the Hell of a Thousand Eggrolls
We greeted him the way we had a hundred times before, but this time he touched A. on the shoulder and whispered, "You may call me Chang."
Uncomfortable with all things homosexual (with the exception of me), A. shrugged off Chang's hand, then quickly recovered himself. His face split with a goofy gap-toothed grin of insincerity. A. wished our waiter a happy new year. I try to avoid eye contact with the wait staff of the Hunan because I fear what I will see there, be it madness or desire. We ordered our drinks, increasing the visit's strangeness by reversing roles - I ordered the Fogcutter, while A. started out with a Scorpion.
Then we awaited the inevitable eggrolls.
Admittedly, I have been a patron of the Hunan since my childhood. One of my fondest memories involving my dog was the time we spent together on Saturday nights. My parents would go out to see a movie while I blew the afternoons checking out cocks in my dad's impressive triple-X magazine collection or masturbating to the double penetration scene in The Devil in Miss Jones (I was fascinated by the way the two penes almost touch). Come dinner time, I would order carry-out from the Hunan (my usual beef and broccoli) and corral my ever-excited pooch into the car. We drove the entire way with the windows down. She loved to stand perched on the passenger-side sill, her head out the window, feeling the wind on her face, smelling the strange scents in the air, and eyeballing an outside world she otherwise never saw. It was a brief trip, at most ten minutes to get there, but it was a special time for the two of us. It was our secret ritual. One of many for me.
And, being the perpetual optimist (or glutton), she never gave up hope that someday she might steal a taste of the mysterious contents of that redolent brown paper bag for which we traveled so far.
Not counting the seven years I spent in California, I probably have been a patron of the Hunan for about a decade. But the eggroll phenomenon seems confined to the last year and a half, during which A. and I became very regular customers.
It began sometime after the break-up of Boy Bünd. A. and I continued our Friday movie nights even in the absence of our ex-bandmates, and quite frequently the Hunan was the preferred dining spot due to its plethora of cheaply priced mixed drinks. One night, I grew weary of my 'usual' (the moo goo gai pan family dinner, which included soup, eggroll and almond cookie with the price of the main course). I opted for some entree not found among those on the family dinner menu. Yet, when the time came, the waiter delivered two eggrolls - one with A.'s meal and an additional one for myself. At first, we took it to be some sort of mistake, but I had consumed enough alcohol to spare it no further thought.
Only, the 'mistakes' continued with each subsequent visit. It did not matter what I ordered - I would always receive a complimentary eggroll. It did not even matter if I came with A. The waiter would recognize me and bring my entire party complimentary eggrolls. Gradually, it became clear that this was a deliberate choice on their part, some way of showing appreciation for my fairly regular patronage. A. and I rationalized that the money they made on our legion libations more than compensated for a few free eggrolls. Nevertheless, it brought with it a curious sense of discomfort. What was the intangible price of this eggroll? Was I obligated to be more effusive in my thanks? To leave a larger tip? To always consume a minimum of three alcoholic beverages?
It was shades of the cashier at the Ashburn Taco Bell who insisted on giving me, and only me, the supersized plastic cup regardless of my meal order. I played it off with my coworkers, making a big show to distract them from my relative discomfort. Why did he always single me out over them, even when we ordered the exact same combo? Am I really so deserving? Am I simply that attractive?
Last night, things were taken further than ever before. A. and I ordered our drinks and awaited the inexorable eggrolls. They came and they were consumed, as per usual. They were, however, followed by a complimentary plate of fried noodles (something that the Hunan does not serve in the absence of soup). We consumed those, while smiling knowingly at one another. Ten minutes later, A.'s soup arrived along with a second plate of fried noodles and, more importantly, a second bowl of soup.
"You want hot and sour soup, eh?" Chang smiled, before setting the unordered appetizer in front of me.
I thanked him and then shot a look at A., who subsequently teased me about the undue affection that was payed me.
"Or maybe he just thinks you need to eat more?"
The annoying thing being that I do not eat hot and sour soup, having achieved a level of satisfaction (approaching bliss) with the wonton. But because it was a gift, I felt obligated to give it a go. I choked down about half the bowl before announcing that I had fulfilled my obligation. I barely had a chance to push the dish away from me before Chang reappeared in a puff of smoke (possibly just steam from the kitchen).
"You done?" he asked.
I smiled, "Sure... yes. Thank you."
He set down two more eggrolls in front of us.
This was insane. Confucious say: "One complimentary eggroll is gratiously accepted. Two eggrolls constitute a most generous bounty. Four is pushing it a little." Besides that, there is one small detail I neglected to mention:
I don't like eggrolls.
For a year and a half now, I have consumed these damned things because they were given to me free of charge. Somehow, that places even greater obligation than if I had legitimately paid for them. While I know all Asian cultures are not created alike, I do not fancy the image of my server reacting to such a refusal with ritualized suicide. I come expecting commerce and instead find myself graciously accepting gifts.
So, for a year an a half, I have refined my ability eat eggrolls. Or at least give the appearance of doing so. The trick is duck sauce, which makes the taste somewhat tolerable. I slice off the ends of the roll and spread the shredded entrails around my plate. Typically, I can get away with consuming one quarter while giving the appearance of eating more than half. Still, the process is a constant source of irritation.
When I go to a restaurant it is with deliberate intent. I enter and order what I want. If I wanted an almond cookie, I would order an almond cookie. If I wanted soup, I would order soup. If I wanted a fucking goney banana (whatever in the hell that is), I would order a goney banana. And if I wanted a cavalcade of eggrolls marched out to my table between each course of my meal, I would demand such.
I hate eggrolls and yet I am doomed by my own misguided sense of etiquette to consume them every visit. And now they seem to be breeding.
We waited until the waiter turned his back, then A. scooped up my eggroll and greedily devoured it. He was delighted. The combination of getting something--anything--for free and the seemingly endless supply of food (or, to be more precise, eggrolls) was the closest A. expects to come to Heaven.
While for me, it was nothing short of Hell.
Uncomfortable with all things homosexual (with the exception of me), A. shrugged off Chang's hand, then quickly recovered himself. His face split with a goofy gap-toothed grin of insincerity. A. wished our waiter a happy new year. I try to avoid eye contact with the wait staff of the Hunan because I fear what I will see there, be it madness or desire. We ordered our drinks, increasing the visit's strangeness by reversing roles - I ordered the Fogcutter, while A. started out with a Scorpion.
Then we awaited the inevitable eggrolls.
Admittedly, I have been a patron of the Hunan since my childhood. One of my fondest memories involving my dog was the time we spent together on Saturday nights. My parents would go out to see a movie while I blew the afternoons checking out cocks in my dad's impressive triple-X magazine collection or masturbating to the double penetration scene in The Devil in Miss Jones (I was fascinated by the way the two penes almost touch). Come dinner time, I would order carry-out from the Hunan (my usual beef and broccoli) and corral my ever-excited pooch into the car. We drove the entire way with the windows down. She loved to stand perched on the passenger-side sill, her head out the window, feeling the wind on her face, smelling the strange scents in the air, and eyeballing an outside world she otherwise never saw. It was a brief trip, at most ten minutes to get there, but it was a special time for the two of us. It was our secret ritual. One of many for me.
And, being the perpetual optimist (or glutton), she never gave up hope that someday she might steal a taste of the mysterious contents of that redolent brown paper bag for which we traveled so far.
Not counting the seven years I spent in California, I probably have been a patron of the Hunan for about a decade. But the eggroll phenomenon seems confined to the last year and a half, during which A. and I became very regular customers.
It began sometime after the break-up of Boy Bünd. A. and I continued our Friday movie nights even in the absence of our ex-bandmates, and quite frequently the Hunan was the preferred dining spot due to its plethora of cheaply priced mixed drinks. One night, I grew weary of my 'usual' (the moo goo gai pan family dinner, which included soup, eggroll and almond cookie with the price of the main course). I opted for some entree not found among those on the family dinner menu. Yet, when the time came, the waiter delivered two eggrolls - one with A.'s meal and an additional one for myself. At first, we took it to be some sort of mistake, but I had consumed enough alcohol to spare it no further thought.
Only, the 'mistakes' continued with each subsequent visit. It did not matter what I ordered - I would always receive a complimentary eggroll. It did not even matter if I came with A. The waiter would recognize me and bring my entire party complimentary eggrolls. Gradually, it became clear that this was a deliberate choice on their part, some way of showing appreciation for my fairly regular patronage. A. and I rationalized that the money they made on our legion libations more than compensated for a few free eggrolls. Nevertheless, it brought with it a curious sense of discomfort. What was the intangible price of this eggroll? Was I obligated to be more effusive in my thanks? To leave a larger tip? To always consume a minimum of three alcoholic beverages?
It was shades of the cashier at the Ashburn Taco Bell who insisted on giving me, and only me, the supersized plastic cup regardless of my meal order. I played it off with my coworkers, making a big show to distract them from my relative discomfort. Why did he always single me out over them, even when we ordered the exact same combo? Am I really so deserving? Am I simply that attractive?
Last night, things were taken further than ever before. A. and I ordered our drinks and awaited the inexorable eggrolls. They came and they were consumed, as per usual. They were, however, followed by a complimentary plate of fried noodles (something that the Hunan does not serve in the absence of soup). We consumed those, while smiling knowingly at one another. Ten minutes later, A.'s soup arrived along with a second plate of fried noodles and, more importantly, a second bowl of soup.
"You want hot and sour soup, eh?" Chang smiled, before setting the unordered appetizer in front of me.
I thanked him and then shot a look at A., who subsequently teased me about the undue affection that was payed me.
"Or maybe he just thinks you need to eat more?"
The annoying thing being that I do not eat hot and sour soup, having achieved a level of satisfaction (approaching bliss) with the wonton. But because it was a gift, I felt obligated to give it a go. I choked down about half the bowl before announcing that I had fulfilled my obligation. I barely had a chance to push the dish away from me before Chang reappeared in a puff of smoke (possibly just steam from the kitchen).
"You done?" he asked.
I smiled, "Sure... yes. Thank you."
He set down two more eggrolls in front of us.
This was insane. Confucious say: "One complimentary eggroll is gratiously accepted. Two eggrolls constitute a most generous bounty. Four is pushing it a little." Besides that, there is one small detail I neglected to mention:
I don't like eggrolls.
For a year and a half now, I have consumed these damned things because they were given to me free of charge. Somehow, that places even greater obligation than if I had legitimately paid for them. While I know all Asian cultures are not created alike, I do not fancy the image of my server reacting to such a refusal with ritualized suicide. I come expecting commerce and instead find myself graciously accepting gifts.
So, for a year an a half, I have refined my ability eat eggrolls. Or at least give the appearance of doing so. The trick is duck sauce, which makes the taste somewhat tolerable. I slice off the ends of the roll and spread the shredded entrails around my plate. Typically, I can get away with consuming one quarter while giving the appearance of eating more than half. Still, the process is a constant source of irritation.
When I go to a restaurant it is with deliberate intent. I enter and order what I want. If I wanted an almond cookie, I would order an almond cookie. If I wanted soup, I would order soup. If I wanted a fucking goney banana (whatever in the hell that is), I would order a goney banana. And if I wanted a cavalcade of eggrolls marched out to my table between each course of my meal, I would demand such.
I hate eggrolls and yet I am doomed by my own misguided sense of etiquette to consume them every visit. And now they seem to be breeding.
We waited until the waiter turned his back, then A. scooped up my eggroll and greedily devoured it. He was delighted. The combination of getting something--anything--for free and the seemingly endless supply of food (or, to be more precise, eggrolls) was the closest A. expects to come to Heaven.
While for me, it was nothing short of Hell.