I remain the noodleman
There is a very tiny (2 tables) Chinese restaurant near the college where my wife has worked for the last 6 years. Every time I’ve visited her at work in that time and needed a meal, I’ve stopped at this Chinese place for the food.
And, I always get the same thing: noodles with peanut sauce and pan fried dumplings.
By 2009 I had gone enough that they know me.
But, since working farther away for the last 3 years, I haven’t gone as much.
Tonight they proved they still know me.
I picked my wife up at work, and she called in our order.
I walked in to get it, and the woman that works there didn’t say a thing, but smiled a big smile.
When it was my turn, without saying anything, she handed me a bag of food and began to ring it up. I didn’t have to give a name, number or anything else. She clearly knew what my order would be.
Then, she stopped.
“These are steamed dumplings!” she said. “You like pan fried dumplings! Have you changed what kind of dumpling you like?”
“No, I still like pan fried dumplings,” I said.
She took the bag back and walked over to the cooking area. She looked at the slip written on the counter, nodded and then began to scream at the cook in Chinese.
“Wait!” I said. “I don’t want to cause trouble. I can take steamed dumplings.”
“NO!” She yelled at me. “YOU DID NOT GET THE ORDER WRONG!”
The berating in Chinese resumed.
He pan fried my dumplings.
At some places I’d worry that maybe something wasn’t done right with the food in a case like that. But, given the way she watched him pan fry my dumplings, and the fresh oil she made him put in the wok, I think I’m safe.
I feel bad for the guy yelled at.
But, I can’t deny, I wanted pan fried dumplings.