A Light Bulb Moment

I woke up this morning with a single thought burning in my mind. You cannot control others - not how they treat you, nor how they behave in general. All you can control is yourself, your own behavior and your own treatment of others. And I suppose, at the end of the day, if you can defend your own behavior - if you can be proud of it - then that's all that matters.

Hmmm...somehow I feel as if a little weight has been lifted off my shoulders.

Searched for something remotely comparable to the BBQ Pork Wonton Noodle in Soup from Kam Gok Yuen in Vancouver's China town today. This is a soup I have been eating since I was child with curly red pigtails and it is literally heaven sent. The meat is tender and succulent, the wontons firm and flavorful, the vegetables in abundance and the broth rich and filling. And all of this for only about five dollars - still to this day and cash only. Eating it is not only a taste delight, but it also harkens fond memories of family dinners presided over my late grandmother.

I remember walking through China town up East Pender Street on Sunday evenings with my family: cousins, grandmother, aunt and uncle. The kids would run ahead pressing our noses against the glass of the little shops, poking around inside and marvelling at all the curiosities: the Made In China toys and fans, wicker furniture, musical instruments and battery operated robots...the sorts of things found only in a classic China town store. I remember the sound of the shop keepers pulling closed the metal grates of their stores as they ended their business day, and I remember the glistening barbequed meats, sausages and poultry in the windows of the restaurants and I remember the steam pouring out of Kam Gok Yuen as the door opened. Inside defines the notion of no-frills: formica tables and mismatched chairs, cracked and chipped dishes with the ubiquitous pink chinese flowers, plain white tea pots and paper napkins. There is no ambiance at this soup kitchen - the wait staff is yelling at eachother in Cantonese, the chefs yelling out the orders as they come up, and every table bursting with extended Chinese families yelling at eachother. And everywhere there is a bustle: waitresses, busboys, children running around underfoot. The restaurant is packed every hour that it is open - a constant stream of people.

There is lots more on the menu other than soup...but funnily enough we never ordered anything else. Sometimes BBQ Duck instead of Pork, and I suppose when we were small we would just have the wontons with no meat at all - but always soup. Actually I lie...our parents would always order several plates of Gai Lan - a stir fried chinese green vegetable drizzled with hoi sin, a lovely salty-sweet sauce that would fool even the most veggie hating child and have them scarfing down platefuls despite themselves.

I always chuckle to myself when (especially in China) I am asked if I require a fork instead of chopsticks. I remember those dinners, when my chin barely cleared the table top, fumbling with the heavy chopsticks. Half my dinner wound up on the table. But I worked out those kinks pretty quick - that soup is too good to waste. You know, I don't recall our parents ever suggesting forks for the kids but we're all better for it - meh, I suppose if worse came to worse we could always spear the wontons.

And then I remember coming back out into the street in the twilight, and strolling back to our cars. I remember full bellies and laughing and tormenting our cousins and then home to footie PJs and the Wonderful World Of Disney, The Muppet Show and Fraggle Rock. Yup, we were certainly deprived as children, we were. The irony of course is that this place...the site of some of my fondest childhood memories...is also one of the poorest and miserable areas of Vancouver. Walking around Pender there are junkies and homeless people everywhere - discarded needles, and used condoms. They must have been there when I was little...they must have been. But while I remember a lot of things from those Sunday evenings...that I don't remember. I don't know if that would be best described as childhood innocence or ignorance. But I suppose that is a topic best left for another time.

I have digressed so far now to return to my original point doesn't seem very germane but I will for the sake of closure. I searched for a soup comparable but alas, Alberta continues to disappoint in that regard. We found a strip of soup kitchens, though the one we chose wound up not being truly Chinese. They had a nod to the wonton, but as the menu seemed primarily vietnamese, we decided to go with the pho. It was edible - good but not great. We'll keep working our way through the block though...I did see a "wonton house" that might have promise. The memories won't be there...but perhaps I'll find the flavor.