Chinese Food Translation

I’m sitting down at a table at Xing Long Chinese restaurant facing the window that looks out over Madison Ave. I’m on the far right of this mini-plaza-type establishment which also has a Dunkin’ Donuts and a Subway. The chair is plastic, yet it’s oddly comfortable. Mostly.

The neon sign above me simply says “Chinese Food.” No false advertising there.


Colors and Cars

It’s Sunday evening, right around sunset, but it’s also cloudy so the sky is purple turning black or a midnight blue. What I can see of the sky is beautiful. Outside on the sidewalk there are not too many pedestrians are out, since it’s getting dark. I catch a jogger running on by. It’s not late enough for a party to start or anything, so no packs of students. Otherwise, cars and the occasional CDTA bus drive on.

The place is decently lit. The floor has a geometric pattern with beach color tiles: off-white, tan, pink, and a dark green. Not what I would personally use, but perhaps people don’t care enough to notice. They only stay around long enough to walk in and out. There are green plants everywhere, both in the window and hanging plants as well. The table and chairs are a metallic gray. Brown soy sauce is spilled on a table with white napkins on the table left behind.

Each place has its own set of colors. Perhaps so it’s easy to identify the place quickly. Xing Long has major colors are red and gold from all the traditional decorations hung around the section and the neon sign above is purple and red. It’s all royal colors. Subway’s colors are white, yellow and green. The green makes sense as it maybe like lettuce. Then the white and yellow should be bread and/or sauces. Maybe. I don’t know. The Dunkin’ Donut colors: Pink, white and orange which includes their neon sign. The orange is the donut. And the white is the frosting, and the pink—is the jelly?

I’ve spent too much time thinking about this, but I never really had time to think about it until now.


Convenience

Outside to my left is some cleaners and then TrustCo bank.

The day before my freshman year starts, my parents and I go to open a bank account. Few hours later, a failed robbery leads to a suicide of the robber.

On the right, there is the local police station where Madison Ave. meets and parts from Western Ave. Beyond that is the Pine Hills Public Library, with a Citizens Bank. Across the street is the Mobil station. I thought they all became Mobil-Exxons. Then to my right are the student-dubbed ‘Ghetto’ Price Chopper (because the better one is in Guilderland), then the Muddy Cup, Madison Theatre and then the CVS before hitting Saint Rose.

I have no idea what’s behind this place outside some of houses, and I’ve been in Albany for two years.

This is right near the college, so everything is in a stumbling-drunk-frat-boy’s reach. The plaza is in an in-between area where the college town hits the residential. It isn’t downtown, but it isn’t suburbia just yet.


Conscious, Self

Outside of one old creepy guy, I am okay. With the flannel shirt, the earth tones and everything, he looks too much like a stereotypical beggar to be real. I’m kind of stressed because this is a break from working on the student paper. This my first time doing layout, so I’m a bit anxious. But I’m always neurotic. I think people think I’m just studying—without books. I catch some short glances, the way you do when you orient your self in a place. Otherwise, people are too busy ordering, engrossed in their own conversation, or studying.

I’m a bit jittery because I’m cold and a moron. I’m wearing a hoodie, t-shirt and jeans, and the place is only a little heated. Did not really plan this out.

I order my food and get a drink. I think one of high school girls manning the register is a little pissed I’m not paying in cash, because she made a face when I took out my card. But they don’t mind too much. The price has gone up a little since I came here last.


Cacophony

The hum of low playing radio is mixing with quiet conversations making a lot of noise unintelligible, and you can’t really hear anything from outside. The telephone from Xing Long is ringing, and it’s really high-pitched. The hums of the heater joins in.

The radio from Dunkin Donuts isn’t helping either. Is it 80’s music? And what I do hear is just some small talk and ordering. From Xing Long, the two cashier girls are occasionally arguing but fooling around when not manning the register. I also have bad hearing, so maybe it’s just me. I do feel like I don’t know what’s going on with all this low-level sound.


Customers

Most of the customers seem to be wearing the same type of outfit. Hoodie or a wool coat, jeans in ‘Wal-Mart’ blue and no-name sneakers. A few people stand out but barely, like two high school girls gossiping, and two middle aged-women possibly doing the same. There’s also this slightly punk guy near me. Lots of couples come in, and only a few people come in alone. The only other interesting thing is that one ordering that has a rat-tail. That didn’t even look good when it was fashionable.

An old homless guy walks in. He's trying to order from Xing Long

"I only have 8.50," he says moving on the Subway counter.

I assumed he didn’t have any money; he does, but it only a little. I shouldn’t have assumed he was homeless, but I can’t shake being a little weird-ed out by him. The beard is not helping. The old guy’s beard reminds me of my 8th grade Honors Earth Science teacher, Mt. Petri. His beard seem to have a life it’s own. His jaw moves like normal when he chews but the beard is not.

Tonight seems slow, at most, there are only ten people in here at a time, outside of the people who work here. There are people sitting near me, but not really close. There are not a lot of people in tonight, since its Sunday, and like a movie theatre, there’s not reason to sit too close if you don’t have to. Outside of that, with the combination of people not staying too long, people seem to blend to each other.


Conversation

I think two girls at the counter are talking in Chinese. Or something else. I really should know, because there is a difference between Chinese, Korean and Japanese-Americans. I grew up with a lot of Asian-American friends, so I try to be aware of these things. I mean, I don’t like to be rude. Up here, I think their family is the only Asian family around.

(The lines can blur, as I remember an article from the Times that speculated that the Chinese Fortune Cookie was actually created by Japanese-American immigrants.)

Occasionally, they interject with English. Like, a “Shut up.” Their English is perfect, and the Chinese is really sharp and quick staccato that seems like yelling at times. Sometimes they’re laughing at something or each other. From what I understand from the tone and being here before, the two girls seem to be sisters, so some simple sister-bonding and sibling rivalry stuff. Occasionally they’ll yell back to their dad, one of the other cooks in the back.

I’ve seen most of the family that owns the restaurant, with the dad running the franchise. Their dad is short, about my height, and I’m not sure how much English he knows, perhaps less than his kids. Have I seen their mother? I may have seen their mother, but she’s as tall as her ‘daughters’ and doesn’t look that old. I can’t really remember.


Comfort Food

I can only really smell the Chinese food, and barely. I think I have a perpetual stuffy nose. I cannot find away to describe the taste of Chinese food, its nice mix of spicy and sweet at the same time. I’m completely aware that this is not ‘real’ Chinese food. It’s real American Chinese Food, and that’s about it. Still love it.

The Styrofoam container is soft, although it feels annoying scraping against my finger nails. The food is also hot, even through the foam, and it’s also hot in the beginning when I start eating. I got Sesame Chicken and Pork Fried Rice. The chicken is brown-orange. The fried rice is yellow with red pork, white onions and green broccoli. Those will be thrown out and-- got some sticky sauce on my fingers. It took me five to ten minutes to get my food and pay, and about thirty to forty-five minutes to eat it. Near the end I think to myself, “Alas, dinner, you have gotten cold, and now bad.” I hold the container the skull from Hamlet before I throw it out.

I usually switch between the Sesame chicken and the fried/steamed dumplings, when I get Chinese food. I took me a while to go from plain white rice to pork fried rice.

I feel like I’m in a waiting room. The awkward colors, the layout of the tiles, the plants and the lack of any real sound all add up to that. Which may be the point. One point, this place used to just be one of the better places to get Chinese food for me. All the other places have horrible rice. But staying here during the summer, this place was a godsend and I treated myself getting Chinese food on Fridays and Saturdays. So I like this place despite itself.

One of the other reasons I come here is because it reminds me of the Chinese Takeout place back home. The pictures for the platters on the menu are the same as the one back on Long Island. I think a lot of Chinese restaurants use the same kind of menu. Although I’m not sure either place remembers me even though I used to come regularly



Change

Xing Long has a tipping thing that looks like a miniature waterfall. It has a few pennies in it and an abandoned Tootsie Roll pop. The Snapple Kiwi Strawberry Ice Tea I’m drinking has a Koala on it. I’ve gone from Asia to Australia with out even getting up.