I was born in 1961 and grew up in a little town in extreme southeastern Michigan called Flat Rock. We had this local joke that we were originally called "Level Pebble," but we grew! Needless to say, life in this little berg was rather insular when it came to other cultures.
And so, my first experience at a Chinese Restaurant was actually in Taiwan! No shit.
Not too far from the English Academy where I taught was a particular little dive that we affectionately called "The Shack". It was run by a talented and unpretentious proprietress (note the picture), and set in an open store front -- it was more like a dank little side walk cafe into which you could also find a table. The entire operation was there for anyone to witness. Her woks were well burnished with the varnished oils and residues of countless meals. And like some masthead leading this ship of culinary conquest, her infant child resided in a locked, iron, playpen on the sidewalk in front of her establishment. So we always fawned over the child as we arrived.
It was here that I experienced my first taste of To Fu, but did not warm to it until much later! I preferred her stir-fried shrimp-based creations; and her sweat-and-sour pork. The latter of which I was told was a Chinese creation meant specifically to satisfy "western" appetites, but not something that the indigenous population ever considered eating.
Now, today, I enjoy a rather intimate relationship with a particular local Chinese Restaurant -- which is to say that I have been a customer there for a little more than a decade. In fact, after touring the Hiroshige exhibit at the Phillips Collection for the second time, this time with my ex- Mr. J., he invited me to his new apartment for lunch -- a meal "catered" by this very take out place. How far have my experiences and tastes taken me from the days of "The Shack".... Yet, you may rest assured, that everyone else has been judged by her culinary expertise.
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