So last night I was eating at a Chinese place across the street from my new Apartment. I consider this place a blessing. They even have wifi! Here are some rAmBliNgs of my experience...
I am about to eat at the very authentic looking Chinese restaurant across the street from my new apartment in South Minneapolis.
I come in. A dry smell of slightly rancid cooking oil looms in the air. The loan worker looks up from her laptop as I walk in. She is in her late 20's or early 30's, Chinese, I guess and is about 7 1/2 months pregnant, a later conversation confirms this). Having been out in the front at a customer table she gets up, says "hello" and turns to walk toward the counter to grab me a menu. I introduce myself. She says her name is Grace. How pleasant, 'Grace'. I wonder if she has an asian name? Why would she not tell me? Does she take me for every other ethnocentric white young american male who thinks less of those he understands less about. Grace, it was a name that any corn fed american man could understand.
She waddled softly as she came to bring my dish to me. It smelled lovely, and she had the smile of anticipation, one that said she had made this and she hoped I loved it so. It looked delicious. I thanked her for cooking it and dug in! DELICIOUS!
