Natalie Tan's Book of Luck and Fortune(81)

I missed Daniel too.

I hadn’t seen him since I visited him at work.

Thinking of him unleashed an ocean of regrets. Months later, it still stung, though it was my fault for driving him away. If my grandmother could forget about her love for the Shanghainese hotelier, then perhaps I could do the same with Daniel. I would take the strength of the women in my family to heart. My mother had taught me to let your love make their own choice. My laolao taught that you needed to honor it.

I shook my head, pushed the painful thoughts of Daniel away, and focused on the grand reopening. I still needed to prep for the restaurant’s opening in the afternoon and make arrangements for the evening’s private feast for the neighbors.

Tomorrow, I could finally fulfill my heart’s wish.





Chapter Thirty-one





The afternoon of the grand reopening drew in a healthy crowd. As I finished prepping my newest creation to serve as samples, a lineup gathered on the other side of the glass door. These faces were excited strangers: peering in through the windows, whispering with subdued smiles, pointing at the flowers and the decor, and taking pictures of the newly painted sign.

I glanced at the clock. Two minutes left.

I had arranged samples of the ginger shrimp balls on a large tray. Toasted bread cut into small cubes hid a juicy center made of minced shrimp and ginger: bite-size, golden hors d’oeuvres with an addictive crunch.





Ginger Shrimp Balls


(Natalie’s Recipe)


Ginger

Black tiger shrimp

Egg

Salt

Pepper

Sesame oil

Cornstarch

White bread

Cilantro



Sauce:

Ketchup

Hot sauce


Grate the ginger until it is fine enough to pound in a mortar and pestle. Discard the pulp and scoop out the juice and set aside. Peel the raw shrimp and mince. Mix the egg, minced shrimp, ginger juice, salt, pepper, sesame oil, and cornstarch in one bowl. The consistency should be sticky like a paste.

Set aside because this will be the shrimp balls. Toast a few slices of the bread lightly. The color should still be pale, but the bread itself, firm. Cut and discard the crust. Chop the remaining toasted bread into small cubes no bigger than your fingernail.

Scoop a tablespoon of the sticky shrimp filling and form it into a round ball. Cover the surface with the bread pieces. Place the breaded shrimp balls on a flat sheet and chill in the refrigerator for at least fifteen minutes.

Heat the cooking oil to the right temperature. If it’s too hot, the bread will turn brown and burn. If it’s too cold, they will fall off.

Garnish with cilantro and serve with ketchup mixed with hot sauce for dipping.



Note:

When well prepared, this dish should resemble golden, faceted jewels. The visual impact will impress and invigorate. Even the pickiest customer cannot resist its crunch and juicy filling.

Serve this to those you want to sway over to your side. The more stubborn the mind, the more ginger you must add.

One minute left. The murmur outside grew louder, as did the sound of my heartbeat. I reached the door, unlocked it, and flipped the sign. My restaurant was officially open.

Traffic exceeded my expectations. Even though I had rationed my samples well, they ran out three hours before closing. The dumplings sold out and were a hit like the rest of the menu items. I’d made new connections and potential repeat customers, and had set up interviews with food bloggers and the local papers.

On any other day, I would have felt exhausted, but not today. Today I was living my dream.

I closed early to prepare for our neighborhood dinner that night. I’d filed a permit to have the road closed off for a few hours. Tonight would be for us: to celebrate our families and our businesses. We had the street to ourselves for a few precious hours. Younger Shen and Mr. Chiu set up a long table and chairs while Mrs. Chiu and Celia arranged the tablecloth and place settings. I was kept busy in the kitchen putting the finishing touches on the dishes for our meal. Old Wu had come to help so I wasn’t too overwhelmed.

Miss Yu gave each of us a red paper lantern, and we released them into the night sky. They floated in the air, miniature dirigibles, sustained by our dreams for the future. Their light provided extra warmth on the cool night. I pulled out the Victrola, and my neighbors supplied their own records for the evening. Dolly Parton, Teresa Teng, and Stravinsky’s The Rite of Spring filled the air, courtesy of Younger Shen, Miss Yu, and me. The lanterns above our heads bobbed to the music, swaying like drowsy fireflies.

We all rushed back into our apartments to change for the occasion. Celia insisted that pageantry was required after decades of living in gray. She was radiant in a lemon sundress with a purple butterfly print. I wore a short-sleeved, white qipao embroidered with ivory phoenixes. Mrs. Chiu wore a floral black and red poppy dress that I had no doubt was a by-product of Celia’s influence. Miss Yu favored her signature pastel palette of creams and robin’s-egg blue. The men donned elegant suits: Mr. Chiu in silver and Younger Shen in scarlet. Older Shen had yet to arrive, but had promised to adhere to the dress code.

The Hsu family appeared at the same time as Older Shen and his date. The Hsus had bought the bookstore and were due to reopen it in a month. Eugene and Dorothy Hsu were in their late thirties with a nine-year-old daughter, Vanessa. Eugene was an experienced bookseller and Dorothy, a successful litigator. When I noticed a copy of Philip Pullman’s The Amber Spyglass peeking out from her backpack, I knew we could be friends.