Collective Comfort in Chinatown
Thank you to spaces like Wong Kei & Lanzhou Noodle Bar & the cultures that brought them here
When the world goes ‘upstairs-downstairs’, find yourself a spot in Wong Kei with a best friend and a bowl of noodle soup.
When I go to write something on Chinatown, it always comes out in Ode - a nod to nostalgia and the sense of old wisdoms, fading; this sparkling beauty in it's accessibility and safety, the cross-section of humans - tucking away from the chaos of central (yet that often being the same reason they came there) - tourists, & glam-bling tuk tuks blaring Sean Paul, to "lay-low".
What would your last meal be? A broth, sour-spicy with crunchy roast chilli oil - eaten with a friend, as we both recognise the need to grab each other - "see you in 30” - when things seem like they won’t end.
No-frills no judgment - so much choice, but somehow you know exactly what you want. Too scared to ask if they accept card because the old lady standing between the swinging crispy ducks might snap back.
Old man with a twinkle in his eye, reading the paper. Cool South Asian millennials getting hyped over their 4way hot-pot, and a business corporate guy in suit not afraid to get chilli on his tie. You acknowledge this collective comfort, and give them a nod in your heart.
Since lockdown, have seen my two favourite places to go in Chinatown, shut down. Hungs (golf ball size d prawn wontons) and Lucky Joy (with the sesame creamy fresh minced garlic topped chewy knife cut noodles. But I am always grateful there's somewhere to come.
I guess the question is - for how long?
"The thing is only beautiful because you noticed it." Notice not just what's outside - but, when you eat, how it actually makes you feel in your heart.
When I slurp down - exchange smiles and awkward funny moments with strangers, all jammed-up on a bench when splashing soup in the other’s eye; encapsulates this absurd yet rooting, fleeting essence of what it means to be human, subtly celebrating the wong-kei-ness of being alive.
I go to pap my dia xiao mian sliced beef and the girl opposite gets out her camera too. A mirror - we look at each other and I know we are thinking the same thing & sharing joy.
Dish? Everyone’s got their go-to.
Chick Tania, the hench oblong spring rolls (you sure you want two?) and I get a fierce look thats in shock that I asked. Her frilly knitted sleeves against the yellow walls, steams and glinting plum juice to me are what should be pasted in Vogue - before we slip back into the velvety underground.
Coming to ‘eat out’ in these places is not “escapism” - it’s really so much more. We’re here to talk heartbreak, cement our reciprocity, bounce thoughts on protests, collective resistance & war - entangled in such meaning, yet such simplicity that says it ALL.
Taking on each other's struggles, even though we got our own, because that's what friends and spaces like this in Chinatown are for.