Fiction: Group 3
As for the French toast, it was a sweet finish: the lovely golden-brown colour of the bread was
enticing enough, but the sticky syrup was what made my day. It glued my teeth together as soon as I sank
into the bread, and Father smirked at my messy efforts. This must have been one of the best meals of my
life.
The old man finished the last piece of his pineapple bun and licked his buttery fingers. A soft voice
from the far corner of the Cha Chaan Teng distracted him from the important task of finishing up the
crumbs, “Waiter, can I have a toothpick please?”
The old man peeked at the woman who had just spoken. The young lady had a head of straight
black hair and kind eyes. He paused, lost in his memories. Forty years ago, he had met a young lady here
who looked just like this young customer, and she had completely changed his life.
I was thirty when I met the love of my life, by chance. I was in a foul mood that day, having just
been fired from my job for a trivial mistake. Wandering aimlessly on the streets, I walked into this Cha
Chaan Teng. I flounced into a booth in a huff, only to leap up at the sight of the angel next to me. She
looked like an angel - literally. She was wearing a pretty white dress, with black hair like silk tumbling
down her back. It was love at first sight. She blinked shyly at me, and I fell over myself apologizing. It was
the start of everything.
One evening three months later, after several romantic dates, I took her back to the same Cha
Chaan Teng. I proposed to her after dinner, right next to the counter, which had been decorated with red
roses at my special request. I got on one knee, and handed her the plate of heart-shaped egg tarts the chef
had specially prepared. I was dumb with happiness when she said yes.
Smiling at this thought and at his silliness for presenting egg tarts instead of a wedding ring, the old
man picked up his cup of
yuanyang
, and drank half of it in a single gulp. At the door, the family cheerily
bade goodbye to the waiters, plastic bags of takeaway swinging from their arms. He licked his lips, savouring
the unique taste of his drink-of-choice.
“What’s yuanyang, Daddy?” My son asked. My daughter was beside him, looking up at me with
her beautiful big eyes, curious about the drink I had ordered.
This was the first time my wife and I had brought the children along with us to our special Cha
Chaan Teng for lunch. The kids were not too excited about the prospect until my yuanyang arrived at our
table. They liked the taste of tea and had had sips of coffee, but not once had they thought of mixing the
two seemingly very different beverages together. To them, this idea was completely bizarre.
“You can have a taste,” I answered, passing him the cup. He drank some, then downed the whole
lot.
“Yummy!” my son pronounced cheekily. My little girl was cross with her brother.
“You didn’t even leave me a mouthful!” she complained.
My wife burst out laughing, and ordered two more yuanyangs, one for each of the kids. It became
their favourite drink - just like it had always been mine.
The old man finished his drink, and stared down at the old teacup. Fully conscious that he had just
had his last meal in this Cha Chaan Teng, he walked to the counter to pay.
“That will be eighteen dollars, mister,” the cashier informed him.
The old man handed him a twenty-dollar bill, and left the restaurant for the last time.
He stared at the signboard hung above the doors of the Cha Chaan Teng.
My life in Hong Kong started here. Does it all have to end now? Where will I go from here?
“
Goodbye, my old friend,” the old man gave it one last look, turned, and made his way home.
