Authentic Chinese Take-out

By Ada Chan  -  Vancouver, British Columbia

I am finally in China, a place whose bamboo flute has been beckoning me as I was growing up on the other side of the Pacific. After backpacking from Chinese city to Chinese city, my travelling shoes decides to rest in Hangzhou; its lazy West Lake and the feeling of freshly fallen rain compels me to change my itinerary to stay another day. Most travellers tend to flee from heaven’s wetness—apparent from the city’s backpacker drought --but it reminds me fondly of home with its own share of drizzle.

The KFC casts an eerie red glow in the dark night, amidst storefronts decked with colourful yet gaudy Chinese characters. Who knew fried chicken would be so popular here? Not yet completely saturated with foreign fast food joints, the streets seem to fill up with smaller family restaurants as I continue wandering further away from the city centre. After circling the block a few times, I notice a nondescript restaurant that looks a bit busier than the others and enter it; my stomach growls in anticipation.

He brings me to a table near the back of the narrow, cramped eatery. He pours me some tea as I study the menu. The television in my peripheral vision plays a drama series that features actors garbed in Ming dynasty attire. A woman I assume to be the manager is absorbed with the show, her complete attention rivets to the screen.

“Excuse me,” I call to the waiter in broken Mandarin, “Can you recommend some Hangzhou dishes? This is my first time here and I’d like to try something authentic.”

Between pouring tea and collecting dishes from nearby tables, he introduces some local sauces and dishes. Then he proceeds to mention some words for different foods I have yet to encounter in a Mandarin language class.

“What does that mean?” I ask him, uncertain of whether I am hitting the right intonation.

His eyes widens. “Where are you from?”

At once, I want to camouflage my own overseas black hair and dark eyes that are identical to those of my Chinese cousins because my fragile undercover identity is blown so suddenly. I am exposed as a lao wai, a foreigner.

“I am Jianadaren. Canadian.” I tell him.

Nodding with blatant interest, he takes my order and continues bustling about, serving and pouring tea for other patrons. Then he is by my table once more asking if I would mind if he pulls up a stool. I shake my head, smiling. The questions came at once, like firecrackers in Chinatown on Chinese New Years. What is Canada like? The scenery? The people? What about the weather?

“Well, it’s just so vast,” I answer slowly. “Like China. I don’t think I can give you one simple description for the entire country. Each region is so different from the other. But I think the weather and the look of Hangzhou is similar to Vancouver with its rain. The mountains look a bit different here though.”

He then asks about my journey. How long have I been in the area? How long have I been travelling? Where had I been around Hangzhou?

Then he is off again, worn oversized t-shirt fluttering against his small thin frame. When he returns, he carries my meal-- some kind of local squash in sweet sauce with rice. Allowing me to start on my food, he goes off clearing tables, taking orders, and coming back frequently to refill my small teacup. He comes back and sits on the rocky stool across from me asking me how I like the food recommendation. After I convince him of my satisfaction, he grins.

“I met this Australian and Singaporean on a train once,” he tells me. “They were so friendly. The man from Singapore was translating for the Australian and we chatted. Now, we write to each other.”

The waiter stands up suddenly, grabs a napkin and goes to the back of the restaurant for a while before sitting back again. He hands the napkin with Chinese scribbles to me, telling me that it is his address and asks for mine.

I squint at the scrawled characters, confirming the pronunciation of his name.

“That’s right,” he nods. “Jingjing.”

He hungrily hands me a pen and napkin on which I only jot down my email address. No, he doesn’t have email, but once he gets access he’ll contact me, he promises. I ask him if he lives in the city.

“No, I live a few hours train-ride west of Hangzhou. That’s my home address. I used to work at a garment factory back at home and then served at a few restaurants. I’m just working here for a few months. This is the farthest I’ve been away from home.”

Handing him back my napkin, I study him. Barely looking over twenty with chaotic strands of straight black hair poking into his smiling eyes, Jingjing is one of the migrant workers I have heard so much about but never met. He takes the napkin gratefully and once again hurries off as new customers step into the door.

The next moment, Jingjing hands me a worn envelope with neat Chinese script and pulls out the letter from within. Tucked in the fold of the Chinese letter is a postcard with a short brief message in English. The photo is of a white sandy beach somewhere in Australia. The image is a stark contrast from the pavement-covered dense city of Hangzhou; it seems worlds away from Asian reality. He asks me if I could translate the English.

“It was a pleasure meeting you,” I improvise. “Wishing you happiness and luck in the future.”

A couple men from the table beside mine grunts. Dressed in black Western dress pants and jacket typical of many Chinese middle-aged men, they sit amongst a half-eaten meal, smirking at us.

“Sorry to interrupt you two,” one calls over to us. “But if you have the time, we’d like some tea.”

Jingjing almost knocks the stool over when he stands up, leaving me laughing as I work on the rest of my dinner. Feeling that I was keeping him from his job, I tell him that I should go soon when he sits back down. Raising an eyebrow, he asks me why I am in a rush to go since it is raining a storm outside. I turn around to peer through the doors and see heavy rain that scatter needle shadows where the streetlights hit the pavement. People scurry past with umbrellas. I ask him how long he thinks the shower would last, remembering that I have left my umbrella in another Chinese city.

“It’ll be a few days.”

Laughing in spite of myself, I shake my head. “Just like home. But I should leave since you’re busy.”

He shakes his head, pointing out the emptying restaurant. Jingjing clear the table as I sip my tea. I ask him where he would recommend me to visit the next day if it continues to rain. His eyes brighten as he lists possible exhibits I might be interested in. Turning to the manager who finished watching her program and a couple other staff members who came out for a break, he asks for their recommendations but there doesn’t seem to be much to do in rainy Hangzhou. Jingjing has a couple of free hours the next day and he offers meet up with me if I want to spend time with him. But that is in the middle of the day and I don’t know where I would be but I thank him for his offer anyway. The staff members look at me curiously.

“I really should be off, Jingjing. How much is the meal?”

“Don’t worry about it.”

I refuse his generosity, as I know local Chinese labourers work long hard hours to pay for a simple meal. After paying an amount that can barely get me a bottle of spring water at home, I glance outside once more. The rain is still pouring down heavily and Jingjing immediately scrambles outside after hastily calling out to me “I’ll be back!” I shrug and wait for his return before preparing to set out into the dark wet night. When he eventually comes back, he hands me a newly purchased umbrella I cannot accept; yet he shoves it into my hands.

“Xie, xie,” I say, thanking him. I awkwardly stand up to leave.

“Keep in touch.” Jingjing calls to me. “Zai jian. See you.”

Half-waving an awkward Mao salute, I walk outside with the Made in Hangzhou umbrella in hand and is soon enveloped in the black Chinese downpour.

Background Information:

Once upon a time, a stranger gave Ada Chan an ultimatum that she was either Chinese or Japanese.  Since, she begin to contemplate her identity as a Chinese Canadian more seriously.  After graduating from SFU with a BA in Communications , she learned Mandarin in Beijing, and backpacked around China and Japan.  More recently, she worked in South Africa for Fair Trade in Tourism SA, an NGO that certifies tourism establishments with its label.

Constantly working hard to live a full life, Ada spends her days dreaming of breaking stereotypes and traveling around the world.