The Scottish Banker of Surabaya - By Ian Hamilton Page 0,21
in Richmond Hill. The answer was simple. For years Vancouver had been the most desired landing spot for Chinese immigrants, and the town of Richmond was where they settled. When Toronto began to supplant Vancouver as the economic hub of Chinese activity in Canada, there was a migration of western Chinese Canadians. And because they — and just about everyone in Hong Kong — knew the name Richmond, Richmond Hill was where they ended up. There hadn’t been many Chinese people there when Jennie brought her two daughters east, to get away from what was for her the dreary, rainy climate of Vancouver, which reminded her too much of Hong Kong. But within a few years Richmond Hill, Ontario, was as Chinese as Richmond, British Columbia.
The Lucky Season was in a strip mall named Times Square, which was modelled after a Hong Kong mall of the same name. It wasn’t a fancy restaurant, but it served great and cheap dim sum. Jennie had found it years ago and had been going several times a week ever since. Each dim sum serving cost $2.20, about half of what you’d pay at most other places on Highway 7, and maybe a quarter of the tab at trendy downtown restaurants such as Lai Wah Heen. The place sat about four hundred people and was always jammed.
Ava knew the hostess — another of Jennie Lee’s innumerable friends — and was immediately led past a knot of waiting customers to a table. No one complained about the preferential treatment; having connections was an accepted part of daily life in Richmond Hill, something to be admired, not envied.
The hostess asked after Jennie. Ava explained that her mother had spent the summer at a cottage. The woman — who was at least six foot two in flat shoes and had been a member of the Chinese women’s basketball team — looked down at Ava in disbelief. “I thought she must have gone to Hong Kong or something. I can’t see her at a cottage.”
Ava shrugged. “She survived.”
“Do you want hot and sour soup?” the hostess asked.
“You know I do. I’ll order it now and everything else when my guest gets here.”
When it came to food, Ava was absolutely biased. She believed that Chinese cuisine, in all its incredible variety and devotion to freshness, couldn’t be beat. And if she had to choose just one dish, it would be hot and sour soup. She had eaten it, she imagined, literally thousands of times, in hundreds of restaurants. And every time she ate it, it was different — not just from restaurant to restaurant but even in the same restaurant on different days. Its constant surprise delighted her. The variety of potential ingredients, both necessary and optional, was so vast that minor adjustments here and there could change the entire flavour profile. As the name suggested, the soup was meant to be spicy, so pepper and chilis were a constant. It was also meant to have a slightly sour tang, so vinegar was always added to the chicken-broth base, along with — and this was where chefs got really creative — any combination and amounts of tofu, pork strips, bamboo shoots, wood ear mushrooms, shiitake mushrooms, soy sauce, sesame oil, sugar, green onions, shrimp, scallops, and duck meat.
Any restaurant that could make a good hot and sour soup could count on her business. Lucky Season made a great one, certainly in her top three. Ava liked hers especially spicy, and the chef at the Lucky Season went heavy on ground black pepper and chilis, lighter with the vinegar, and added sliced red and green peppers. His soup was a light brown colour, but Ava had also seen red, pink, and dark brown versions. She dipped in her spoon and pulled out a bright pink shrimp with a strip of wood ear mushroom wrapped around it. She ate it and smiled.
Joey Lac was on time. Ava had finished her soup and was chatting with the hostess when she saw a man hovering near the doorway, eyeing the room. He was larger than she had expected, close to six feet and carrying a lot of weight. Ava stood and waved in his direction. He looked at her and then glanced around, as if trying to make sure she really was alone. Theresa’s brother has made him paranoid, Ava thought.
He lumbered towards her, beads of sweat visible on his upper lip and forehead. Ava held out her hand. “Thanks for coming.”