You Must Remember This

Chapter 13: Water, Water Everywhere

Even before stepping inside, Regina always adored the appearance of the Waterfront Pavilion, the dim sum restaurant Juliet's family owned. She loved the fountain in front with lily pads and koi, the red-and-gold hues of the building, the Chinese name plastered in similar gold lettering, and the line stretching out the door. She had a table for two already reserved, so all she needed to do was wait for Tom, and then they could sneak past the line with quiet apologies and go right on in. Regina's parents had misgivings about her choice of restaurant, having appraised Tom the first time they all met as cordial, if unadventurous; couldn't she have gone for pancakes or something? There was nothing wrong with a good old-fashioned breakfast of hash browns, poached eggs, and sizzling bacon in their mind, but Tom was so nice in letting Regina choose where they went to eat, and the last thing she wanted to do was waste a good opportunity.

Regina discovered a few facts about Tom quite quickly at brunch, soon after Tom showed up fashionably late to the restaurant. For one, Tom did not know how to use chopsticks. Or, he did, but his skill was limited to stabbing the food he wanted to pick up. Before he could massacre a char siu bun, Regina had to politely lean over and explain how to use them correctly, showing with hers how they moved together. After about thirty seconds of Tom trying all angles of attack to pick up the aforementioned char siu bun, she politely suggested he use the fork a kind waiter presented him.

Tom also had no idea what he was eating or why. Tom simplified the dishes he was eating into a few different types. There were the bread things, which generally had a white, fluffy exterior or maybe a sticky, translucent casing, inside which there were blobs of paste that were pork, shrimp, or some combination thereof—he really could not remember. There were also rolls or something of the sort that were wrapped in a type of pasta, he assumed; these tasted pretty good. Tom's culinary expertise perhaps did not extend much to Asia, but at the very least he ate out frequently and was not a picky eater; he took some pride in being a good sport and trying everything, even enjoying most of what he ate.

The chicken feet were a tougher sell: Regina said they were called "phoenix claws," which seemed to Tom like one of those schemes parents used to get kids to eat their vegetables. He did not like the idea of playing with his food, which refused to obey his fork, and they did not taste like chicken or what he imagined phoenix to taste like.

"How do you like the food?" Regina asked warily. Even though she could see Tom was smiling, she was still concerned: if his jolly exterior concealed some inner disgust, he may not let her pick where they ate ever again.

"It's all very good. Very exotic," he commented in between mouthfuls, and Regina politely laughed. She didn't think anyone else around them would consider the food "exotic," but Tom was most certainly entitled to his own opinion.

"I'm not sure if that's how I would describe it, but I do agree, it's quite good."

"So is this like a standard Sunday brunch sort of thing?" Tom asked with curious eyes. His dad would love this place.

"Kind of. Well, not always, but at least once a month," she explained, trailing off when she saw Tom more interested in the bamboo steamer than her. As Tom began to get into the rhythm of eating the new foods that Regina seemed comfortable with, he took a moment to look around the bustling restaurant, admiring the owners' panache to have lobster tanks and old ladies pushing carts instead of traditional service. He also remembered that Juliet's family owned the restaurant, and he smiled at how humble their story must be (he'd have changed this reaction had he known that this was one of a chain of equally bustling restaurants, which combined made Juliet's family quite well-off by his standards). He wondered if Juliet would show up in an apron right out of the kitchen, grease stains and all, asking how they enjoyed the food that she had made. When he got up to go find the restroom, he couldn't help but laugh at the winding path he had to navigate to get there, past waiters giving him the stink-eye for walking too slowly and the décor that seemed too fancy for an ethnic restaurant. He second-guessed that latter observation when he came back to his seat and looked at the menu with prices listed: this was well within his budget, but he expected a Panda Express level of bargain.