The Continuing Saga of Chinese SOUPer Woman
And now, the moment you`ve all been waiting for: the thrilling conclusion of my "What`s for dinner?" post.
In our last episode, I had just discovered Au Pair Extraordinaire`s little Chinese mother, wearing a neck/back brace with one arm strapped in a sling COOKING in my kitchen, when she was supposed to be in bed.
I was unable to communicate with her at all -- she kept shooing me away, saying, "No, no, no, no, NO!" which was the only English I ever heard her speak.
Au Pair Extraordinaire was out sightseeing with her sister. I immediately called her cell phone.
"You`re mother is cooking," I said.
"OH NO! Let me talk to her!"
I gave the phone to her little Chinese mother, who took it with a smile. The smile faded away, when she realized it was her daughters on the phone.
I didn`t understand a word of the conversation that followed, but I think I can guess -- her little Chinese mother was probably saying something along the lines of, "OF COURSE I`m cooking, because my daughters are out sightseeing instead of home cooking for me!"
I will never know for sure what they said, but her little Chinese mother kept right on cooking. She had browned some pork chunks in oil, and was now adding water and chopped vegeatables and making soup.
Au Pair Extraordinaire and her sister came right home as soon as they could, and made her go back to bed.
The pot of pork and vegetable soup stayed on the stove. I thought they were going to eat it, but it turned out they were waiting for our family to eat first. They did not make this clear -- we waited for them, and got hungrier and hungrier as the hours ticked by, until I finally asked Au Pair Extraordinaire, and she let me know that we should go ahead. I suggested we all eat together, but she said her mother really wanted us to eat first.
My kids took one look at Chinese cabbage, Chinese broccoli and ample mushroom slices, and made gagging faces. They do eat vegetables, but so far, I`ve been unable to convince them that mushrooms won`t kill them. So I let them get away with just drinking cups of the broth with pork.
I poured large helpings into bowls for Hub and myself, and sat down to try it.
"How do you like it?" asked Au Pair Extraordinaire.
"Tell your mother it`s delicious!" I said.
But... it really wasn`t. I mean, it wasn`t bad.... it just had no taste at all. She hadn`t put in any seasoning, not even salt. It was just boiled meat and vegetables.
I could tell by Hub`s face that he was thinking the same thing that I was, and wishing he could slather it with his beloved pesto sauce. But he didn`t.
"Do I have to finish it?" he whispered to me.
"Here -- put it in my bowl, and I will," I said, figuring at the very least that it was healthy and pretty low-cal.
When Au Pair Extraordinaire, her sister and her mother came to eat, her mother looked at the pot and made a worried-sounding proclamation in Chinese.
"She said you didn`t eat much! You didn`t like it?" asked Au Pair Extraordinaire`s sister, translating for her mother.
"No, no -- it was delicious!" I repeated.
The daughters tried it, and made faces. "It has no taste!"
A heated discussion with their mother in Chinese followed, of which I understood zilch.
However, I have three theories as to what had transpired:
(1) Either the mother, who was taking major amounts of prescription pain-killers, had simply forgotten to put in any seasoning, or
(2) The mother meant to ask her daughters to find out where I kept the seasoning in my kitchen, but forgot because she was so ticked off they stayed out so long, or
(3) The mother left the seasoning out on purpose, to teach her daughters a lesson.
I know (3) seems a bit farfetched, but it is possible. My own grandmother, who lived with our family when I was growing up, was a woman of few words, who used food to communicate with us. Most of the time, she cooked us delicious food as a way of showing her love for us, and expected us to show our love for her by eating and appreciating it. However, I could always tell when I had fallen out of Gramma`s good graces, because she would cook me runny eggs, and hiss, "Why are you complaining? That`s how you like them!" And I would have to be extra nice to her for a while, and eat the runny eggs, until I had atoned for whatever I had done.
Later that night, Au Pair Extraordinaire was packing the suitcases in our car, to get ready to bring her sister and mother to go to the airport for their flight back to Taiwan. They were scheduled to depart at some ungodly wee hour of the morning.
Her sister couldn`t help with the suitcases, because she had sprained some body part in the accident (not clear which part, but thankfully, she seemed fine). So her sister stood in the entranceway translating for the mother, who was saying her formal thank-you-and-goodbye to us, with lots of bowing gestures.
"She said, she is so sorry for the soup! It had no taste! And the meat was tough!"
"It was delicious!" I said, bowing back.
"She said next time, she`ll cook you better soup!"
"No, really -- it was delicious!" I said.
The mother gestured toward Au Pair Extraordinaire outside, and said something.
"She said, please make sure my daughter is home by 10:00 pm everynight! Please don`t continue to allow her to stay out all night!"
"She`s 26 -- we can`t really stop her, can we?" I said, and laughed, figuring she was kidding.
That was the wrong response. She wasn`t kidding at all.
"That was my mother`s request," said the sister, looking slightly pained. "I`m just translating for her, not asking you myself."
A fourth possibility occurred to me -- perhaps the mother had cooked us tasteless soup on purpose, as her way of letting us know she was unhappy that we hadn`t imposed a curfew on her unmarried daughter?
Anyway, Au Pair Extraordinaire drove them to the airport. Her mother, upon arriving in their home city, went straight to the local hospital, where she was admitted and will likely stay for a few weeks of rest and rehabilitation. Au Pair Extraordinaire used to work as a nurse at this same hospital for a few years, and was able to arrange special care for her mother with all her old doctor and nurse pals.
The next day, I added soy sauce, lemon juice, salt and pepper to the soup, and it was much improved. Au Pair Extraordinaire ate the leftovers with us.
"You chopped the pork and vegetables for her, didn`t you?" she asked, holding up a tiny, paper-thin mushroom slice.
"No," I said. "I didn`t find her until she was browning the meat."
"The meat and vegetables were in big pieces! How did she chop them into these little pieces with ONLY ONE HAND?"
I don`t even want to think about that one -- all I can say is, I`m glad I wasn`t watching her do it.
In our last episode, I had just discovered Au Pair Extraordinaire`s little Chinese mother, wearing a neck/back brace with one arm strapped in a sling COOKING in my kitchen, when she was supposed to be in bed.
I was unable to communicate with her at all -- she kept shooing me away, saying, "No, no, no, no, NO!" which was the only English I ever heard her speak.
Au Pair Extraordinaire was out sightseeing with her sister. I immediately called her cell phone.
"You`re mother is cooking," I said.
"OH NO! Let me talk to her!"
I gave the phone to her little Chinese mother, who took it with a smile. The smile faded away, when she realized it was her daughters on the phone.
I didn`t understand a word of the conversation that followed, but I think I can guess -- her little Chinese mother was probably saying something along the lines of, "OF COURSE I`m cooking, because my daughters are out sightseeing instead of home cooking for me!"
I will never know for sure what they said, but her little Chinese mother kept right on cooking. She had browned some pork chunks in oil, and was now adding water and chopped vegeatables and making soup.
Au Pair Extraordinaire and her sister came right home as soon as they could, and made her go back to bed.
The pot of pork and vegetable soup stayed on the stove. I thought they were going to eat it, but it turned out they were waiting for our family to eat first. They did not make this clear -- we waited for them, and got hungrier and hungrier as the hours ticked by, until I finally asked Au Pair Extraordinaire, and she let me know that we should go ahead. I suggested we all eat together, but she said her mother really wanted us to eat first.
My kids took one look at Chinese cabbage, Chinese broccoli and ample mushroom slices, and made gagging faces. They do eat vegetables, but so far, I`ve been unable to convince them that mushrooms won`t kill them. So I let them get away with just drinking cups of the broth with pork.
I poured large helpings into bowls for Hub and myself, and sat down to try it.
"How do you like it?" asked Au Pair Extraordinaire.
"Tell your mother it`s delicious!" I said.
But... it really wasn`t. I mean, it wasn`t bad.... it just had no taste at all. She hadn`t put in any seasoning, not even salt. It was just boiled meat and vegetables.
I could tell by Hub`s face that he was thinking the same thing that I was, and wishing he could slather it with his beloved pesto sauce. But he didn`t.
"Do I have to finish it?" he whispered to me.
"Here -- put it in my bowl, and I will," I said, figuring at the very least that it was healthy and pretty low-cal.
When Au Pair Extraordinaire, her sister and her mother came to eat, her mother looked at the pot and made a worried-sounding proclamation in Chinese.
"She said you didn`t eat much! You didn`t like it?" asked Au Pair Extraordinaire`s sister, translating for her mother.
"No, no -- it was delicious!" I repeated.
The daughters tried it, and made faces. "It has no taste!"
A heated discussion with their mother in Chinese followed, of which I understood zilch.
However, I have three theories as to what had transpired:
(1) Either the mother, who was taking major amounts of prescription pain-killers, had simply forgotten to put in any seasoning, or
(2) The mother meant to ask her daughters to find out where I kept the seasoning in my kitchen, but forgot because she was so ticked off they stayed out so long, or
(3) The mother left the seasoning out on purpose, to teach her daughters a lesson.
I know (3) seems a bit farfetched, but it is possible. My own grandmother, who lived with our family when I was growing up, was a woman of few words, who used food to communicate with us. Most of the time, she cooked us delicious food as a way of showing her love for us, and expected us to show our love for her by eating and appreciating it. However, I could always tell when I had fallen out of Gramma`s good graces, because she would cook me runny eggs, and hiss, "Why are you complaining? That`s how you like them!" And I would have to be extra nice to her for a while, and eat the runny eggs, until I had atoned for whatever I had done.
Later that night, Au Pair Extraordinaire was packing the suitcases in our car, to get ready to bring her sister and mother to go to the airport for their flight back to Taiwan. They were scheduled to depart at some ungodly wee hour of the morning.
Her sister couldn`t help with the suitcases, because she had sprained some body part in the accident (not clear which part, but thankfully, she seemed fine). So her sister stood in the entranceway translating for the mother, who was saying her formal thank-you-and-goodbye to us, with lots of bowing gestures.
"She said, she is so sorry for the soup! It had no taste! And the meat was tough!"
"It was delicious!" I said, bowing back.
"She said next time, she`ll cook you better soup!"
"No, really -- it was delicious!" I said.
The mother gestured toward Au Pair Extraordinaire outside, and said something.
"She said, please make sure my daughter is home by 10:00 pm everynight! Please don`t continue to allow her to stay out all night!"
"She`s 26 -- we can`t really stop her, can we?" I said, and laughed, figuring she was kidding.
That was the wrong response. She wasn`t kidding at all.
"That was my mother`s request," said the sister, looking slightly pained. "I`m just translating for her, not asking you myself."
A fourth possibility occurred to me -- perhaps the mother had cooked us tasteless soup on purpose, as her way of letting us know she was unhappy that we hadn`t imposed a curfew on her unmarried daughter?
Anyway, Au Pair Extraordinaire drove them to the airport. Her mother, upon arriving in their home city, went straight to the local hospital, where she was admitted and will likely stay for a few weeks of rest and rehabilitation. Au Pair Extraordinaire used to work as a nurse at this same hospital for a few years, and was able to arrange special care for her mother with all her old doctor and nurse pals.
The next day, I added soy sauce, lemon juice, salt and pepper to the soup, and it was much improved. Au Pair Extraordinaire ate the leftovers with us.
"You chopped the pork and vegetables for her, didn`t you?" she asked, holding up a tiny, paper-thin mushroom slice.
"No," I said. "I didn`t find her until she was browning the meat."
"The meat and vegetables were in big pieces! How did she chop them into these little pieces with ONLY ONE HAND?"
I don`t even want to think about that one -- all I can say is, I`m glad I wasn`t watching her do it.
posted by L. at 9:55 AM
8 Comments:
A Chinese woman is not going to let you put her up in your house without showing you how much she appreciates it. Thus, she was zonked out of her mind and didn't get to the spices by the time she was forced into bed. So, it's not some INSIDIOUS plot by a little Asian woman to send you a message.
And yeah, she was telling you to quit letting her 26 year daughter "run around".
Heh.
I like the insidious plot theory. It sounds like something my husband's deceased Italian grandmother would have done.
My favorite part was where you let Hub dump his bowl into yours. My husband would have eaten the whole thing and in between bites would say, this is terrible. He's strange that way.
I agree with Johnny. She was thanking you and either didn't have the language or was too polite to look for spices.
I swear, if you tied both of my Obachan's hands behind her back, she'd still find a way to chop meat and vegetables into tiny soup-like pieces... probably by using her teeth and a cleaver. Bad mental image, sorry.
I vote for confused or too polite to ask. But this was probably her version of omiyage. And she was dead serious about the curfew. Good luck on enforcing that! ;)
I didn't know whether to giggle or be alarmed by the last few lines of this post.
I'll go with giggle.
Wow, Au Pair Extraordinaire's mom is one tough cookie. I hope she feels better soon...and I am quite perplexed at her one-handed chopping abilities...
I was thinking she meant to use spices, but was distracted by the phone call and sent to her room before she could remember.
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