Natalie Tan’s Book of Luck and Fortune

Chapter Six

My mother once told me midnight was a magical hour when the gateway to possibilities was opened. Never had I wanted to believe this more than tonight.

Miss Yu’s instructions were to bypass the tea shop for the alley. I peered in the window as I walked by. Her store was small but cozy. Pastel vases presented fresh pink peonies on the windowsills while Teresa Teng sang through the speakers. My lifelong love affair with tea had begun here at a very young age. I’d had my formal introduction to rooibos, matcha, chai, maté, and pu’erh, all seducing me with their floral, fruity, earthy scents.

Lovely Miss Yu curated teas like she was a librarian scouring the world for the best books. Her diligence had kept her local customer base happy and also created a loyal following outside of the state, which must still be sustaining her. Perhaps she sold things online to offset the decline in foot traffic.

As I started down the narrow passage, a strange light pulsed at the end of it. All my life I had strolled past this alley without sparing it a thought, for it was too narrow for comfort. My shoulders brushed against the rough brick of the walls. As I walked, I became aware of the strong odor of peonies and jasmine. I inhaled deeply to draw in the lovely bouquet. The scent was from the fresh flowers of a lush garden.

The path opened into a courtyard, a tangle of peonies and jasmine framing the entrance, blooming in spectacular fashion. Silky petals brushed against my skin. The tension building in my neck and shoulders melted away as I entered a fairyland.

The rustle of the night breeze joined the familiar voice of Teresa Teng echoing from invisible speakers. Beneath my feet, a path of moss-covered stones led to a circular platform surrounded by a large, shallow pond. The night garden was bursting with a palette of muted greens, starlit ivories, and sparkling golds: the verdant lichen and waxy lily pads in the pond, the snowy white peonies and jasmine flowers, and the metallic tones of the fireflies suspended in the air, the square-holed coins lining the floor of the pond, and the special golden three-legged creatures resting on the floating fronds.

I knew these creatures from my childhood. The feng shui symbol of prosperity, Jin Chan was transformed into a golden toad for stealing the peaches of immortality. Jin Chan’s three legs represented heaven, earth, and humanity. Statues of him graced every Chinese home I had ever been in, for fortune was a visitor always in demand. Ma-ma had placed one near the stairs leading to the front door.

The pond before me held eight fabled toads, each biting on a coin. If not for the subtle rise and fall of their vocal sacs, I would have thought them statues.

In the center of it all was Miss Yu. A vision in cream and soft gray cashmere, she sat at a round red lacquered table. Silver streaks like strands of starlight coursed through her dark hair. Though she was in her late forties, she could pass for late thirties or younger. The Yu family was fabled to own the elixir of youth in the form of a mythical tea blend gleaned from the Kitchen God himself. She had pinned a buttercream cashmere shawl across her shoulders with a crystal peony brooch. Underneath, she wore a dove gray tank dress with a subtle floral print. Pink jade bangles circled her wrists, tinkling when she moved.

Miss Yu smiled. “Welcome, dear one. Come, sit.” She gestured to the empty seat across from her.

“I didn’t know about all this.” I sat down, marveling at the enchanting atmosphere around me. “It’s so beautiful. What is this place?”

“It’s my ‘other’ shop. Miranda was here once. She was my first client after I took over the duties from my mother.”

Ma-ma must have visited when she was young and her agoraphobia wasn’t yet an issue. It was a version of my mother I didn’t know. What were her dreams then? How had she seen her future? The picture of Ma-ma communing with a younger Miss Yu made me smile.

“What did she want?” I asked.

Miss Yu held a finger to her lips. “Confidentiality is one of the cardinal rules here. You see, this is a place of divination. Clients ask a question about their future or for help in making important decisions.”

I patted my empty pockets for money and was about to curse when I heard Miss Yu’s giggle. She reached across the table to pat my hand.

“No, it’s a gift. I don’t charge for my services,” she said. “And besides, this isn’t why you’re here.”

“Yes.” I remembered. “You mentioned you had something of my mother’s?”

“A very important package, but we’ll get to that in a minute.” Miss Yu poured me a cup of tea. Judging by its fruity floral fragrance, it was tieguanyin, an apt choice. I took a sip.

Miss Yu looked at me intently. “If you could ask your grandmother any question, what would it be?”

Laolao. How could I choose a single question when I had been robbed of a lifetime with her? To distill a sea of wishes into a single drop was impossible. I wanted to know her, spend time with her, cook with her. I knew so little about her, and yet she was the bravest woman I’d never met. “If I could ask anything, it would be: How did you do it? Find the strength to leave your family, immigrate to a new country, and run a successful business out of nothing?”

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.”

A snowfall of flowers ushered in her final words, like falling stars in the night garden against a backdrop of golden fireflies. Stray petals landed on my hair and my cheeks. It tickled. A giggle escaped my throat. Miss Yu smiled and held her hands open, catching the petals in heaps to deposit into a large wooden bowl she placed on the table. I followed suit, gathering all of the fallen blossoms until there were no traces of white left anywhere.

“I will dry this and make it into tea. Stop by the shop and I’ll give you a large tin.” She moved the bowl to her right. “Besides that, I’m afraid I do not have any other insights to share. I am only the messenger.”

Three recipes to help three neighbors. How would I know which dishes to cook—or which neighbors? I didn’t know them well enough to even begin to pry into their private lives. If I was being honest, nor did I have the inclination. Where had they been when I needed them? Why should I help them now?

Miss Yu patted my hand. “I’m confident you can fulfill the prophecy and succeed.” She traced one of the lines in my palm. “As I said before, the women in your family possess great strength. It’s how your grandmother survived after leaving China. Strange new world, new people, new language, with nothing but her ability to cook. Qiao’s food brought the community together, and in time, she was able to buy the building for your family.”

I closed my eyes. My grandmother had known her path much earlier in life, but she’d had exceptional culinary skills that I was sure overshadowed my own. Miss Yu’s smile calmed me. “It’s not only the businesses, it’s also the people that are suffering. I have the utmost confidence you will help. You have all the tools to succeed with the restaurant.”

And the solution lay in Laolao’s recipe book. I had to open the restaurant because this was what I was meant to do. I had found my purpose.

In the privacy of the apartment, I finally hugged the thick book to my chest. This was an heirloom—a piece of my history that I never knew existed. Laolao, the grandmother I had longed for as a lonely child, seemed more real to me now than she had ever been in my entire life. Reopening the restaurant could only bring me closer to her.

The book contained the recipes I had to cook for my neighbors. But how would I possibly be able to solve their problems?

The supple leather cover was pliant under my fingertips, the shade of cinnamon rooibos tea with a faint filigree pattern tattooed on the front. I traced it with my fingers. The more I rubbed, the more prominent the design became, transforming into ridges and valleys. The fragrance of dishes sizzled in the air: spring rolls, sweet chili prawns, steamed crabs. My stomach growled again.

The recipe book was coming alive.

Laolao.

I turned the page and read the first recipe.

Baby Oyster Omelets

Potato starch

Water

Egg

Salt

Ground black pepper

Bean sprouts

Green onions

Baby oysters

Mix the potato starch, water, egg, salt, and pepper into one bowl. Stir well until it becomes sticky. Administer the following test: take a spoonful and drip the mixture back into the bowl. The viscosity must be like honey: smooth, but not too sticky or runny.

Add the bean sprouts and chopped green onions. Stir until blended. The color of the mixture should remind you of sunshine and the green grass of summer.

Heat the oil in the wok. Using a small shallow bowl for portions, fill the bowl with the mixture, and add five to seven baby oysters per portion.

Pour it into the heated wok. Fry until the edges turn into golden lace, then flip over, wait for half a minute for the other side to cook, then serve with ketchup, hot sauce, or fish sauce.

Note:

This recipe is for the crestfallen, the unsmiling, and the ones who need sunshine in their souls. If a customer has a difficult day, this will help raise their spirits.

I served this to an unsmiling Shao, a young man who worked at the warehouses. I had never seen a person more devoid of happiness. After he tasted the dish, he confessed to me how his wife and children were still in China and he wanted to bring them over. I encouraged him to keep his hope alive for his family. He returned once a week to eat the omelets and to chat. Sixteen years later, his family sat at my counter and ate the very same meal.

I knew this recipe. Ma-ma prepared it every spring. She and I both loved oysters. The aroma of the dish rose from the pages as if the fluffy omelets were cooking nearby. I flipped through the book, unleashing scents of fragrant meals. As I scanned the lower half of each page, I realized that each recipe was like a prescription of sorts to aid people in need.

Miss Yu had mentioned that Laolao was a healer. This must be what Miss Yu was talking about. No wonder Laolao was able to help so many people in her time. All I needed was to figure out what was wrong, and these recipes would act as the remedies so I could help out the neighbors.

I dove into the book, reading, learning, and at times, laughing over Laolao’s anecdotes. My grandmother had been fearless—a pioneer who’d wanted the best for others and herself. My admiration for her was tempered by the realization that Ma-ma might have found it challenging to live with such a formidable force. Despite her delicate temperament, Ma-ma had been strong and stubborn to a fault. A dragon pitted against a stone lotus.

Would I have been caught in between them if I’d grown up with both of them in my life?

In the middle of the book, there were three missing pages, evident by the ragged edges standing out as scars. What had happened here? My fingernails picked at the torn paper. The damage seemed to have been done in an act of anger, ripped out forcefully rather than carefully removed. Though the book brimmed full of recipes, I couldn’t help but mourn the missing three. Why had Laolao torn out recipes from her own book?

I continued to read, hoping to find the loose pages tucked within, but in the end, there was no sign of the missing pages. I closed the book to the relief of my protesting stomach. I had eaten dinner before seeing Miss Yu, but that now seemed like a very long time ago.

Fulfilling the prophecy would not only help the neighborhood, but also perhaps help me discover more about my grandmother. I supposed that even if they hadn’t been there for me, it wasn’t right that the residents and their families should suffer. This street had been my home: its current state broke my heart. I had lived so long with just my mother that it was easy to forget that the family tree extended beyond us. Connections. Laolao fostered them; maybe it was what I should be working to achieve by helping the neighbors out.

In my time away, I found myself connecting to my culture wherever I traveled, but never missing the community I’d left back home. Perhaps living with my mother in isolation for so long had prevented me from forming any bonds. Ma-ma had taught me to be independent almost to a fault. But if I were to open the restaurant, I would be a part of the neighborhood now, be one of them. Maybe it was time to reconsider how I felt about this.

I pulled the recipe book close, leafing through its pages once more. I stopped when my fingers caught an edge on the end cover. The tome was hand bound with the leather stretched taut over the spine. The adhesive on the back had worn away, revealing an old photograph tucked inside. This must be why I missed it the first time I went through the book.

I had never seen this picture before. The woman in it stared back at me. Her face was masculine with a strong jaw and high cheekbones, but softened by the doe eyes that Ma-ma and I shared. A tiny mole hovered near her left eyebrow. Her direct gaze displayed an unmistakable surety of self. She was beautiful. Laolao. A sob escaped my lips. This was my grandmother, Qiao. I pressed my hand against my chest.

I should place her photo at the family shrine, but she belonged here in these pages. This was her book, her recipes, her life. With the recipe book open and her photograph in full view, I smiled at her. I could finally pair a face with her name. I wished I’d had the chance to know her.

It was late. I tucked Laolao’s photograph back into her recipe book. Meimei crawled onto my lap. When I went to sleep that night, I dreamt of cooking alongside Laolao with Ma-ma hovering by the kitchen table to watch.

The next morning, I was ready to play intrepid detective. The cat followed me around the apartment like a puppy as I prepared to take a stroll outside. Last night, she had curled up around my head when I fell asleep. The apartment felt less empty due to my newfound feline companionship. I didn’t know that four pounds of fluff could make such a difference. I kissed her goodbye and stepped outside.

When I had left, to say that I didn’t like the neighbors would be a polite understatement. I hated them for not offering to help me and Ma-ma for so many years. I hated them for not visiting her. I hated them for treating her like a pariah because of her condition. But spending time with Celia had softened my stance a bit. Maybe it was time to move on.

Now I just had to figure out whose problems I needed to solve.

I headed for Older Shen’s bookstore.