Post by Ling on Jan 15, 2017 17:12:39 GMT -6
The Yao household was full of hustle and bustle. Shi'ren was very adamant that the new year be faced with a clean slate, and that included their actual living space. It was part of the family's annual tradition to clean their home: donating little used but still serviceable items to the Monks; airing out the rooms of their apartment including any linens; and decorating their home to celebrate the turn of the year. This year was the Year of the Rooster, so Shi'ren proudly displayed a ceramic chicken on their coffee table.
Personally, Ling found the thing ugly. She recalled Rooster years in a childhood gone by where she wanted to do nothing more than shatter the darn thing. But she held back; it was one of the few things Mama had brought with her when she ran off with Daddy, and it was part of a zodiac set. There was a ceramic animal for every year, tucked away in a little box in the crawlspace above the apartment awaiting their next year. They were all honestly a little garish, but Ling found the chicken to be the worst offender.
Since her father died, Ling had taken on his duties of cooking the New Years meals. She rarely cooked; not due to lack of knowledge — she had a basic understanding and could follow a recipe if presented with one — but lack of interest in the effort. None of them, however, wanted to let the tradition end. So, dutifully, Ling took up the mantle.
It was an all day affair; Ling made mountains of dumplings (steam and pan-fried), nian gao (new year's cake), spring rolls, and tangyuan (sweet rice balls). These foods were said to bring wealth and family togetherness. Tonight, for dinner, she would make yi mein — longevity noodles — for happiness and long life; it would be accompanied by a dish of rice and pork (the pork fat symbolising continuing to be well-fed), and lastly, followed by a dish of catfish, with just a little intentionally left over for prosperity and surplus in the upcoming year.
This year, though, the usual festive mood had a very stressed out undercurrent. Lying on the back of the sofa, an emergency edition of the Republic City Times blared out its headline: CHIEF OF POLICE MURDERED. The police refused, even now, to consider that the Galgori Six may be involved. Shi'ren had muttered to herself about an inauspicious start to the new year. Ling had simply squared her shoulders, her eyes narrowed as she exchanged a look of understanding with her sister.
Family first.
Despite the unease, the Yao women puttered about the house, laughing softly at memories as they packed away things for donation. The radio played gentle jazz music in the background, set soft and low.
Around noon, the kitchen table piled high with food, Ling took a break. The dough for the longevity noodles was still rising. She flopped on the couch, propping her feet up on the coffee table. In a small act of defiance, she nudged the ugly ceramic rooster from its place in the dead centre of the table.
Mei-zhen brought her some hot taho — arnibal with pressed silken tofu and saigo pearls. Ling wasn't too much for sweets, but taho held a special place in her heart.
The phone rang as she was browsing through a magazine. Absent-mindedly, she picked it up on the second ring. "Hullo, Yao residence," she said into the receiver, her voice slightly garbled from the mouthful of tofu.
Personally, Ling found the thing ugly. She recalled Rooster years in a childhood gone by where she wanted to do nothing more than shatter the darn thing. But she held back; it was one of the few things Mama had brought with her when she ran off with Daddy, and it was part of a zodiac set. There was a ceramic animal for every year, tucked away in a little box in the crawlspace above the apartment awaiting their next year. They were all honestly a little garish, but Ling found the chicken to be the worst offender.
Since her father died, Ling had taken on his duties of cooking the New Years meals. She rarely cooked; not due to lack of knowledge — she had a basic understanding and could follow a recipe if presented with one — but lack of interest in the effort. None of them, however, wanted to let the tradition end. So, dutifully, Ling took up the mantle.
It was an all day affair; Ling made mountains of dumplings (steam and pan-fried), nian gao (new year's cake), spring rolls, and tangyuan (sweet rice balls). These foods were said to bring wealth and family togetherness. Tonight, for dinner, she would make yi mein — longevity noodles — for happiness and long life; it would be accompanied by a dish of rice and pork (the pork fat symbolising continuing to be well-fed), and lastly, followed by a dish of catfish, with just a little intentionally left over for prosperity and surplus in the upcoming year.
This year, though, the usual festive mood had a very stressed out undercurrent. Lying on the back of the sofa, an emergency edition of the Republic City Times blared out its headline: CHIEF OF POLICE MURDERED. The police refused, even now, to consider that the Galgori Six may be involved. Shi'ren had muttered to herself about an inauspicious start to the new year. Ling had simply squared her shoulders, her eyes narrowed as she exchanged a look of understanding with her sister.
Family first.
Despite the unease, the Yao women puttered about the house, laughing softly at memories as they packed away things for donation. The radio played gentle jazz music in the background, set soft and low.
Around noon, the kitchen table piled high with food, Ling took a break. The dough for the longevity noodles was still rising. She flopped on the couch, propping her feet up on the coffee table. In a small act of defiance, she nudged the ugly ceramic rooster from its place in the dead centre of the table.
Mei-zhen brought her some hot taho — arnibal with pressed silken tofu and saigo pearls. Ling wasn't too much for sweets, but taho held a special place in her heart.
The phone rang as she was browsing through a magazine. Absent-mindedly, she picked it up on the second ring. "Hullo, Yao residence," she said into the receiver, her voice slightly garbled from the mouthful of tofu.