Portland – Clara Hsu

The Wind Turned

Warming on a winter day. Surprising after a night of rain. The streets were still glistening when we walked out, hatless and without gloves. Portland’s streetcars were built in the Czech Republic, a sign read. (They reminded me of Prague). A sleepy city during the day and sleepier in the night, I wondered about the mostly empty restaurants, and how the block-long Powell’s Books stay in business. In its rare book room they displayed Ginberg’s Howl and William Burroughs’ Naked Lunch (first editions). Both had a price tag of $2000.

I had a taste of Portland’s finest croissant and macaroon with raspberry filling, Killer Dave’s bread, crayfish sushi and Pok Pok wings (and not so tasty wontons). The exquisite Chinese Garden I carried it in my mind. The time spent with Julia, Brent and Morty was pleasurable. But the pull to leave was made stronger by the messages left on my phone. It was time to go home.

Lanterns in the study, Chinese Garden. Photo by Brent Beneway.

The Good Wonton

“Go down three blocks on 4th Ave. The hole in the wall place is called Good Taste. My co-worker from Beijing said it’s the best,” said the helpful lady at the door, who sold us tickets to Portland’s famous Chinese Garden.

After visiting the stunningly beautiful courtyard and gardens, all in traditional Chinese style, we decided to forgo their elegant tea house for the recommended “Good Taste.”

“Good Taste” was indeed a small family establishment. We each ordered wonton soup. My first bite reminded me that I was not in San Francisco. Second bite told me the seasoning was all wrong. When I looked up from my bowl I found my daughter Julia and her boyfriend Brent wolfing down their portions like there was no tomorrow.

“It’s delicious!” cooed Julia. And Brent nodded eagerly in agreement.

The little cloud-like morsels with shrimp and ground pork filling are probably one of the easiest things to make. Yet in this restaurant they tasted like wet Italian meatballs.

“It’s because you’ve forgotten the taste of good wontons,” I said to them. But the real reason, to me, was that they had neglected to put in the secret ingredient: love.

Photo by Arthur Che.

Going Places

It took many years before I had the vocabulary to define myself. Restless spirit is one of them. The term explains why I don’t focus well and get bored easily. Traveling suits my temperament, especially when I do it alone. Whether it is a long drive down to L.A. or wandering in the souqs in Morocco, life is most purposeful with the forward motion.

My daughter Julia and her boyfriend Brent are moving out of the Bay Area to Portland, Oregon. Last night they packed until 4 in the morning. Today is a new day for them as they move forward toward the greater truth. May their steps be light and graceful in their dance across the universe.