.
Her skin is white as snow, as smooth as moonskin, as delicate as those little cakes they make to worship the mid-autumn month. The lunar girl. The Lady and her tavern of gold, framed by the evening’s dying sun.
And now it is night, and winter is here and it is cold. Yet light remains from within. The Lady keeps her place of business warm with fire and candlelight. A guest must never go cold here.
Already there are two waiting to sup, early to dine. Hungry souls. One tells you God does not exist, he quite insists. The world can move well enough on its own. The other tells you there is no God but God. God has His reasons, and we are not players that drift with the seasons. We have our meanings. There is some point to our being. Who do you believe? The Boy of Games. The Girl-by-the-Spindle. Surely one of them is lying?
What do you believe?
The Lady does need to believe; she is a businesswoman and her custom must come first. Her cooks are busy in the kitchen already, the best Cantonese chefs she could find and smuggle across the border. These are harsh lands, dangerous climes, and the days are dark and evil. But still, we must eat well, she tells us. There is no use in suffering if there isn’t a good meal in our belly.
At the unmarked hour, a stranger comes to the door. He has not been a patron of this restaurant before, not this far from civil life. He wears Prada shoes, she notes approvingly, and has a most devilishly heart-melting smile, the smile of someone who could almost pass off as an angel but never quite. Still we fall for that smile anyway. We want to.
Does the Lady want?
She is gracious, she is the perfect hostess and seats him swiftly. She attends to him personally, to his clean cutlery and table his napkin upon his lap. She asks her latest guest what he would like, tonight? And he answers,
I want dried scallops and duck eggs, centuries old, both black and gold — do they go well in your creamy, milky congee? I want to smell your fermented tofu, your sour and your sweetness; does it taste good with your hairy gourd? Would you let me pickle your daikon, would you let me slice and dice to my heart’s content? Or would you offer me only beef brisket, stewed in your oyster sauce and your plum sauce and your black bean paste? I want to bite your char siu; I want to nibble on your winter melons, my dear proprietess.
To which the Lady replies,
Wait till you get a whiff of my snow fungus and my watercress, there is naught in these nine provinces that can contest. Wallow in my wontons and my longevity noodles (their filling made from piglets and not poodles). Taste my tong sui and my birdsnest, then tell me whose sweetness is truly the best. My lovely, lovely braised abalone, dark and intoxicating like rum… Oh, and don’t get me started on my dim sum.
And the little Devil wearing Prada smiles some more, delighted is he at his good fortune, at his culinary providence. And bold as a Devil must be, he ventures further on whether he might not sup by her side, perhaps at the Lady’s most private chamber, with the dimmest of lights?
And the Lady smiles her own smile and answers that nothing is impossible. But she has her own esoteric tastes, and she is afraid the Devil his time would waste. Is she saying he cannot deliver on whatever promise she might extract, demands the Devil, for there is nothing the Devil can’t accomplish and sure as sure that is a fact.
Ah yes, but can the Devil best an Iron Chef at what an Iron Chef does best? Can the Devil whip up a storm that only a poet can, run his rhymes and rhythms through her arteries and her batteries like an electric stream of pure music that spits and bites and licks; can he turn her into a fanny colt, turn her on with his big, bad lightning bolt?
That seems like a lot of trouble, says the Devil, for a bit of nosh and nibble.
Aye, the Lady agrees, not much good would it do you anyway, for my Iron Chef lies over the oceans and the seas, and I left my heart with him in San Francisco.
They’ve got good restaurants in the Chinatown there, notes the Devil.
Decent, yes, but my Canton fare fares better.
No doubt.
.
And so they sat down instead to a feast shared with the Boy of Games and the Girl-by-the-Spindle (both of whom forgot to argue about whether God exists or not for they were too busy staring in each other’s eyes — for folks may argue till the end of time whether God is true or God is cruel, but never can they argue about Love, especially when they are joyously dancing in its thrall); and they ate and they ate until they could eat no more. And then they went to bed till it was time to wake and feast all over again.
.
The End.
.
Words & design by Kenny Mah. Photographs by Steve Steve & Kenny Mah.
With apologies to Snow White, Gamer Dude, Spindle Girl, Devil Wears Prada, ladyironchef and Lyrical “The Lady” Lemongrass. I simply couldn’t resist.
“i want to nibble on your winter melons”??? @__@ kenny my dear, is thr some unresolved conflict deep in ur psyche tht warrants a one-to-one with moi?
my fees are reasonable i assure u– jt a nice big fat juicy char siew pau will do 
“Taste my tong sui and my birdsnest, then tell me whose sweetness is truly the best.”
Aiyo got bird’s nest and tongsui some more… Really “sweet” hor? ;D
I absolutely love this! Both of you are lovely!
emmm.… emmmmm.… emmmmm.… :O *gob smacked*
I want to nibble on your winter melons, my dear proprietess..
*shakes head*
i realise that you only “sex-up” Chinese dishes like dim sum, tong sui and noodles. is there a fetish for everything oriental somewhere, somehow? oooooooooo.….…..
Oh my gosh.. who said nibble on your winter melons.. haha That is so funny. I’m French but I’m more partial to asian fusion dishes.… however I have YET to find a good, water-smacking Yumcha place here in Japan.… Japan is not NYC or London… despite its internationalism.. bah humbug…
= )
your poetry gets under my skin.
HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA Even reading between the lines gets you nowhere. Nowhere, I tell ya!
Sounds so nice
am feeling a little nibblish mah self
Boy of Games? Oohlala. What does he play?
“My lovely, lovely braised abalone, dark and intoxicating like rum… ”
hehe, are we still reading abt food here? so ‘steamy’… ;D
the arousing food.….….. gosh. your entry is hot & humid! yum…
we are not too sure if the homely lady in waiting should wait longer for the far away chef of iron , steeped in cold battle the passion he craves for long
Sweeter than tong sui and smoother than birdnest.
Wahaha. This must be one of the most cheeky food post ever Kenny!
if i were to read your post out loud, i will be tongue tied
Kennny!
Ch-ch-ch-check this outt.. http://thebookaholic.blogspot.com/
I’ll be reading there this Saturday on behalf of my Ethos! club. We’ve been going places to promote our upcoming theatre; Whoa Willow! It’s on NST few days ago:
http://www.nst.com.my/Current_News/NST/articles/20091019103431/Article/index_html
I am so takut to read right now. Heck.
tongshui dimsum and birdnest… oh no… i have none of them here in frankfurt… >< DHL me ok? at least any one of them *i want birdnest*
I thought I would be in for a treat after a long time away from your writing. So I finally took some time and cleared my mind to read your post. As I was reading it half way through, it striked me, you’ve never changed:
“I want to bite your char siu; I want to nibble on your winter melons, my dear proprietess” and then some.
Oh my dear Kenny Mah, why do you torture us with such innuendos?
But then again I guess that’s what people come here to read about. So when are we going for some non-PG rated Dim Sums? LOL
how did i miss this post!! chis.. eek ! anyway.. here i am.. a pleasure to read your stories for sure,. is this the legendary lady iron chef and r u guys at canton fare? this plc is cool!
oh yea, we have changed our skin .. dot com!
kindly update our add to http://www.cumidanciki.com (Thank u!)
Dear Dr. Jun,
Last time I checked, no, I do not actually have any form of unresolved conflict deep within my meagre psyche — but if it guarantees a one-to-one session with you, heck — consider me totally nutto!
Insanely yours,
Patient K.
As a certain (lil) (and) (fat) monkey would put it, pratically diabetic.
Thanks, dear… but which both? There are four of them in the picture… and not one of them me!
I love me that word: gobsmacked.
Oh, c’mon.
Haha, what can I say? I like mine Chinese…
No yumcha place in Japan? Oh no… whatever will I eat/drink when I visit Tokyo? Oh well, I guess there is that raw fish thingamagic…
P.S. Never knew you were French!
Whereas you — just you — is enough to get under my skin.
Oh, I beg to differ. It always gets me… somewhere.
… and is even nicer.
I know who you can nibble on. She’s a feisty lil tiger, isn’t she? Tee hee.
*runs from missie tng*
RPGs, mostly. Oohlala indeed.
Food? Wha… uhm, yeah, of course we are talking about food. What else would it be?
Hot & humid? That’s the first time anyone’s described my posts as such, haha…
Ah, but the lady is not waiting anymore… Snow White’s flown off to San Fran to be with her Iron Chef/Guitarist!
Oh man. That line alone is better than my whole piece, haha.
Cheeky? Me? Where got…
Or at least, have your tongue tied with rolls of dim sum and then some? Hehe.‘
Sorry I missed this, bro — just came out of my nearly month-long seclusion to plan, organise and execute a big event for my company. I bet you did great!
I wonder if there are swallows or swifts in Frankfurt for more localised birdsnest production?
Innuendos? What innuendos? I do want to bite on some damn char siu, mister! LOL
And jom let’s go makan sama-sama. Been AGES.
A bit of both actually… and all mixed up, hehe. And thanks for the update… *changes rss link*