A Cantonese Cavity.
Last year, I found my ‘forever’ Cantonese restaurant.
Benyue’s fried rice was distinguished - great charsiu cubes, meaty king prawns, just the right size of broken scrambled egg yolks.
My parents liked the restaurant. My daughter’s godmother liked it. Even my Sydney friend’s mother liked it.
“Oh, they may not be there much longer,” Jess Ho first dropped the bomb gently, like breaking the news of cancer to an eight-year-old.
No.
I went in and asked Siu Li about it.
I was just a boy, standing in front of a girl, asking her to keep making Cantonese food for him1.
She replied “maybe”.
No.
“My parents want to go back to China. I’m hoping they go back and decided to come back. But if they stay…”
Lie to me. I don’t want honesty.
The last month of December, I looked for any excuses to dine at Benyue.
Took chef friends there.
Took Hana’s classmate’s family there.
Took away fried rice after a family shoot in Essendon.
Took my godmother’s mother for the full banquet.
I remember they closed on the 22nd of December, reopening end of January.
And then they delayed reopening to end of February.
On 1st of March, there it was.
“With heavy hearts…”
Blah blah blah, whatever.
I trusted you, Siu Li. You were the chosen one.
Your parents are happy, but what about me?
Where do I reward myself now?
That afternoon, I had a toothache.
Scheduled an appointment for the next morning, expecting a chipped tooth, or a loose filling, or a harsh reminder to floss.
My last-minute dentist examined the X-ray and said the gum was swollen, possibly killing the nerve.
“I could deep clean it and see how you feel, or we just remove it since it’s a wisdom tooth and it’s not doing anything anyway,” she said.
Great, first my Chinese restaurant, now my wisdom tooth.
“Fine, just remove it,” I said.
What is waiting, but pain stretched over time.
“By the way, where’s your favourite Indian restaurant2?” I asked as she lowered the chair, a big fucking needle in her hand.
“I usually finish late, so I take away Chinese. Things like fried rice, you know,” she said.
“Say no more, say no more,” I mumbled, tears dripping down my eyes.
It must’ve been the needle.
I had to chew with my left jaw until it was time to get my stitches removed.
A week later, the wisdom tooth on my upper left started hurting.
Probably due to stress, and imbalanced chewing.
For the first time in my life, I chewed food with my front teeth (incisors), moving it to my canine, then to the pre-molars, then molars.
And the food tasted different.
I start to observe how others eat.
Is it possible that the way we chew, determines how we experience flavours?
Are we experiencing ‘textures’ the way it was intended?
How many of us are wolfing down food going ‘this is shit’?
You saw the moral of the story lightyears away:
The fried rice was my tooth.
In life, you win some, you lose some.
Either way, you learn something.
I learn to floss more.
And to cherish whatever rice you have in your life.
Nothing is forever.
The best fried rice today can be a big fucking needle in your gum the next day.
So always have a plan B.
You can’t rely on one single restaurant.
Melburnians, care to share your favourite Cantonese restaurant that isn’t Supper Inn?
Flower Drum is too expensive.
Doncaster or Blackburn is too far.
I’ve heard good things about Bamboo House.
Notting Hill aside, asking a restaurant whether they are closing down or not was a 100% twat move, like asking your grandpa if he is going to die. I do not recommend it.
Was it a racist question to ask an Indian dentist? I didn’t believe so. She did mention the biryani in Chilli India was pretty good.
I totally get it.
The rice, and, the tooth.
☮️