Happy New Year . . . In Bed

I love Chinese food. I spent a few years living abroad and wanted desperately to be able to pick up a phone and order delicious, deep fried chicken balls (with more ball than chicken), egg rolls (with more rolls than egg) and create a fried rice river in between, covering the entire plate and half the counter with cherry sauce. And I really and truly think that fortune cookies are sweet little tulips from heaven. Not to mention, all your fortunes are to take place in bed. Mmm. That’s what I call a good Friday night.

I was sad to discover while in China, that this isn’t real Chinese food. “Where are your deep fried shrimp and ginger beef?” I demanded to a stoic-faced lady in Beijing. She stared me down and threw stuff in a boiling pot for me to eat. Boiled! Hell no. I want fried. Deep fried. Deeeeeeeeeeep fried. I begrudgingly ate it and, though I didn’t show as much to old Stone Face, I liked it. But I didn’t love it like I love Canadian Chinese food.

One could look back into Canadian history and discover the reasons behind our savory, unique cuisine. But I don’t want to. I want to open the circular tin dish and have visions of dancing dragons in my head. I want to crack open my fortune cookie and read that my life will never be without wonton soup. I want to down my pork-fried vegetables, rub my belly, and thank Confucious for thy bounty.

My favorite Chinese restaurant is just around the block from where I live. I can get a dinner for one plus a small wonton soup and eat it for four days. It costs me $15 and nine seconds of my time to pick it up. The family who runs the restaurant is all smiles when you walk in, but turn on each other when it comes down to business. I made the mistake of asking for hot sauce and witnessed what could be classified as acute domestic abuse. The boy behind the counter, the owners’ son, looks mournfully at his congealed Shanghai noodles and paused computer game knowing, as he does every other night of the week, the fun times end when dinner time begins.

But not for me.

Chinese New Year is here. 2008 is the Year of the Rat. Rats are compatible with those born year of the Monkey. I am a monkey. It’s going be a good year for eating. I can taste it already. Maybe I’ll buy many dinners for one and a large wonton soup, and invite over some friends. We will unscrew the legs off an easy-to-assemble table from Cymax; perhaps a table from American Drew Dining Room Furniture, Stanley Dining Room Furniture, Standard Furniture Co., Pulaski Dining Room Furniture, GAR Tables or Hillsdale. We will gleefully pass the Chicken Chow Mein and the Lo Mein and not know which is which. We will laugh at our (mis)fortune cookies and lick the soy sauce off our fingers. We will drink Tsingtao and toast to being as rat-like as we can for the next 365 days.

In bed.