The Imperial Seafood Restaurant on Balboa Street was filled with customers tonight. Not the intimate twosomes or threesomes, but families: the baby, the young, the middle-aged, the old, the unborn, etc.. Seated at big round tables, they ordered stir-fried lobsters, Dungeness crabs, orange colored steamed prawns, jade-green vegetables, fried squabs, steamed fish, and so on.
An old man got up from his table and patted his stomach. “I feel better now,” he turned to me, smiling.
“That’s good because it’s freezing outside.” I said.
“Waiting for a table?”
“No, take out. My father’s too old to get out.”
“How old?”
“Ninety-one.”
“Oh he’s a baby! It’s better to eat here. Good atmosphere.”
This was probably the most important meal for Chinese families, coming together to celebrate the end of the year. After waiting for nearly half an hour my take-out finally appeared.
At home, my father was pleased with the “three-stuffed jewels”, roast pork, greens and turnip cakes.
