A Long Lasting Message

It is a small, exotic, yet analogous bistro on the corner of McDowell and Washington, identical in its exterior to the several other beige stores and restaurants in the Safeway shopping center. The only way a person could distinguish the dissimilarity between this restaurant and the rest of the businesses around it, is by the bold red and white inscriptions fastened on the side of its plaster wall which reads, “Panda Express: gourmet Chinese food.”

When walking through the cold glass doors of this establishment, a cloud of warm, humid, and delicious smelling air rushes over you like a gargantuan wave of water on a Hawaiian beach. “Would you like to try the special of the month?” says a server at the counter. Suspended on the bright red walls, are distinguishing black and white photographs of giant pandas in their natural habitat “Would you like to try the special of the month?” repeats the employee once more. The walls are covered in an array of brightly colored rectangles, and the ceiling in festive red and gold Chinese New Year ornaments. Hung on the ceiling are scrumptious depictions of mouth watering entrees illuminated, by vibrant lights as if they were prized works of art in a museum. These items combined, make this restaurant a more attractive and homey place to dine for any particular occasion.

Behind a thin sheet of glass, the food is laid out on rectangular metallic hot plates perfectly stacked like books in a city library. They are placed in these positions, so that they can be eyed by the ravenous customers who look as if they were lions ready to pounce on their prey. As one orders these delicacies, the sound of steam being released into the air is heard in the kitchen, occasionally accompanied by a deafening sound from a metal wok falling on the stone floor. Latino men in coal black chef coats bustle throughout the kitchen like ants preparing the exquisite food as a server yells “we need more orange chicken!”

Toward the end of the kitchen stands a massive refrigerator containing an assortment of pre cut vegetables; all in their own transparent drawer, so that they can be seen by clientele as they compensate for their Chinese meal. Above this icebox a sign reads “fresh vegetables” to make the food look more gourmet and healthy, and less like a fast food cuisine.

The tables are made of plastic, yet to some extent, have the appearance of granite as if to make the eating area look more suitable to the human eye; even though, they are dirty and sticky from previous customers. In the faint distance, traditional mandarin music is heard, but diminished by the murmurs of customers conversing at their tables, and the soft sound of a broom’s bristles swaying back and fourth like a swing on a playground. Across the room a thirteen year old boy taps his chopsticks against the side of the tables as if he was a drummer in a rock band. As a satisfied customer stands to leave, their chair produces a loud screech and infrequently, a loud burp is heard to show their content.

The door to the bathroom makes a clank as it interlocks and closes. The bathroom floor is greasy and dirty like the bottom of a grill, yet the compact room is cleaner than most fast food establishments. The bathroom has a strong scent of soap. A scent similar to the one you find in a hospital’s bathroom. The mirror is clouded by the humidity of the restaurant and all you can distinguish is a dark shadow where your complexion should have been. As one looks down at the sink, they can see soap suds slowly precipitating due to the heat, and hear a still unvarying dripping of water against the floor.

As a person is given their plate filled with delicious food, they inhale a tangy spicy scent which evokes the sense of being in an oriental country. The orange chicken is enriched with a sweet citrusy glaze, while the Kung Pow chicken is salted and spiced up with roasted peppers. Ancient Chinese philosophers whisper in the ear of whoever takes a bite. The combination of these two plates creates an incredible sensation in your mouth. While sitting at the sultry tables eating these succulent meats, one feels isolated as if all the troubles in the world had gone away in a single bite. With every meal comes a unique cookie containing a fortune, and with every fortune comes a meaningful message. The minute words imbedded in the cookies have a power beyond the restaurant; the sweet taste tingles on your tongue and the diminutive message leave a lasting impression in your day.

-Cristian