Would you like number twenty-three?
Leave your yens on the counter, please.
–Lyric from Hong Kong Garden, Song by Siouxsie and the Banshees
Never mind that the plural of yen is yen.
Never mind that yen is the currency of Japan, not China (or Hong Kong for that matter).
The problem is the song’s stuck in my head.
Two weeks ago, I wrote my post Mall Life and introduced the word FWANEO (food with a non-European origin). I’m happy to report that the acronym I created to replace the Eurocentric term ethnic food has taken on a life of its own. I’ve seen it mentioned in articles in the New York Times, the San Francisco Chronicle and the Des Moines Register. I ran a google search and it returned over a billion hits. In that post, I wrote that Gettysburg is a FWANEO vacuum. You want pizza or a burger, you’re in luck. You want Indian food, drive to a city.
Last weekend, Susan and I flew to Wisconsin to visit Sophie. She’s living and working in an area known as the North Woods. It’s super remote (appropriate for the forestry project that hired her) and is usually considered pristine. Unfortunately, a smoky haze has hung over the area most of the summer from Canadian wildfires leaving it cool and dim. The three of us drove north and spent two days hiking, sightseeing, shopping and eating in a hip college town on the southern shore of Lake Superior called Marquette. Marquette was a bit of a FWANEO vacuum as well, but we found some tasty restaurants featuring superb foods with European origins. I considered the trip a foodie-success.
In the meantime, home alone for the weekend, Eli proved my Mall Life post false by trying a restaurant in Gettysburg called Chinatown Kitchen. I may have exaggerated when I called Gettysburg a FWANEO-desert. We have four reasonably good Mexican restaurants and a Chinese buffet. I stay away from the buffet, because, well, it’s a buffet. The older I get, the more grossed out I am by the concept. The food sits in heated tins, abandoned, for extended periods of time. The only time it isn’t unattended (and therefore open-game for buzzing flies) is when a stranger is standing over it, touching the food. I prefer my food more sheltered, less worldly.
Chinatown Kitchen opened thirty-five years ago. I’ve lived in Gettysburg more than half that time, and I never once considered going there. No one I know ever talks about it. I’ve seen the menu before, there are at least one-hundred-fifty options—something I consider a food-freshness red flag. Being a carryout, it’s a bit of a hole-in-the-wall—the hole, well, door, is squished in between two other shops, seemingly without enough room to harbor a restaurant. Viewed through the plexiglass façade, every visible inch of wall space within the cramped restaurant is covered with photographed food selections.
When we returned home from Marquette, Eli raved about Chinatown Kitchen. “This was only ten bucks. I ate it for two meals, and I haven’t even made a dent.” He was right. At a different restaurant, the plastic container of food he held might have been considered full. “You should try it, it’s awesome. It only took them ten minutes to make.” Eli convinced us to try Gettysburg’s only Chinese carryout.
When I placed our order, Hong Kong Garden began playing in my head.
Would you like number twenty-three?
Leave your yens on the counter, please.
As a matter of form, I considered ordering number twenty-three, the seafood soup, but Asian soups rarely fill me up. Susan and I went for the Hunan Chicken and a Garlic/Eggplant dish. Eli was right, the food was delicious. And the portions were huge. Susan and I pigged out on Sunday. Eli and I ate leftovers for dinner on Monday. Susan had it for lunch on Tuesday, and then I had it a third time for dinner. I started doing math. I could buy three dishes on Sunday and have all my weekly lunches and dinners already prepared for just thirty dollars.
Since the start of the pandemic, almost all our restaurant meals are takeout. We got used to that when the dining rooms shut down, and we never got back in the habit of going out for a meal. But since I moved from DC, I really haven’t used any restaurants where the only option is “to go.” We typically buy our meals at the cash register of empty sit-down restaurants. Chinatown Kitchen seems just as good and far cheaper.
I think Chinatown Kitchen will be a mainstay in our carryout rotation from now on. I still have one-hundred-forty-eight other selections to try, including the seafood soup. When I get around to ordering number twenty-three, I’ll use my credit card. Chinatown Kitchen can convert it into any currency they want.
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Because of the negative stereotypes in Hong Kong Garden, I’ll leave you with a different Siouxsie and the Banshees song from the same era. Christine is reminiscent of those British and American psychedelic garage band songs that were so popular in the mid-sixties. While you listen, notice how sparse the instrumentation is. Siouxsie Sioux has a powerful voice. Her strong vocals fill the space left vacant by minimal accompaniment.
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Previously Published on jefftcann.com and is republished on Medium.
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Photo credit: iStock
