive, Corleone’s (LOL), Coco’s Floribbean, Aussie’s Steakhouse, Bola, and The Black Olive. Not bad for a knucklehead from Taipei.

  *10 “Xiao Tsen, don’t you try to butt into this conversation!” (Xiao Tsen is my second Chinese name.)

  *11 When my mom was out of town, my dad would pour all the food she’d made for us and left in the fridge together into one “new” dish he called “leftover paradise.” It was more like the Guantanamo Blue Plate.

  *12 Shopsin’s is one of my favorite restaurants in New York. Wassup Zack and Kenny! It’s known for having a huge, eclectic, rotating menu with mildly offensive but always entertaining names.

  *13 This sentence doesn’t refer to Chinese-American restaurants. The original Chinese-American restaurants served a localized cuisine created by immigrants to satisfy American tastes. At least in that form, Chinese people made a living watering down the cuisine, and America got what it wanted. I celebrate Chinese-American food just like Tex-Mex or Red Sauce Italian because it’s how our people came up.

  *14 I told you ’bout that 3M on the Jordan V, remember? DANCIN’.

  Emery

  My earliest memories are from 1985. I don’t have many memories before that year, but I remember 1985. I was excited. My mom was making me a friend.

  “He’s going to be more than a friend!” my mom said. “He is your brother.”

  “Is that the best friend you can have?” I asked.

  “Absolutely! Brother is best friend you will ever have.”

  “But you fight with your brother all the time.”

  “Ay-yah, Eddie, you little monster. I can’t hide anything from you.”

  Mom thought to herself for a second then explained it to me. “I love my family, but we are not the best example. It was hard for our generation. Some born in China, some in Taiwan, everyone come to America have to learn new things. Life was hard. But you and your brother have to stick together, OK?”

  “OK.”

  “Promise?”

  “Promise.”

  In the weeks leading up to the birth, I hung on every word she told me about brothers. She told me a story about two brothers having a harmless fight in the kitchen that spilled over to the basement. One brother tumbled down the stairs and hit his head on a nail. He died.

  She kept telling me morbid stories about brothers fighting to the death in preparation for my brother Emery’s arrival. It freaked me out, but I was still excited. I wanted a best friend.

  Dad didn’t say much about Emery, but that didn’t surprise me. He was always working late and I was asleep by the time he got home. When I woke up, he was already going back to work.

  “Why is Dad so mean, Mom?”

  “Your dad is not mean. He is under a lot of stress. Business is not good.”

  “Is that why he yells at you?”

  “Eddie! When me and Dad fight, don’t pay attention.”

  “You guys are loud.”

  “So nosy! Next time you hear us fight, you go sleep, OK?”

  I didn’t understand my dad back then and therefore I didn’t like him. But on March 7, 1985, everything changed. Emery was born.

  Dad came home from the hospital and picked me up. I remember he was very stern.

  “Eddie, let’s go see your mom.”

  “Is Mom still at the hospital?”

  “Yeah, she just had your brother.”

  “Oh, cool! What’s he look like?”

  “He’s big. Nine pounds, ten ounces. Fat baby.”

  “Awesome! He’s gonna be tall!”

  “Yeaaa, right!” He loved saying “yeaaa, right!”

  We got in our Chevy Malibu station wagon and went off to the hospital. I didn’t say anything to my dad. He didn’t say anything to me. I just stared out the window at the trees. I liked the trees in Northern Virginia, passing now in a blur as we drove up and down the hills. It felt like we were on a roller coaster. Soon we pulled into the drugstore.

  “I thought we were going to the hospital?”

  “We need to make a stop here. Let’s go.”

  �
�OK.”

  My dad walked into the store and I walked alongside him. He wasn’t the kind of dad who would hold your hand or pat your head. He was more like a boss. I just followed his lead whenever he was around.

  “Eddie, pick any toy you want.”

  “Really?”

  “Yeah, but only one toy.”

  “What’d I do?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Did I do something good?”

  “No, not really.”

  I was suspicious. Was this a trap? My dad never did anything nice. Even my mom never got me toys. Something was wrong.

  “Why am I getting a toy, then?”

  He was hiding something from me. I remember he looked away and didn’t make much eye contact.

  “Eddie. Dad will always love you.”

  I didn’t understand. He just kept staring at the wall of toys. If I was with my mom, I’d be bouncing off the wall picking through the toys, but I was careful around my dad. He always told me to walk straight, stand straight, chest out. I stood there as stiff as I could and stared at the wall with him. Then he spoke again.

  “Xiao Wen,*1 your brother Emery is born today but I want you to remember what I tell you. No matter what happens, no matter how much we love your brother, it doesn’t change how we feel about you. Mom and Dad will always love you, OK? Nothing will ever change that.”

  “I know.”

  “How do you know?”

  I shrugged.

  “Really? You aren’t worried that we may like Emery more?”

  “No. I never thought about it. Emery is supposed to be my best friend.”

  “Ha ha, who told you that?”

  “Mom.”

  “Hmmm, she’s right. You have a good mom. I didn’t know she already told you this.”

  “Yeah, I wanna go meet Emery.”

  “OK, well, pick a toy and then we go see Emery.”

  I knew exactly which toy I wanted.

  “Dad, I want the green He-Man car.”

  But there was one problem with that choice. Just as my dad went to grab it, I spoke up.