“Authentic Chinese Dinner”

by Vivian Chou

“Ooh, pick me, Carrie!” a voice says.

I turn around, but nobody’s there. It’s Wednesday at three in the afternoon at H Mart, and I’m getting groceries for dinner. Nate and I are having company tonight.

“Who said that?” I ask.

“I didn’t say anything,” the fishmonger says, his eyes wide. “Do you want to pick the fish? These grass carp are very nice. On sale today.” He points to the tank: deep midnight-blue background, various fish sleeping and swimming, a filter bubbling vigorously. 

I walk past a tank with a heap of resigned lobsters, blue rubber bands holding their claws. I peer into the fish tank. A long green carp swims to the edge of the tank and waves a fin at me.

“Over here! Pick me!” the carp says. Its bulbous eyes stare into mine, and I swear it is smiling at me.

I rub my eyes. Maybe someone laced my latte at the coffee shop this morning. I’m sure the barista was giving me the side-eye for asking for soy milk. I’m also getting my period. Maybe I’ll soon be going through menopause. Maybe I have a brain tumor. Or all of these at once. But currently, a fish is telling me to take it home.

“I’ll take that one,” I say, pointing at the chatty carp, before I can process what is happening. It’s like my muscles have been taken over and someone is talking for me. “But can you put it in a bag?”

“You gonna keep it as a pet?” the fishmonger laughs.

“They taste better fresh, right?” I say.

I know it’s dumb to want to cook a whole fish. Who am I trying to impress? But I feel the need to compensate for my kindergarten-level Mandarin literacy and substandard jiaozi-wrapper-folding skills.

“You don’t have to learn to cook,” Mom always said, when I was a kid. “Your job is to study to get ahead.”

The thing is, when I moved out of my parents’ house and discovered Americans ate iceberg lettuce with a side of cottage cheese for lunch, I nearly cried myself to sleep. So, I learned to cook, but the whole fish has still eluded me.

#

Back at home in my bathroom, I fill up an old compost bucket with water in the bathtub for my new sentient friend. The clear bag with the fish in it sits on the edge of the tub.

“I’m Chxuttudu,” the fish says. “Hard for you to pronounce with the clicks and all. Call me Eve.”

“I’m Carrie,” I say, sitting on the toilet lid with a thump. “But you already knew my name. This isn’t really happening, is it? I’m insane. How come the seafood guy at H Mart couldn’t hear you but I could?”

“Oh, I’m a destiny fish,” Eve says. “You and I were meant to be together.”

I rub my temples with my fingers and squeeze my eyes. Maybe if I focus, I can stop hallucinating.

“I know you’re supposed to serve Chinese fish at dinner tonight,” Eve says. “I just can’t wait to help you!”

I do need some help, but this is all kinds of wrong. “I know it sounds dumb,” I say, “and my guest probably won’t know any different. But I want to be a good American-born Chinese woman. It’s the end to every Chinese banquet: When you’re about to explode from eating ten courses, they bring out a whole fish.” I cast my eyes down to avoid judgment.

She blows bubbles and nods her head. “Oh yes, it can be quite intimidating,” she says. “Americans are quite squeamish with food sources. Cow is beef. Pig is pork. Shrimp are served with no heads. And fish—it’s very jarring for them to see us in our full state, scales and eyes and all. People don’t even tolerate lumpy carrots. Trust me, I’ve seen some things at H Mart.”

“But, I’m not going to eat you now,” I say. “You can talk for Chrissake.”

Eve’s gills flush bright pink. “Carrie! This is what I am meant to do. I have waited my whole life to meet you. To deny me this gift is to deny my very existence!”

I turn the water off and heave the bucket onto the tile floor. I pour Eve gently from the bag into the bucket with a plop.

“Look,” I say. “I am not going to broil someone with a vocabulary. Tomorrow, I’ll find a nice pond up north to release you into.”

“Oh no,” Eve says. “Don’t throw me in there with all the abandoned pets. Those Canadian geese are ruthless, too. I’d rather be at H Mart. Did you know that Kit Kats come in green tea flavor now? And Zojirushi also makes thermoses?”

“You’ll just be eaten by someone else if I return you,” I say.

“Exactly,” Eve says. “But you are my destiny.”

I start to feel nauseous, and my head pounds with tension. I am already anxious about having Nate’s boss over and don’t need the ethical conundrum of murdering a conscious being for dinner, however amenable they are.

“I have seen you in my dreams,” Eve says. “I swam to the Caloosahatchee River in Florida to be caught by fisherman and delivered to H Mart, to be bought by you on this fortuitous Wednesday.”

“I’m just a girl trying to cook a fish Chinese-style,” I say. “Nate brags about my cooking to his boss. So Ed invited himself over. He wants to try ‘authentic Chinese food.’”

“Yes!” Eve says. “Tonight, he shall have authentic Chinese food!”

“What makes it real?” I say. “I asked my mom for her recipe and she sent me a YouTube video.”

“For one, my ancestors are also Chinese,” Eve says. “Two hundred years ago, U.S. fisheries brought us over to eat us, but they still consider grass carp an invasive species. We are the same, you and I, just in different bodies. But you are powerful inside, like me.”

“I don’t feel powerful,” I say. “I’m just me. But people look at me and expect certain things.”

In the kitchen, I chop scallions, with Eve in the bucket on the floor next to me. Fragrant garlic and ginger sizzle on the pan. The bubbling steam from the rice cooker wafts comfort into my nostrils, reminding me of my parents’ kitchen. The dark green of the Chinese broccoli shines through as I boil and then blanch the thick stalks.

“Smells delicious,” Eve says, poking her head out of the water.

“Here’s hoping,” I say.

#

Nate and Ed arrive, and we sit down to eat. I pass around the mapo tofu, white rice, Chinese broccoli with oyster sauce, and oysters with garlic sauce.

“Mmph,” Ed says. “This is delicious, Carrie. What a treat!” He slaps Nate on the back. “Good choice in a mate here, buddy.”

Nate smiles nervously, and his eyes flit to me.

“Where are you from?” Ed says.

“South Jersey,” I say, bemused at his disappointed expression.

“Everyone says Chinese food is too greasy,” Ed says, shoveling tofu in his mouth, “or there’s too much MSG. I could eat this all day.” He sips his glass of cabernet sauvignon.

I exhale. I want to sit on the couch and finish reading my book.

“Doritos and sour cream and onion dip have MSG,” Nate says. “But nobody talks about that. Why do you think they taste so good?”

“Say, Carrie,” Ed says. “What’s going on in China these days? I mean, are the people better off now under communism than they were under—what was it? Emperors? What were the dates of the last Chinese dynasty, anyway?”

“Who is this guy?” Eve calls from the kitchen. “Does he know the years that John Madison was president, offhand?”

“My dad always said, at the end of the day, people just want food on the table.” I smile. But inside I feel like a failure. Ten years of Chinese school on Sundays and I can’t remember the last dynasty? Was it Ming or Qing?

“Interesting,” Ed says. “You know, this food isn’t super spicy. Can you explain the regional differences between Szechuan and Hunan foods?”

“Are you a food documentarian?” Eve calls. “I bet he doesn’t know the difference between Cajun and Creole, or that they’re people, not just types of food!”

“No,” I say. “But China’s a big country. I’m sure there’s differences just like Texans love their barbecue and Louisianans adore hot sauce.” I should’ve just said Szechuan is spicy and Hunan is average. He wouldn’t know any better.

Ed sets his chopsticks down and polishes off his wine. I wonder if he’s disappointed in the Chinese dinner or, really, in me.

“Where are your parents from, Ed?” I ask.

Ed blanches, like I’ve just asked him a twelve-thousand-dollar Final Jeopardy question. “I got some German, English, maybe some Italian in there, too. We kinda lost track,” he says.

“Ask him how to make spaetzle!” Eve yells. “Or why Italy is a failed state.”

“Do you have family back in any of those countries?” I ask.

“Probably,” Ed says, throwing back a second glass of wine.

“We been so watered down after generations, we just became American. Listen, I have to ask. I can’t tell Chinese people from Japanese or Korean. How do you tell?”

 “OH NO, HE DID NOT JUST SAY THAT!” Eve screams from the kitchen.

“Excuse me, gentlemen. I think I left something on the stove.” I stand up from the table and walk into the kitchen.

Eve swims around the bucket in circles, splashing her tail.

“Oh my God!” I hiss. “Do I look like a compendium of five thousand years of Chinese history?”

“Breathe,” Eve holds still, spinning her fins. “I saw a glimpse of this in my dreams. Just let me process for a second.”

I dig in the fridge for some white wine.

“You want to impress Ed, right?” Eve says.

I take three glugs of wine from my glass. “I can’t piss him off—he’s Nate’s boss.” I hold the glass against my face. It is cool and soothing.

Eve blows bubbles and swims circles in her bucket. “By helping you learn to cook a fish, I will release my true nature and be freed. Trust me on this one.”

Together, we hatch a plan. I combine minced garlic, ginger, sherry, sugar, soy sauce, and sesame oil in a small bowl. I return to the dinner table with the bowl.

Nate smiles weakly and pushes rice around on his plate. “Thanks for dinner, Carrie. It was amazing. Ed and I were just talking about visiting Chinatown, and—.”

Ed shudders. “I just think it’s so barbaric seeing your food before you eat it. Why do they hang ducks and pigs upside-down in the window and keep those poor fish in the tanks?”

I look at Nate, who sighs and hangs his head. “Ed, if you eat meat, shouldn’t you be comfortable with what it really is?”
I sip my jasmine tea and look Ed in the eyes. “You ever go hunting, Ed?”

“Sure,” Ed says. “My cousin Alex lives in the Upper Peninsula. Deer’ll last you a whole winter.”

“Right. So?” I wait for the thought to hit him, the self-actualization. Seconds turn to half a minute. I don’t know why I had any expectations.

“I mean, we don’t keep deer as pets or anything,” Ed says, making a face.

I return to the kitchen. “And now!” I say, in a singsong voice. “For the final dish!”

I bring out Eve in the bucket.

“Carrie, what are you—?” Nate says. I wonder if I look reasonable or if I’m sporting crazy eyes.

“I didn’t grow up in China,” I say to Ed. “So, I don’t know how the people feel about their government. I was going to serve a grass carp for the last dish of the night.” I remove a deep crystal bowl from the buffet table and pour Eve into the bowl with ample water. “But the fish and I have intertwined destinies. So, we will dine with this fish!” I cut up an oyster off my plate and throw it into the bowl.

“Thank you, Carrie!” Eve says and nips at the oyster. “Delicious! Did you put sherry in the sauce?”

Ed opens his mouth as if to say something, but then closes it. He doesn’t appear to have heard Eve speak.

“What does authentic mean, anyway?” I say. “This carp was brought over from China by Americans, but they call it invasive. But the brown trout, domestic cow, and coyote are all non-native. Why are some animals able to blend in, and others are singled out?”

“Hmm,” Ed says. “Brown trout, really? Weird. My favorite animal’s the bald eagle. So majestic, so powerful.” He peers at the crystal bowl and shudders. “Are you going to kill that fish?”

“I’m told it’s more of a rebirth,” I say. “But this is my first time preparing Destiny Fish.”

Ed furrows his brow and opens his mouth to comment, but before he can get the words out, Eve swims in a tight circle around the bowl and leaps into the air. The smoking form of a bright red dragon emerges out of her body. Golden scales shimmer on her flank, bronze talons flex, and jade eyes gaze down at the dinner table.

Meanwhile, Eve’s fish-body remains in the bowl, gasping. Nate and Ed stare at her dragon form hovering over the mapo tofu.

“Holy crap!” Nate says, choking on his Tsingtao beer.

Ed drops his fork and shouts, “Jesus H. Christ!”

“I am Chxuttudu!” Dragon-Eve shouts. “And tonight, our destiny will manifest! Now, Carrie!”

 I grit my teeth and pour the marinade over Fish-Eve’s body.

Dragon-Eve rears her beautiful head back and exhales a concentrated firestream onto Fish-Eve’s body. The rosewood dining table blackens under the heat. Steam, garlic scent, and crispy ginger permeates the air. Fish-Eve’s scales glisten with charred ash, and my stomach growls.

Ed claps his hands as if he’s finished watching a joust at Medieval Times. “Now, is this ancient Chinese magic?” He looks behind him and up to the ceiling. “Is there a projector in here somewhere? How’d you get the flames to feel so hot?”

“This is how I do it,” I say. “ABC-style.” I serve up Fish-Eve’s body, taking care to remove the spine and bones and scoop the leftover marinade over the fish and rice.

We eat in hungry silence.

Nate wipes sauce off his lips. “Delicious, Carrie.” He eyes Dragon-Eve, then me and smiles, his teeth gritted.

“Next time my kids wanna go to hibachi, I’m gonna tell them to come to Carrie and Nate’s house instead,” Ed says.

Dragon-Eve sits down on the chair next to me, and I sigh. “I think it was a success,” I say, but my face droops. I have a sick feeling this whole night was wasted on Ed. I shouldn’t need to prove myself to him, or to anyone. And I’m not some trick pony.

Dragon-Eve raises her golden eyebrows. “The night is still not done yet.”

Dragon-Eve offers a plate of egg custard tarts to Nate and Ed. “Choose one,” she says, winking at me. “Egg tarts are traditional but have a mystical quality to them. They can draw your spirit animal into your body.”

“Really?” Nate says, nibbling on the crust. “I never heard that before.”

Ed chomps on one. “I’m all for magical tarts.” Ed stares at his hands and looks down at his body for any transformation. “No dragon came out! Guess I’m all-American.”

Dragon-Eve nods and smiles. “Guess so.”

“It’s been a real treat,” Ed says. “We’ll have you over for steak next month. Can’t promise it’ll be as exotic as tonight, though! Nice to meet you, Dragon!” Ed waves at Dragon-Eve, shakes my hand and Nate’s, and heads out of the apartment.

Just then, the lumbering shape of a brown and white spotted cow emerges from the foyer wall and stumbles down the stairs after Ed.

“I didn’t know egg tarts were magical,” I say in awe.

“I just pulled that out of my ass,” Dragon-Eve says. “But spirit animals do love some sugar. I hope the cow doesn’t give him a tummy-ache tonight. Ed will be sour to know his spirit animal is not, in fact, the bald eagle.”

“Thank you for everything,” I say. “The fish came out great.”

“No problem,” Dragon-Eve says. “It was our destiny.”