Chinese Take-Out

There is a certain allure to Chinese take-out. Movies and television shows are filled with images of conference and coffee tables littered with open, stained Chinese take-out food containers. The characters sit among a sea of these containers, digging in with chopsticks, and talking with their mouths full. In fact scenes like this pepper so many movies, they are almost obligatory, heralding some shift in the relationship, some special bonding moment, some change about to happen in the glow of a late night work session.

Whenever I see these scenes I am filled with longing and wonder; what’s in there? What are they eating?  You rarely actually see the food, maybe an occasion noodle or chunk of meat, but the food is merely a prop, despite the attention I give it. I suppose these containers are easily recognizable, and fairly generic at the same time. If I were working on cracking a murder case well into the night with George Clooney, or Matt Damon I’d want to order Chinese take-out too! No doubt it would help solve the case, and make them fall in love with me at the same time, and I’d get to order my favorite food at the company’s expense—jackpot!

In reality I live in Philadelphia where the Chinese take-out is generally disappointing, though I hear from my NYC friends that most of the Chinese restaurants that were once everywhere are disappearing rapidly, being replaced by Starbucks, and expensive brick-oven pizza palaces that will fork over sky high rent. Despite my reality, I keep ordering take-out, hoping that this time will be different, this meal will satisfy my longing. On Sunday I was feeling lousy, and didn’t want to cook, so we placed our order, and nothing matched my fantasy.

It is likely I’d be better served ordering things I don’t have specific and particular fondness for, or perhaps it’s time I just give up. When I first started writing this blog I wrote about my sadness that I have been unable to find the delectable Szechuan dumplings in spicy peanut sauce I loved to eat when I lived in NYC. To be clear, there is good Chinese food in Philadelphia, it’s just not found in the numerous places that deliver. After my sad meal Sunday night I started thinking about the gap between my fantasy Chinese meal, and reality. What do I hope, think, believe is in those late-night, law-firm take-out containers?

There must be dumplings, not Szechuan dumplings, but really good fried dumplings like they have at Lee How Fook here in Philadelphia. The cold peanut noodles would be from a place I used to go to at Bleeker and 3rd in New York, they were spicy and just a little sweet (unusual and a great surprise).  I’d like some eggplant with garlic sauce. We often see people eating noodles from those containers, and though I’d prefer some duck chow fun from Sam Wo’s (now defunct) it’s more likely my colleagues would want some type of lo mein which I’d be OK with as long as the noodles aren’t overcooked! We are on a Hollywood set, so nothing too messy or saucy, which is a shame, as that means no shrimp in lobster sauce, which though you may think of as a thick gloppy dish, if it’s made properly is lovely; delicate and eggy with bits of pork, and a luscious sauce, but that’s out. Instead we’ll go with one of my all-time favorite dishes orange-flavor beef, made with big chunks of beef, red Szechuan peppers and real orange zest. Finally, a duck dish, maybe some wor shu opp, a fried duck dish topped with crushed almonds in a brown sauce—another throwback from my childhood we used to eat at a place on Mott St. up a flight of stairs (also long gone).

Even as I write this I am struck by so many memories of times, people and places long gone. Each of those dishes evokes a memory of  a meal with a friend or my family, over the years. I grew up on Chinese food in the red leather booths of the Chinese restaurants of Long Island, our numerous trips to Chinatown in New York, as well as take out eaten at home, though in those days we ordered, and my dad would drive to pick it up. We had Chinese food almost every Sunday night of my early childhood. Maybe it is those meals I am trying to re-create. Meals spent with my parents, my brother and me in our pajamas, watching the Wonderful World of Disney and eating Chinese take-out.  As I write this I am struck by the memory of the last meal my family ate the night my mother died, suddenly, and shortly after my seventh birthday. Almost exactly forty-nine years ago. The way brains work amazes me. I didn’t begin this post thinking of my mother, gone from my life for so many years, and yet, here is where the trail of my considerings has brought me. To a dinner of Chinese take-out eaten so long ago, on a night my life would change dramatically and forever.