Natalie Tan's Book of Luck and Fortune(23)

So I’d learned to live without romance. Love was like getting the unwanted gift of an elephant I could never afford to feed or house. Besides, it always ended in tragedy: my father had abandoned my mother, and the heroine or hero—or both—died in all the operas Ma-ma and I had listened to. No, love was a virus I never wanted to catch. It always ended badly, and even when it did happen, I ran away from the boyfriend and the situation by adding another stamp to my passport.

I thought I might have escaped my commitment allergy with Emilio in Manila, but that had ended too. We had been engaged, but I’d chosen to run away from my own wedding. I abandoned him before he had the chance to do it to me. A year later, thinking of him opened wounds I had thought were healed.

But I dared not linger on my own problems when I had others to help.





Chapter Nine





Opening Laolao’s book, I flipped through the pages in search of a recipe for Older Shen. The anecdotes helped guide me to one that boosted courage. I reread the recipe for Older Shen and headed to the market. The crabs, because of their freshness, needed to be picked up and cooked on the same day. The preparation ritual was one I had practiced when I was younger and learned from my mother.

Back home, I freed the two feisty crabs from a paper bag. I placed them in a plastic tray of ice, slowing down their metabolism before the cleaning. Using a worn toothbrush, I scrubbed any sand and algae from their hard shells while avoiding the pinch of their claws.





Steamed Dungeness Crabs



Cooking oil

Ginger

Dungeness crabs

Chicken broth

Salt

Shaoxing wine

Sesame oil

Green onion or a leek


Add the cooking oil to a large pot to stir-fry the slices of ginger. Place the cleaned crabs in the pot along with the chicken broth. Add salt according to taste.

Simmer for ten minutes. Add the wine, stir. Wait for the shells to turn bright red-orange. After two minutes, add the sesame oil. Garnish with chopped green onions and then serve.



Note:

Crabs are precious and have a natural armor like the warriors of old. They are the perfect ambassadors for courage.

I serve this to new immigrants coming into the area. They need as much bravery as they can muster to navigate this country.

Following my grandmother’s recipe, I poured Shaoxing rice wine into the great stainless-steel pot over the steamed crabs. For eight minutes, I watched their shells change from tawny brown to brilliant red before adding the last ingredient: sesame oil.

Older Shen’s prescription for courage was ready. I picked up the phone and dialed the number for the bookstore.

Given the rules of Chinese etiquette, the odds of my invitation being declined were low. As I expected, Older Shen accepted my offer to come dine at the restaurant. I wondered how Laolao’s recipes worked. There was nothing in the book about how soon the food would take effect or what I was to expect.

He would be here soon. I fished the crabs from the pot and placed them in a clay bowl. Blooming with tendrils of steam, the shells glistened red-orange. I placed the lid on top to trap the heat within, bringing the dish to the counter for my guest right on time, for Older Shen was tapping on the door. A smile tugged at my lips. He was dressed in a dated tweed suit complete with elbow patches. His shy smile complemented his combed gray hair and clean-shaven face.

I opened the door. “Welcome.”

“I haven’t been here in years.” He scanned his surroundings before turning to the scarred goddess with a frown. “She’s not what I remembered. She was beautiful when Qiao was here.”

I followed his gaze. So my suspicion was correct: the goddess had been lovely once. I still hoped she would be again.

Shen’s nose twitched as he sniffed the air. “Crab? Oh, I love crab.”

I guided him to the counter where I had set his plate. He perched atop the stool and unfurled the napkin I’d provided, tucking it into the front of his collared shirt. His brown eyes widened when I lifted the lid off the pot.

The release of steam created a sigh in the air, acting as the prayer before a meal, the ceremonial ribbon cutting before the devouring. Eating crab was a leisurely pursuit. The sweet treasure of crabmeat could only be unlocked by a deft grip or the aid of a steel seafood cracker.

I offered the coveted heavy female crab to my guest. He smiled and brandished his cracker, shattering the shell in strategic spots. He attacked with purpose: disassembling, dissecting to get to the jeweled fat and eggs inside.

While Older Shen ate, I proceeded with my own crab, prying the carapace open by pulling on its apron. The juices dripped down my fingers as I attacked the meat in the body first. My favorite parts were the legs because of how little effort they took compared to the claw and the minute chambers of the body. I sucked the meat from the hollow legs, careful to avoid the plasticky cartilage. The sweetness of the crab complemented the spicy, tangy dipping sauce I’d provided. Flecks of green onion and yellow disks of chili pepper seeds floated in the red wine vinegar. That recipe was also in Laolao’s book, but it pleased me that I’d already known one of her recipes by heart.

Older Shen wiped his mouth, pulling his shoulders back, straightening his spine as if he were being pulled upward by an invisible string. The faded threads of his tweed jacket shifted, vibrating until the color saturated, blooming into a bold palette. The sweeping change traveled onto his skin, leaching away the pallor, tempering the grays in his hair, adding a spark in his faraway eyes. Chi gathered around him. Tiny, almost invisible motes of energy clung to his presence like garlands of Christmas lights.