The Curious Wonton
In a previous post, I revealed my brush with the Chinese Beverage Torture, which always brings to mind another story from my teenage years: The first time I ever ate Chinese food. My family’s food heritage comes with a large serving of pasta, and it took many years before I realized that our Italian food heritage was probably stolen from China, most likely when Marco Polo came back from Asia and had a terrible hankering for Peking Ravs.
Growing up, I was not the adventurous foodie you all know and love, and there was a pretty small set of things I would eat. This state of affairs began in early childhood and continued through puberty, right up until I started dating someone, who for the purpose of this story we will designate as The First Girlfriend, in order to protect the innocent.
When The First Girlfriend suggested that we go out with two other couples to a Chinese restaurant, that sounded like a
smashing idea, partly because it would ease the pressure of this whole dating thing and having to act as an entertaining
person. The only problem was that I had never had Chinese food. As a normal guy with the usual bucket of insecurities
that comes with being 16 years old, there was an acute social pressure to project being a Man of the World™, and there
was no way I could refuse the outing. At the heart of the matter however, I was mostly worried that I didn’t yet know
how to use chopsticks.
We all converged at the restaurant, and the six of us were seated at a round table with a lazy Susan to serve the food family style. We ordered wonton soup for an appetizer, and I was relieved because this would delay any use of chopsticks. The soup arrived, and it was the first time I had encountered the oversized Chinese soup spoons, but this was easy! The spoons were large! Everything was going swimmingly until it came time to eat the wonton.
The wonton seemed big, so naturally I decided to cut it in half. The spoon had an edge, but the treachery about to unfold was that the edge of the spoon was rounded and smooth. Unfortunately, the bottom of the bowl was also rounded and smooth. Friends, do you know what happens when you try to cut an oversized wonton by forcefully pinching it between a rounded and smooth spoon, and a rounded and smooth bowl?
The wonton shot out of the bowl and became an airborne projectile. It passed well above the lazy Susan, and over the heads of our friends on the other side of the table. The rocket fuel that powers those damn things finally exhausted, and it landed somewhere in the center of the restaurant.
As you can imagine, much laughter ensued. Our table was laughing. The other tables were laughing. The waiter pouring my water at the time was laughing so hard he had to stop pouring the water. But hilariously, I was laughing. Predictably, I remember little else about the meal. I don’t think using chopsticks and my Man of the World™ projection played any role in the evening at all. In spite of such an incredible faux pas, The First Girlfriend and I continued dating for some time after that, from which I conclude that the speed and distance at which I can catapult a wonton demonstrates great strength and prowess, and is a terrific way to impress women.
[Note: These initial posts are a series of stories on restaurants. They were originally posted elsewhere, and I wanted to revisit and collect them here.]