I cared for them more than my neighbors.

<<--See also: "But no one does egg rolls and fried rice like you do!"

I was late getting off work and I didn’t feel like cooking so I called up my favorite Chinese takeaway, Tasty Chen’s. I’m very particular about who prepares my Chinese food and in the whole entire area, there are only two restaurants that I like. Tasty Chen’s is one of those two. The place is run by a husband and wife and customers will frequently see their two kids there when they are not at school. I know them and they know me. Well not personally but enough.

So there I am driving down the bypass when I make the call and place the order. When the line was picked up, I did not hear the expected “Riiiiice Kitchen,” with the heavy accent. Instead, I heard a nice voice that spoke very clear English. I just don’t remember what was said because I was thrown for a loop. Had I called the wrong number? Did they hire someone?

I get Tasty Chen’s and I get even more confused. The lady who answered the phone is a dykish looking northern China woman and so is her cooking partner. The people I know are from the south. I felt like that these were invaders who kicked out the previous owners and their two daughters. Yet, the kids’ art was still up and nothing else seemed to have changed—except the food. They changed their eggrolls to the crappier stumpy ones with the malodorous cabbage. Who know what else was changed.

Maybe they went back to China to visit family for a while and they entrusted their place to some friends. I hope they come back.