Signs of Grace

by Charles Perera

After winding down from a busy day at work, my buddy Saurave, his wife Winnie, and I head out to P.F. Chang’s – a routine watering hole in Torrance, California. Specializing in Chinese food, their concept is akin to mixing Blues and Hip Hop, a cross between the old world culinary secrets and modern day conceptual interior designs. A place that attracts the wallet with Feng Shui methods, it is kind of ironic to be spending through your nose. Oh, what the heck – that is the cost of having good friends, I suppose. A few iced apple martinis with Grey Goose vodka and some cherry plum wine will do the trick of calming anyone’s nerves.

The décor is decadent and delectable in Chinese themes, with huge horse statues at the entrance attracting the most discerning of clients like moths to a flame. The hostesses are youthful, chiseled like Michelangelo’s Greek demigods, with sharp features and they may greet you with a luscious smile that envelopes you with vigor; you have to pinch yourself, so that you do not become speechless. Or hear the smack swishing past your head that almost gives you a hairline fracture, as you duck your friend’s wife, who is mouthing the words “eyes front.” Oh well, the joys of being single. Enjoying God’s creations with my eyes only, I hope that it’s not a sin to just enjoy the moment, as I am a devout Catholic.

We are ushered to a table overlooking the bar, well stocked with poisons of your choice. I have to have my usual apple martini well chilled. We order our drinks with spicy pomegranate tea as a supplement to axe the hangover. We scan the restaurant, as we like to people-watch while we select from the menu. The table is bare minus the table cloth; the marble top glistens from being polished and reflected by the candle that stands at attention as if hearing our conversation. Then there are the chopsticks, knives and forks with ivory plates. Crisp napkins are neatly folded to match the design of a waiter’s cloth. Three glass bottles stand in unison on the table top next to the candle, containing chile paste, hot mustard and rice wine vinegar, with two small jars containing soy sauce and pickled onions. Splurge!

I know the menu by heart, a frequent customer to this brand, but not this location. I already know what I will have: the “Kung Pao Shrimp and Scallops,” accompanied by a small bowl of white rice. I have to mind my manners, so I wait for my friends to decide. So here we go, as an appetizer we will enjoy the chicken lettuce cups for the three of us. The main courses: Kung Pao Shrimp and Scallops for me, my friend Saurave has the Catfish in Black Bean Sauce and Winnie sticks with Sweet and Sour Chicken. All accompanied by white rice. The drinks are brought to the table by another server who has a very sweet personality and is very flirtatious. If looks could kill – she must be an import from some other exotic location. Well, I think it has to do with the diversity of ethnic cultures in Los Angeles.

We make small talk and watch other patrons’ progress with their meals and merriment as we order another round of drinks. I always gaze at the Chinese horse paintings above the bar which depicts a horse sale, where Chinese noblemen are trading and examining the majestic specimens. Their servants are scurrying around with attributes of caring. I am always mesmerized and transported to that era despite the hustle and bustle of this restaurant.

The smells, the sounds, infants crying, parents disciplining their children, the laughter are like a synchronized symphony of an orchestra at play – going through their sheet music in continuous repetition like a well-oiled conveyor belt.

The food arrives and makes a grand entrance, made more enticing by the eloquence of the server who dispenses with lighting speed and a quick explanation of each plate as it hits the table top. We are hungry and send our cares to the wind: dive in. Now it is the other patrons’ turn to watch and critique our posture, using of utensils and the consumption of the meal.

The meal was divine – no dessert this time. Time to pay and part our ways, for another busy day awaits in the concrete jungle of the offices that pay for this meal.

Copyright 2009, Charles Perera.