Peking Duck

Part 6 of  6

Stan the Man

So the first time I come into this outta the way joint, I know I got a winner.  Like how do I know?  Vinnie, you remember him?  Now I never question when Vinnie tells me anything.  He’s been around.  He knows.  Me?  I know nothin’, so I listen good.

“Ya like that Chinese stuff?” Vinnie asks me out of the blue, one day.

“Yeah, it’s okay,”  I say.

“Like why am I askin’ you?”   He begins again, “The only thing you eat is pizza,” and he lets out a big belly laugh, and believe me he’s gotta a belly to do that.

Vinnie the Vonce

Hey, so I’m chicken when I’m around Vinnie.  Ya don’ mess with this guy.  He not only has a belly, he has a gun, too.  If you seen the size of that gun you wouldn’t laugh, either.  Ya show respect.  I don’ fool around with this guy.  I listen good.

So one day Vinnie turns to me and says, “Ya wanna eat?”

Me, I’m not starvin’ but I ain’t gonna let the big gun know that.  I’m not apologizin’, like I said, when I’m around him, I’m different.  I react.  I become mellow.  A chicken.  Okay, I said it, not you.  I can say chicken, but don’ you ever come close to sayin’ that about me.  Like I said, I know this guy with a gun.  Get my point?

The Big Gun

Vinnie knows T.K., the guy who owns a Chinese joint.  What do I know?  I follow him into the restaurant.  

He don’ introduce me or nothin’.  I just stand there.  I look the joint over.  Nothin’ big.  Nothin’ fancy.  Just a strip shoppin’ kinda place.  So, if it’s okay with Vinnie, I figure it’s gotta be an okay place.  Just  ‘cause he’s big in the gut, don’ mean he ain’t got class.

Seein’ the size of his belly, I don’ want ya to get the wrong impression.  Vinnie eats a lot but, he just don’ eat anywhere.  Like I’m tellin’ ya, like I know pizza, I figure he knows Oriental.  It don’ take me long figur’n that one out fast.  He’s a gourmet, a guy after my own heart.

Well, T.K. shows us to a table and while they shoot the breeze, I study the menu.  It don’ have pizza on it, so whaddah I know?  I just wait for them to stop yackin’.  But for a guy that’s hungry, he’s sure takin’ his good old time.  Me, I just sit.  This Chinese cookin’ ain’t exactly familiar.

Vinnie he don’ even look at the menu.  He just tells T.K. to make some stuff that I can’t even pronounce.

Finally he turns to me sayin’, “You really gonna dig this food.  About time ya got some culture.  There’s other stuff besides pizza, ya know.  Trust me.  I been around the block a few times.”

“Yeah,” I say.  How can I tell him I’m no big fan of anything that don’ have red sauce on it?  Ya can’t say that to someone like him.  He’s invitin’ me; he’s payin’;  all I gotta do is say “yeah” and eat.  But don’ think I’m chicken.  Only I can use that name, ya hear?

Vinnie ain’t big on conversation, so we just sit and wait for the food.  The joint is empty, so I’m wonderin’… if it’s such a great place, how come Vinnie is the only guy what found it?  But I’m smart.  I don’ tell him that.  Like I said, he’s payin’.  I keep my mouth shut.

We wait a long time before I figure T.K. is the only one cookin’ in the kitchen.  Me, I don’ tell this to Vinnie, I can see he’s gettin’ restless, too.  Must be some busy restaurant if only one guy is preparin’ our Chinese.  I’m glad I ain’t starvin’ or they’d have to carry me out feet first.

When the food arrives, I gotta tell ya, I’m one surprised guy.  Mamma mia!  I don’ know what I’m eatin’.  Damn, it’s good, even if it don’ have no red sauce.

“Good shit,” I echo after him, soundin’ more and more like a chicken.  I’m busy pushin’ food into my mouth fast.  It’s hot, spicy, and tastes almost as good as Italian without the garlic.

But there’s somethin’ in the food makin’ my mouth burn and I feel my tongue getting’ numb an’ my eyes begin to cry.  I suddenly feel sweat beads pourin’ down my face.  Geez, an’ on him…nothin’!

This Chinese stuff ain’t half bad I’m thinkin’ as I wipe sweat from my face.  I’m sittin’, hopin’ Vinnie ain’t caught what’s happenin’ with me.  But he don’ notice; he’s too busy chowin’ down.  Ya don’ get a belly like his from dietin’, I’m thinkin’.

“Better than pizza?”  Vinnie asks, slapping me on the back as we leave the joint.

“Vinnie,” I tell him, “That was a blast.”  And I meant it.

So, the following week I go back to the Chinese restaurant and decide to take all the guys wit me.  Not Vinnie though.  He don’ travel in a pack like me.  I see T.K. standin’ there, as twelve of us come through the front door.  Pretty big crowd of guys, I’m thinkin’.  Money in the till.

But T.K. he’s not lookin’ so good.  It’s supper time and the place has hardly anyone in it.  The food is outstandin’, so where’s all the gents?  Now I’m wonderin’ why, but I don’ say nothin’.

The guys look at the menu and they spot Peking Duck.  Wow!  They all want that.  Me?  What do I know?  Food is food.  Peking Duck, like I know?

T. K. comes over to the table t take our order.  The guys are all clowning around; it’s a guy thing.  Next thing I hear T.K. shouting.

T.K. 

“What?” he screams at us.  “You all crazy?  You want me to cook twelve Peking Duck?  Why you no read menu?  Menu say: Order Ahead!  You all smart guy, but you no can read?  I only one in kitchen cooking.  

How you think I make twelve duck, no order ahead?  I no can do that!”

Paulie the Snitch

“You no can make twelve duckies?” little Paulie says with a straight face.  The guys all crack up at Paulie’s accent.  “Why you no make twelve duck?” he mimics.  We cook twelve pizzas one time, no order ahead!”

Red in the face, T.K. stood there, eyes blazing.  “I no can make so many at one time.  What you think this is?”

Little Paulie don’ back off.  “I think this a restaurant.  You say Peking Duck on menu, so what you mean you no can make?”

“I no can make so many, how many time I tell you?”  T.K. answers defensively, glaring at all of us.

“Fifty items on menu, why you pick Peking Duck?” he continues,  “Why you no order something, no order ahead.  Make for better choice, coconut shrimp, hot sour soup, not so difficult.”

“Well,” Paulie answers, not to be out done by the agitated man, “I have a good idea.  You cook all Chinese dishes and we sample.  Don’t look busy now,” he says, glancing around the empty room.  “We try, maybe we buy!”

T.K. threw a fit.  Paulie knew he would.  He just sat and watched T.K.’s face slowly turn purple with that remark.  Knowin’ my friend Paulie, he lived for moments like these.  And this was his moment.

Directing his attention solely toward Paulie, T.K. shouted, “You member Costco?  Sam’s Club?  You go there then, they make free sample for you eat.  No free here!  I no need customer same you.  Fifty item on menu, not enough you.  Only want eat twelve Peking Duck, no order ahead.  You want sample my food?  

No free.”  Repeating loudly, “See door there?  You go.  Time you leave restaurant!”

And with that, he marched away angrily muttering, “Crazy! Peking Duck. Fifty item, want free sample.”

We all stood up and left.  No problem.  We went to our favorite pizza joint instead.  Dominic gave us a high five as we entered his pizza palace.

“The usual?” he called out as Paulie went over to the juke box to put a quarter in the slot.

“Nah,” Paulie shot back to him, “How ‘bout makin’ us somethin’ different?  Surprise us, like we need more of that tonight,” he said, laughing.

Winkin’ at the guys, he continued, “Ya think we shoulda called ahead?”

Dominic don’ get it, but we did.  It’s an inside joke, now.  We all laughed.

I sit listenin’ to all the goofy noise they was makin’, knowin’ I’m turnin’ into some kinda nutty guy myself.  I’m learnin’ to eat Chinese with chopsticks.  Go figure.

We become good friends, T.K. and me.  Not like me and Vinnie.  No way, but he sits with me sometimes while I eat.  Hey, I ain’t fussy about what happened when I was there with the guys.  And T.K. knows I ain’t orderin’ that Peking stuff.

I figure T.K.’s a nice guy most of the time to me.  He has his crazy ways.  Some days I come in and he’s yellin’ about how no one goes into his place.  Like no joke!  I dig why he’s losin’ money.  I ain’t stupid, ya know.

Mostly though, he ignores even me like I’m not orderin’ enough food and still takin’ up a table.  Like they’re standin’ in line waitin’.  The guy’s gotta problem.  He don’ make Peking Duck.  He don’ give samples; he don’ give tastes;  he’s a dumb guy.  He just don’ get it.  I’m not gonna be the one to tell him that.

I’m learnin’ a lot.  I’m not rockin’ the boat.  He’s one weird duck.  

AND I DON’ MEAN PEKING!

You Gotta Problem Wit That?