Natalie Tan's Book of Luck and Fortune(14)

Miss Yu nodded. “This is a good question to ask. Qiao was a very strong woman—as was Miranda. It’s in your blood.”

“Is it?” I asked. “I want to reopen Laolao’s restaurant. I want to make this work, but all I see are hurdles. I don’t even know if I can get the amount of money needed to start a business and complete all the legal paperwork. I don’t have entrepreneurial experience. On top of that, most restaurants don’t even survive their first year in business. Can I do this?” I blushed at my outpouring. I blamed grief for my recent, sudden confession.

Miss Yu reached across the table to steady my trembling hands. “Don’t despair. I may have something that will help you.” She reached under the table, produced a large, flat red box, and slid it toward me. “Your mother gave me this years ago for safekeeping.”

I lifted the lid. A red silken scarf embroidered with golden flying sparrows lay inside. The avian pattern brought a smile to my lips. I had never seen Ma-ma wear this. It would have been perfect on her.

As I tugged the fabric loose, a book tumbled out from its embrace with a thud. Thick spined and leather bound, it was heavy in my hands. The rich chestnut cover bore no marks, no title or publisher. Upon further examination, it appeared to be handmade with great care. I opened the book and gasped. Written with an elegant brushstroke in Chinese characters was the name of my grandmother, Tan Qiao.

“Laolao,” I whispered, tracing the characters with my fingertips.

I turned the cover page and discovered a recipe for noodle broth. This was familiar. Ma-ma had often cooked it when rain painted the windows or when the city covered itself in a thick duvet of fog. The rest of the pages contained recipes of every conceivable dish and ingredient. Judging by the book’s thickness, there were hundreds of them.

I resisted the urge to embrace the book against my chest as though it were a child. “Can you tell me more about the restaurant?” I asked. “What was it like? What did Laolao cook?”

“The best food in Chinatown, but don’t tell Old Wu.” Miss Yu winked. “Your grandmother’s dishes sang across the tongue. They tasted delicious, but it was more than that. It was the way her food made you feel.”

This stirred my appetite to hear more. My grandmother would come alive to me through the memories of others. I smiled and gestured for Miss Yu to continue.

“Everyone ate there. It wasn’t a big place, but it served the most wonderful food. She changed the menu daily, cooking whatever she found at the market that morning. Her dishes always used ordinary ingredients, but their taste was far from humble. She used her food like a delicious spider web—as a means to connect strangers. If anyone ever needed anything, she would always try to help them.”

Miss Yu paused to sip her tea. “When your laolao died, we mourned her and the business we knew would die along with her, but we didn’t know the neighborhood would suffer as well.”

“I wish I’d had the chance to meet her,” I murmured.

“You would have loved her, and she, you.” Miss Yu reached across the table and patted my hand. “Your mother turned away from the family business after your laolao died. The restaurant had been very successful, but after Qiao’s death, Miranda closed it down. I’m not sure if Miranda ever told you, but your grandmother was struck by a car outside of her restaurant. I think this made Miranda’s agoraphobia worse. She had always been shy by nature, but the accident followed by your father’s departure made her unable to leave the apartment. Miranda just didn’t have the temperament to run the restaurant.” She paused and her smile returned. “Your mother may have neglected the family business, but she did a wonderful job raising you on her own. I’m happy to hear that you want to reopen the restaurant and follow your laolao’s path.”

“This is what I’ve wanted ever since I was little. I wish Ma-ma were here so she could see me do it.”

Miss Yu peered at me sympathetically.

Familial obligation and filial piety were powerful forces in my culture. Ma-ma had never cared for such things and had raised me to pick and choose which traditions to follow, but this wasn’t something I wanted to ignore. I had my mother’s blessing; right now, I should feel more confident about my choice.

“I know Laolao was successful,” I said. “But will I be? I don’t want to fail the memory of my grandmother. Yes, I can cook, but I’m not a professional; I flunked out of culinary school. Can I make the restaurant a success?”

Miss Yu arched her brow and the corners of her lips tugged upward. “You have asked a good question, dear one. Give me your hands.” She placed my palms in hers, squeezing warmth and reassurance into them.

She closed her eyes. A rush of wind teased the leaves and stirred the blooms, releasing both fragrance and petals of varying size into the air; soaring, swirling like ethereal butterflies into the dark sky. Peonies. Jasmine. Tieguanyin. I drew the heady scent into my lungs, imprinting the memory of this moment into my consciousness.

A hush grew, swelling like a cresting wave, quieting the leaves into stillness. “The restaurant will only succeed if you rebuild the connections of what was once lost.” Miss Yu spoke as if in a trance. “The businesses on the street are dying and so shall your endeavor, if you fail. Read your grandmother’s book. The dishes from Qiao’s wok transformed the ordinary and soothed all ailments. You must cook three recipes from the book to help three of your neighbors, as your laolao did in the past. Your success is tied to them, their businesses, and the community. You are one of them. If they fail, you will fail. If you save them, the restaurant will once again be the jewel of Chinatown, and vitality will return to the neighborhood.”