Natalie Tan's Book of Luck and Fortune

by Roselle Lim

  “I might be, but I don’t have Wi-Fi,” I replied. These IT types always wanted that.

  “I came for the dumplings. I’ve been following the smell from Mission Street.”

  “You walked all the way from there?”

  “They smelled really good.” He glanced up at the chalkboard. “Are you Qiao then? Of Qiao’s Cafe?”

  On a lark, I had written my grandmother’s name there this morning. “No, that was my grandmother.”

  “Please tell me you still have some dumplings left. I’m dying to try them.”

  Delivering the dumplings to Celia could wait a little longer. My first unofficial customer was here. His ID card, with matching picture, read Daniel Lee.

  Daniel took a seat at the counter, slinging his messenger bag onto the stool beside him. An irresistible aroma of roasted coffee, dark chocolate, and a hint of spearmint clung to him. Though we were around the same age, there was something old about him, as if he had a secret arcane hobby such as stamp collecting.

  “Do you work nearby?” I asked.

  “At a small start-up on Mission Street. Health-care based.” White earbuds peeked from his collar as he leaned forward to inhale the dumplings I placed before him.

  I resisted the urge to lean my elbows on the counter and observe him like a zoo animal. He was transfixed by the dumplings, examining each one as if it were a jewel, and sniffing, monopolizing the aroma for himself. He licked his lips.

  Eating was a selfish act, and sometimes one requiring privacy. True consumption was carnal.

  My skin flushed, broiling like a sizzling strip loin on the grill. As the flames licked higher, my blood felt hotter than the Egyptian sun.

  I fanned myself before reaching inside the fridge under the counter for a can of soda. As I hastily guzzled the cool beverage, some of the clear liquid dripped down my chin and onto the neckline of my white cotton tank dress.

  Daniel’s eyes, however, were directed at his plate of rapidly disappearing dumplings, and so he didn’t notice my mess. If I hadn’t known his occupation, I would have thought he was a professional competitive eater.

  “That was delicious,” he declared, patting his flat belly.

  The squeaky-clean platter proved his veracity. “I suppose it must have been. You don’t have a girlfriend cooking for you at home?” My question was brazen, but at least if there was someone else in his life, I would know now, and the sting from it would be more fleeting.

  “No, I don’t, and this is better than anything I’ve eaten in ages. This must be the first time I’ve been in Chinatown since I was in college.” He grinned. “Cheap and greasy food was the motto back then, but this . . . It’s transcendent. You have a gift. I can’t wait to see what else you cook.”

  I couldn’t help but grin at the revelation that he was single.

  Daniel tilted his head and stared at the goddess statue, examining her from every angle.

  His scrutiny made me self-conscious, as though he were critically examining my flaws instead of the statue’s. “I mean to repair her, but with the preparation for the restaurant, there hasn’t been time.”

  “This kind of deterioration is more than oxidation,” he said. “But even though she’s in pretty bad shape, I think she can recover from this.”

  “The damage is pretty extensive.”

  “Yes, but there is always hope. Underneath all this is something beautiful. It just needs time and patience to come out.”

  Our gazes met.

  One of his gadgets beeped. Then another and another, like a string of Christmas lights coming to life. He smiled and pressed a button, shutting everything off. “I was stuck trying to fix the bug in this code for a week, and now I think I finally know what I need to do to resolve it. This is a good day.” He pulled out a fifty-dollar bill from his wallet and placed it on the counter. “Thank you for the meal. Please keep the change.”

  Daniel Lee waved goodbye and vanished down the street, humming an unfamiliar jazz tune.

  The paper portrait of Ulysses S. Grant stared back at me from the counter. I picked up the fifty and placed it into the empty till of the cash register. The close of the drawer followed the satisfying ring of the sale. Daniel’s enthusiastic response had just elevated my confidence in my cooking abilities. This was what it would be like to run my own restaurant. Satisfaction warmed me from within.

  He ate all the dumplings. Celia would have to wait until I made another fresh batch.

  I blushed, remembering my heated reaction to Daniel. What had happened to me? It must have been him or the dumplings. Watching him eat had been akin to pornography, and I was never the amorous type.

  In high school, I’d dreamed about traveling and seeing the world when the other girls mooned over boys. My first kiss had been clumsy. Winston Law was aiming for my lips and missed, slobbering all over my chin instead. Eleven-year-old Winston paved the way for a long string of mediocre companions: boyfriends would have been too generous a term.

  So I’d learned to live without romance. Love was like getting the unwanted gift of an elephant I could never afford to feed or house. Besides, it always ended in tragedy: my father had abandoned my mother, and the heroine or hero—or both—died in all the operas Ma-ma and I had listened to. No, love was a virus I never wanted to catch. It always ended badly, and even when it did happen, I ran away from the boyfriend and the situation by adding another stamp to my passport.

  I thought I might have escaped my commitment allergy with Emilio in Manila, but that had ended too. We had been engaged, but I’d chosen to run away from my own wedding. I abandoned him before he had the chance to do it to me. A year later, thinking of him opened wounds I had thought were healed.

  But I dared not linger on my own problems when I had others to help.

  Chapter Nine

  Opening Laolao’s book, I flipped through the pages in search of a recipe for Older Shen. The anecdotes helped guide me to one that boosted courage. I reread the recipe for Older Shen and headed to the market. The crabs, because of their freshness, needed to be picked up and cooked on the same day. The preparation ritual was one I had practiced when I was younger and learned from my mother.

  Back home, I freed the two feisty crabs from a paper bag. I placed them in a plastic tray of ice, slowing down their metabolism before the cleaning. Using a worn toothbrush, I scrubbed any sand and algae from their hard shells while avoiding the pinch of their claws.

  Steamed Dungeness Crabs

  Cooking oil

  Ginger

  Dungeness crabs

  Chicken broth

  Salt

  Shaoxing wine

  Sesame oil

  Green onion or a leek

  Add the cooking oil to a large pot to stir-fry the slices of ginger. Place the cleaned crabs in the pot along with the chicken broth. Add salt according to taste.

  Simmer for ten minutes. Add the wine, stir. Wait for the shells to turn bright red-orange. After two minutes, add the sesame oil. Garnish with chopped green onions and then serve.

  Note:

  Crabs are precious and have a natural armor like the warriors of old. They are the perfect ambassadors for courage.

  I serve this to new immigrants coming into the area. They need as much bravery as they can muster to navigate this country.

  Following my grandmother’s recipe, I poured Shaoxing rice wine into the great stainless-steel pot over the steamed crabs. For eight minutes, I watched their shells change from tawny brown to brilliant red before adding the last ingredient: sesame oil.

  Older Shen’s prescription for courage was ready. I picked up the phone and dialed the number for the bookstore.

  Given the rules of Chinese etiquette, the odds of my invitation being declined were low. As I expected, Older Shen accepted my offer to come dine at the restaurant. I wondered how Laolao’s recipes
worked. There was nothing in the book about how soon the food would take effect or what I was to expect.

  He would be here soon. I fished the crabs from the pot and placed them in a clay bowl. Blooming with tendrils of steam, the shells glistened red-orange. I placed the lid on top to trap the heat within, bringing the dish to the counter for my guest right on time, for Older Shen was tapping on the door. A smile tugged at my lips. He was dressed in a dated tweed suit complete with elbow patches. His shy smile complemented his combed gray hair and clean-shaven face.

  I opened the door. “Welcome.”

  “I haven’t been here in years.” He scanned his surroundings before turning to the scarred goddess with a frown. “She’s not what I remembered. She was beautiful when Qiao was here.”

  I followed his gaze. So my suspicion was correct: the goddess had been lovely once. I still hoped she would be again.

  Shen’s nose twitched as he sniffed the air. “Crab? Oh, I love crab.”

  I guided him to the counter where I had set his plate. He perched atop the stool and unfurled the napkin I’d provided, tucking it into the front of his collared shirt. His brown eyes widened when I lifted the lid off the pot.

  The release of steam created a sigh in the air, acting as the prayer before a meal, the ceremonial ribbon cutting before the devouring. Eating crab was a leisurely pursuit. The sweet treasure of crabmeat could only be unlocked by a deft grip or the aid of a steel seafood cracker.

  I offered the coveted heavy female crab to my guest. He smiled and brandished his cracker, shattering the shell in strategic spots. He attacked with purpose: disassembling, dissecting to get to the jeweled fat and eggs inside.

  While Older Shen ate, I proceeded with my own crab, prying the carapace open by pulling on its apron. The juices dripped down my fingers as I attacked the meat in the body first. My favorite parts were the legs because of how little effort they took compared to the claw and the minute chambers of the body. I sucked the meat from the hollow legs, careful to avoid the plasticky cartilage. The sweetness of the crab complemented the spicy, tangy dipping sauce I’d provided. Flecks of green onion and yellow disks of chili pepper seeds floated in the red wine vinegar. That recipe was also in Laolao’s book, but it pleased me that I’d already known one of her recipes by heart.

  Older Shen wiped his mouth, pulling his shoulders back, straightening his spine as if he were being pulled upward by an invisible string. The faded threads of his tweed jacket shifted, vibrating until the color saturated, blooming into a bold palette. The sweeping change traveled onto his skin, leaching away the pallor, tempering the grays in his hair, adding a spark in his faraway eyes. Chi gathered around him. Tiny, almost invisible motes of energy clung to his presence like garlands of Christmas lights.

  Was all this from Laolao’s food? This was incredible. I couldn’t believe it was working.

  “Mr. Shen?” I asked. “Are you all right?”

  “I . . .” He cleared his throat. His reedy voice deepened, growing louder. “I feel great. Better than I have in my life. New batteries.”

  “New batteries?”

  “I have always thought I was given a damaged set of batteries when I was born. It felt like a limitation I couldn’t overcome. Right now, though, I feel happy, energized, like I could conquer the world. But this is strange . . . It will take time to get used to.” He stood and bowed. “Thank you for the meal and more.”

  “You’re welcome,” I said, watching him leave. A surge of excitement flowed through my body. It worked! There was no longer any doubt of the efficacy of Laolao’s recipes. Older Shen changed because of the dish—I had seen it for myself. The recipes exceeded my expectations; I could only hope they helped as much as I needed them to. If they did, I could meet my goal of opening the restaurant and saving the rest of the neighborhood. Just in case, I made a mental note to check in on Older Shen in a few days.

  I turned to Laolao’s photograph propped against her recipe book and murmured my thanks.

  My phone’s screen flashed with a text from Celia, reminding me of our lunch date in a few minutes. I grabbed my purse and headed out.

  Success tasted better than a plump char siu bao right out of the steamer.

  I stepped outside and twirled with arms outstretched, eyes to the sky as a cluster of blue scrub jays flew overhead, following my movements. The vibrant parade of blue acted as a contrast to the bleakness around me. In my moments of joy, I always had an entourage of birds trailing above me like an avian bridal train made of feathers and sky instead of pearls and lace. The birds found me no matter where I was in the world.

  Tormented by the creatures she couldn’t reach, Meimei batted against the windows of the apartment. I laughed and waved at her. The cat ignored me, her focus trained on the elusive prey on the other side of the glass.

  Laolao’s recipe had worked for Older Shen. I hoped that when I cooked the chicken wings, the Chius would also benefit from some magical meddling. All I had left to do was find the last person in need, and I would fulfill the conditions for opening the restaurant.

  Rushing to Celia’s gift shop, I pushed the door open and found her clucking over the shelves, righting merchandise, and rearranging a row of smiling ceramic pandas. She hummed “My Favorite Things” from The Sound of Music, sashaying her wide hips to the melody.

  Long-dormant memories of her resurfaced. The longer I stayed here, the more I remembered what I had so easily discarded when I left home. Celia ate well and it showed, but she was a connoisseur, not a cook herself. It was no secret that her culinary attempts had resulted in emergency visits from the fire department. She would be the ideal customer for the restaurant I was trying to reopen.

  The strand of pearls around Celia’s neck paired beautifully with her bright yellow peplum dress. She squinted through her tortoiseshell glasses as she tried to fix the last figurine’s pose to match the others. Her high voice broke out in a shrill vibrato as she sang.

  She swung out her arm in a sweeping gesture and sent a row of smiling ceramic dragons crashing to the floor. “Oh no!” she wailed in a singsong voice as she assessed the damage.

  I spied the broom behind the counter and fetched it along with the dustpan.

  Celia bent down to collect the big pieces. “I don’t know what’s wrong with me,” she said. “I’m snakebitten. Although, I should count myself blessed that a real snake hasn’t bitten me yet.”

  “I’m sorry, Celia.” I deposited the fragments into the trash and returned the broom and dustpan behind the counter.

  “My klutziness isn’t your fault.” She waved her hand and sighed. “Let’s move on to happier things. What’s happening with the restaurant?”

  I grinned. “I saw Miss Yu. She told me I needed to help three people so I can open the restaurant. I’ve already helped Older Shen.”

  “Oh, that is excellent news indeed!” Celia smothered me with her generous bosom. “We can celebrate during lunch. This is great progress.”

  I could barely nod, for I was lost in the scent of lilac talcum powder and Chanel No. 5. I politely extracted myself and took a quick step back as insurance against being ensnared once more.

  “The clothes look great.” She gestured to the ivory romper I was wearing. “You look good in white. You have the figure for it.”

  “You’re too kind.”

  “Miranda always had a trim figure and so did your laolao. It’s in your blood. And what’s in my blood . . .”

  “Is style,” I declared. It was true. Celia possessed an impeccable, arresting sense of style that could be featured in any sartorial publication.

  A soft, rosy blush spread across Celia’s cheeks. “An exchange of mutual compliments is the best way to start our lunch. You can tell me all about your victories, and I’ll fill you in on the latest gossip.”

  Flipping the Open sign on the door to Closed, she must have noticed
my guilty expression. “It’s a slow period now anyway. The morning rush, however little it is, is done, and the rest of the day is dead. You’re doing me a favor by breaking the monotony. Besides, this is the most exciting date I’ve been on in years. And don’t even think about offering to pay for lunch. I’m covering it because I invited you.”

  I was disarmed by her kindness and her generosity. Celia Deng had never been anything but sweet to me, and she had nothing to gain from doing so. She was another example that proved the neighbors weren’t as toxic as I’d wanted them to be.

  How much had I missed being away, and what had I overlooked while I was here? Did I not see because I’d refused to?

  * * *

  We chose a sushi bar two blocks over. Celia ordered an assortment of rolls and a basket of tempura vegetables and shrimp. In between bites, and sips of matcha tea, I brought her up to date and regaled her with the tale of my victory with Older Shen.

  “So you have to help the Chius and then you’re done?” she asked.

  “No, I still have to find one other person to help.”

  “The Chius are a mess.” Celia fanned herself with the drink menu. “They’ve been hit the worst by financial problems, and it’s sucked the love out of their marriage. I’m glad you’re helping them.”

  “Other than the meal for Fai, have you tried out any more recipes?” She wiped the corners of her mouth.

  “I cooked dumplings and meant to save some for you, but I had an unexpected customer.”

  “Ha! People come from miles around for good food. I can take a rain check on those dumplings. Some of your laolao’s cooking skills must have passed on to you. Miranda had it, too, but she never cultivated it. I know because I’ve tasted her dishes.”

  “This must have been after I left.”

  Celia shook her head. “I used to visit when you were in school. Miranda would cook a little something to snack on, and it was always delicious.”