Conversation with a Chinese restaurateur in a west central Mississippi town

Running down the road in Clarksdale, Mississippi, I screeched to a halt (felt like Rroad Runner) when I passed by a Chinese restaurant with the odd name Rice Bowl (in Chinese it was Fànwǎn lóu 饭碗楼 — the only characters I saw on the premises).  It was a tiny, nondescript establishment, with six or so chairs against the walls where you sat while you waited for your order to be prepared.  Most people, however, stood in line or just came in to pick up what they had ordered over the phone.

The owner did a brisk business, but it was strictly take out.  There were about 8 spaces for cars to park outside, though they were constantly coming and going.

The clientele was 100% Black Americans.  About half of them ordered egg rolls ($1.75 each), a quarter fried rice, and the remainder a predictable mix of standard American Chinese dishes (e.g., General Tso's Chicken, Moo Goo Gai Pan, etc.).  I wasted not one second on further scrutinizing the menu as soon as I spotted the Egg Foo Young.  There were several reasons for my hasty choice.  First of all, I hadn't tasted it for a long, long time.  Secondly, Egg Foo Young was my first exposure to "serious" Chinese cuisine.  It wasn't La Choy and it wasn't Chun King, i.e., it didn't come out of a can:

The only exception was that once a year our Mom would alternate taking one of the seven siblings to the big city of Canton (population about eighty thousand) five miles to the west and would treat us to a Chinese restaurant meal.  I think the owners were the only Chinese in the city.  The two things that impressed me most were how dark and mysterious the room was in the unmarked, old house where the restaurant was located, and how the egg foo young (and I just loved the sound of that name!), which was so much better than the canned chicken chow mein we ate at home, was served to us on a fancy, footed platter with a silver cover.  It was always a very special moment when the waiter uncovered the egg foo young and I smelled its extraordinary aroma.

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After about 10-15 minutes, the Rice Bowl owner called out, "Egg Foo Young".  I walked up to the counter and said a few words in Mandarin to the owner as I picked up my order.  She was amazed.  "You speak Chinese?", she asked in English.  "Yes," I replied. "Nǐ huì bù huì jiāng pǔtōnghuà? 你会不会将普通话?"  "Not really," she answered in English.  "I speak Cantonese."  So I said a few words to her in Cantonese.  She was stunned, but after she had collected her senses, she asked, "Have you been to China?"  "Yes, a hundred times."  

That left the owner speechless.  So I repeated it in Mandarin and Cantonese.

Her eyeballs were glued to the back of their sockets and she seemed no longer able to breathe.

The owner had lots of other customers to take care of, so I thought it was time for me to leave.

"Zàijiàn / baai1baai3", I bid adieu.

 

P.S.:  The owner's actions were not unexpected.  In the many years she had been running that bustling, little take-out joint in Clarksdale, Mississippi, I doubt that she had ever seen a white man come in, certainly not one who spoke to her in Mandarin and Cantonese.

 

Selected readings

"General Tso's chikin" (6/11/13)

"General Chicken" (8/8/15)

"Chinese Philadelphia Food" (5/6/04)

"Chow mein from a can ≠ chǎomiàn / caau2min6 from a wok" (8/21/17)