Stories Of My Father (2/10)

That smell of soup, home-made noodles mixed, that which is solely Ma Mon Luk's, brought back memories. They are hazy now, though: I remember eating from these white bowls chicken mami, and drinking from glasses so thick I knew then even if I threw it on the floor, it would not break. Papa brought us there when we were kids, it was our way of spending time. I remember the soup, and the siopao, the combination of which was aptly described by Uncle Paul today as 'heaven'. 

We went to the place today, as Uncle Paul who flew in from Chicago only wanted to eat at Ma Mon Luk. It was a treat: walking in the restaurant looking exactly like all of its branches, on not-so-clean floors; the cushion of the chairs so degraded like rats gnawed on them, slowly, by the year; the tables wiped clean by one of the waiters with a wet cloth that I am sure was not washed probably since the day before. It was a busy time, many customers were in the place, as always. 

A waiter took our orders, and he seemed impatient. He was probably thinking why it was taking so long for us to decide what to eat when everyone knew what was on the menu and the choices were just mami and siopao. I asked if they had soda, and he replied, 'Coke lang po. Wala nang iba'. We asked if there was tea. He said none, sounding annoyed. He was in a hurry, and I thought maybe he was late for a telenovela he watched every night. 

The delightful service did not matter. When the mami and siopao was served, all was well. I reminded my two Uncles that Papa's birthday was coming up soon. Uncle Paul said we were already celebrating it there.