Looking For A New Dish

Chinatown. Mid afternoon. Sunny, crisp, cool. Autumnal, changeable. Harvest season is coming in, streets are busy, stalls are overflowing with unrecognizable dried herbs and creatures, plants and fungi. A Ford F250 covered pickup with three Mennonite women huddled intently around the back latch is parked in front of the giant Chinese housewares emporium. Bonnets, aprons, full length muslin dresses, whispering as they struggle to unlock the back hatch. Three different attempts, three disparate ideas gently being negotiated. Inside, aisles team with glassware, pottery, housewares, $600 blenders, an assortment of rice cookers. The wide brimmed pilgrim-like fedora dwarfs the Mennonite man's head as he pushes his cart down the aisle of mops, brooms, rat poison and wastebaskets, weighing his options for cleaning supplies. Rumspringa for adults involves retail therapy at asian owned and operated kitchen supply stores. Who knew. The next aisle over a twenty something man dressed for a February blizzard wears wing tipped hard soled shoes that are beginning to curl up at the toes. He strokes his soul patch in rhythm to the music in his head. Three tourists at the cash are being given directions to another cash and carry who may or may not have what they're looking for which the clerk warns them may indeed be difficult if not impossible to find as she's not sure they even manufacture that thing anymore, whatever it is, exactly. In the far aisle, tucked away in the tightest corner sits a young boy, cross legged like a baby Buddha playing with handmade cotton miniature voodoo dolls set up around a cast iron green tea set. Soldiers in repose. A high screeching bark emanates from behind a wall of bamboo blinds. The boy cocks an ear to the sound and like a jackrabbit explodes to standing and scampers through piles of rattan blinds, giggling, arms flailing, toy dolls bouncing with every step. He scrambles under the blind and squeals with delight as he disappears into the storeroom.