‘Yours is a food family’ he said without much enthusiasm as he surveyed the spectacular spread. ‘I suspect that he would have been happy with chicken nuggets and chips. But he was a businessman who knew which way the wind was blowing and had spotted a good investment’. At least that’s how my mother-in-law tells it.
My wife’s family had established a food business, and when the patriarch dropped dead unexpectedly his wife was left holding the business with a whole lot of debts and bad bookkeeping. Logic said that she should have wound up the business and walked away, but she saw its potential, and believed in its mission. She was a food absolutist who believed her country’s native cuisine represented the summit of human achievement. Driven by a mixture of passion and ruthlessness she went on to build a food empire which she ruled with an iron fist.
My wife was cut from the same uncompromising cloth. However, opposites attract, as they say, and when introduced to my future mother-in-law she made it clear that she was opposed to the relationship. She thought I was a ‘bit off’, but in a rare act of rebellion my future wife made her determination clear, and I ended up marrying the boss’ daughter. She reluctantly accepted her daughter’s decision but the old girl’s view of me did not change with the passing of time despite being an exemplary husband and showing a flair for the family business. She was right, though, there was something ‘off’ about me.
Every Friday I would secretly slip off to the dazzling lights of Sydney’s Burwood with the excuse that it was the boy’s poker night. The place heaved with homesick Chinese migrants. You could spot an outsider a mile away. Nobody would think to look for me there. I couldn’t have been safer.
If I had been as methodical in life as I am in business, then my secret would never have been discovered. The poker games had started but had petered out. Truth is the game bored me, and the jokes grew stale. Excuses were made and eventually poker night was abandoned. A breakdown on the way home one Friday night was met with advice that help was a good two hours away. That didn’t upset me too much. It was a beautiful night, and I was in no hurry. People were streaming steadily by. Where were they going? There was a deliciously spicy and smoky smell in the air and without thinking I let the slipstream of people carry me forward. I eventually washed up in a restaurant and when the waitress came to take my order, I pointed dumbly to a plate that seemed to be the source of that wonderous smell. ‘You want hot kiss chicken?’ asked the waitress sceptically. I nodded dumbly. From that day on I was hooked.
My double life came undone, as these things usually do, by chance. It was a surprise encounter in the local supermarket between my wife and one of my erstwhile poker buddies who informed her that poker night had stopped months ago. No doubt her mother’s words came back to her like an omen of doom.
Friday night came around once again, and I left for ‘poker night’. If I wasn’t so keen I would have noticed a familiar car following closely behind. But I didn’t, so keen was my sense of anticipation. I parked and made my way quickly to my favourite restaurant and took my usual table. The waitress winked at me and said in a loud voice ‘hot kiss chicken?’
‘The more kisses the better,’ I shouted, and she blew me a flirty kiss. The second-place setting had not been removed and from a distance my restlessness could have been mistaken for romantic anticipation. At last, my wife could stand it no longer and rushed up just as the waitress reappeared with my order. She placed it quietly between us and disappeared. No dish was more aptly named. Nestled between chillies, the chicken pieces looked like they had been kissed a thousand times by scarlet lips. The penny finally dropped.
‘Try it’, I said, pushing the plate towards her. She hesitated, so I picked up a morsel with my chopsticks and raised it to her mouth. She reluctantly opened her mouth and accepted my offering and chewed it slowly. I smiled as I vividly remembered my first time. It was like nothing I ever tasted. A look of delight and relief flooded her face.
‘So, you’re cheating on me with another cuisine?’
‘Your mother always said I was a “bit off”.’
‘She was right,’ she agreed huskily as she popped another morsel into her mouth and paused as the spices colonised her mouth: ‘and in the sexiest possible way.’
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