SCENES FROM A CHINESE RESTAURANT

By Andrew Careaga

Daniel poked at the pile of caramelized nuggets on his plate, spearing one.

“This is General Chicken,” he said, displaying the forked morsel to Cal. Its waxy coating glistened under the restaurant’s dingy fluorescent lighting.
“According to the sign.” He pointed with his chin toward the buffet then plunged the piece into his mouth.

“You mean General Tso’s Chicken,” Cal said. He was hunched over his plate, twirling lo mein noodles around his fork and swiping it into a puddle of sweet and sour sauce.

Daniel shook his head, chewing. “It just says General Chicken on the food bar.”

“General? Like average? Like generic?”

Daniel shrugged. “I guess. Just your run-of-the-mill chicken. Or maybe the general it’s referring to was a chicken.
As in coward. But I guess you wouldn’t name a dish after a coward, would you.”

Cal chuckled. “I’m sure it’s General Tso’s Chicken. They just forgot to put the guy’s name on the sign.”

Cal pronounced “Tso” like sew or so.

“So disrespectful to such a distinguished military figure.”

Daniel speared another piece of the chicken. “I’ve seen it spelled General Geo before. G-E-O.”

“Geo as in George?”

Daniel nodded and wiped his lips with a paper napkin. “Or like the Geo Metro. Remember that car? Pass the soy sauce?”

“I wonder what General Tso or General Geo or whatever the fuck the guy’s name was did to get a Chinese dish named after him?”

“Some famous military victory, I guess. Maybe during World War II.”

“I thought China got their asses kicked in World War II?”

“Well, maybe they won a battle or two.”

Cal nodded as he twisted the noodles on his plate into a nest. “Why don’t we have any food named after a General? All we’ve got is a colonel.”

“Yeah, but he’s got a whole-ass chain of restaurants, not just a bunch of glazed chicken nuggets sitting in a warmer in every Chinese buffet everywhere.”

Cal nodded and dipped his egg roll in a splash of soy sauce. The waitress brought the check on a tray along with two cellophane-wrapped fortune cookies.

Daniel grabbed a cookie and broke it open.

“It says I’m often unaware of the effect I have on others,” Daniel said.

Cal chuckled. “I believe that. You’re usually pretty clueless.”

“Fuck off. What’s yours say?”

“You fuck off. I’m still eating.”

Daniel shrugged and nibbled at the brittle cookie. It tasted like a stale, dry waffle.

Cal pushed his plate aside and unwrapped the fortune cookie.

“Mine says, ‘An important email will be arriving shortly. Check your inbox.’”

Daniel laughed. “Dude, you don’t even know how to use a computer.”

“Don’t need to,” Cal said. He reached behind him, producing his smartphone from his back pocket. “It’s all right here.”

“While you’re back there, find your wallet. It’s your turn to buy.”

“Shit.”

“I’ll leave the tip.”

“What a pal,” Cal said.