A Chronicle of A Chinese Restaurant in Brooklyn

Apparently the cover of the wok had tipped over the counter and was doing a windmill on the kitchen floor. As if entranced by the spinning, everyone in the kitchen watched until it performed its final spin and flopped on the floor from exhaustion. My uncle picked it up and motioned that the show was over. My aunt returned to scooping white rice into take-out boxes. My other uncle continued to hose down pots and kitchenware, splattering water onto the floor. I skipped back to the front of the restaurant and climbed onto the seat. Next to me was a stack of menus waiting for me to fold after I finished my homework. <a href="https://medium.com/the-shadow/a-chronicle-of-a-chinese-restaurant-in-brooklyn-524661c25209">Read More</a>