Exotic Foods and the One Armed Monkey
It’s early for dinner and the restaurant is empty, save for the young daughter of the owner who respectfully puts away the tiny violin she has been playing and scurries to the kitchen to alert her mother that customers have arrived. She seats herself at a table a respectful distance from us and begins to color quietly. Red paper placemats festooned with the Chinese horoscope for Westerners are laid out before us as we peruse the menu. Pretty standard fare, hamachi, unagi, California rolls…
“Working man’s sushi,” Alex nods to himself with pursed lips, considering his options.
“Is this okay? I’m not sure if we have any other sushi options in town.”
“Then it’s perfect!”
We make our selections and watch the little girl absorbed in her coloring book for a few moments. Alex snorts a half chuckle before turning to me, “So what’s was up with the Blessed Virgin story?”
“Oh, that’s old hat. I’ve got that one memorized, but just country?! What? Was she out in the back forty threshing wheat on the Southside? Milking cows and picking eggs? What WAS that?!”
Alex laughs and shrugs while making room for the waitress to place our sushi before us.
I refill our tea cups, “She never stopped being The One Who Crowned the Blessed Virgin. I think she half expected that chaplain to say ‘That was YOU?!’ He was so smooth, I'm almost surprised he didn't. She has this whole separate reality that just mystifies me.”
Alex shakes his head and spears a piece of hamachi. “Yeah, I really nailed it with that eccentric heiress, “Little Butterfly” bit, didn’t I? Who knew?”
“I know! Tthose are the last pictures we took of her. It’s freaking poetic in a creepy kind of way.”
Alex pops the hamachi in his mouth, relishing it.
“I wish Rosalie liked this stuff. She’s just not that adventurous although she is getting better. When we got married she didn’t even like beans! She’s Mexican! Me, I like everything. The more exotic the better. Monkey brains? Sure, I’ll take some of that.”
“Yeah, from a one armed monkey.”
Alex is off and running again, in a bad mixed Asian accent, “Oh, you no want that monkey. That monkey baaadd. Part of medical experiment. That monkey angry all the time. Maybe bad karma.”
Then, realizing the full symbiotic potential, “That monkey crazy, all day long stares at large balloon. Maybe like he sees what no one else can see. Crazy. Like to wear feather boa. No, you no want to eat that monkey’s brains.”
For the 99th time, I found myself being thankful he is there with me. A little inappropriately dark humor at our stricken mother’s expense and politically incorrect bad Asian accent aside, it was the closest thing to normal I could find.
Articles from this blog may not be reprinted without express permission from the author.
If you have arrived here with the story already in progress, please go to the first post and work your way forward.
“Working man’s sushi,” Alex nods to himself with pursed lips, considering his options.
“Is this okay? I’m not sure if we have any other sushi options in town.”
“Then it’s perfect!”
We make our selections and watch the little girl absorbed in her coloring book for a few moments. Alex snorts a half chuckle before turning to me, “So what’s was up with the Blessed Virgin story?”
“Oh, that’s old hat. I’ve got that one memorized, but just country?! What? Was she out in the back forty threshing wheat on the Southside? Milking cows and picking eggs? What WAS that?!”
Alex laughs and shrugs while making room for the waitress to place our sushi before us.
I refill our tea cups, “She never stopped being The One Who Crowned the Blessed Virgin. I think she half expected that chaplain to say ‘That was YOU?!’ He was so smooth, I'm almost surprised he didn't. She has this whole separate reality that just mystifies me.”
Alex shakes his head and spears a piece of hamachi. “Yeah, I really nailed it with that eccentric heiress, “Little Butterfly” bit, didn’t I? Who knew?”
“I know! Tthose are the last pictures we took of her. It’s freaking poetic in a creepy kind of way.”
Alex pops the hamachi in his mouth, relishing it.
“I wish Rosalie liked this stuff. She’s just not that adventurous although she is getting better. When we got married she didn’t even like beans! She’s Mexican! Me, I like everything. The more exotic the better. Monkey brains? Sure, I’ll take some of that.”
“Yeah, from a one armed monkey.”
Alex is off and running again, in a bad mixed Asian accent, “Oh, you no want that monkey. That monkey baaadd. Part of medical experiment. That monkey angry all the time. Maybe bad karma.”
Then, realizing the full symbiotic potential, “That monkey crazy, all day long stares at large balloon. Maybe like he sees what no one else can see. Crazy. Like to wear feather boa. No, you no want to eat that monkey’s brains.”
For the 99th time, I found myself being thankful he is there with me. A little inappropriately dark humor at our stricken mother’s expense and politically incorrect bad Asian accent aside, it was the closest thing to normal I could find.
Articles from this blog may not be reprinted without express permission from the author.
If you have arrived here with the story already in progress, please go to the first post and work your way forward.
posted by Laura Young at 10:05 AM
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