chris at 1:39 PM |

 

Shopping with Fei:
Selecting Lycees & Strategizing Over Fish

Lycees, at first glance, look like smaller, brick-red, horse chesnuts without spines. They look like they would be hard to the touch. They are not. More like aligator or frog skin, though not wet feeling (until the skin is opened--then very bursty juice all over), but bumpy, leathery. And blue crab is best, sweetest, when female. "This is because of the eggs, which are yellow," Fei informs me as we watch the crab handlers pick away at the wrangling, eye-roving, super competitive soft shell crabs. "Always choose the liveliest one," Fei says, pointing to one that is trying to climb out of the bin by stumbling all over the other crabs, using them as stepping stones, first, then as something more like a ladder. It makes it to an inch of the top of the bin. The handler slaps it down with a flick of wrist and prongs. Just the tiniest hint of showmanship in/about his work, too, I'm thinking. And why wouldn't he have?

Fei has caught the eye of one of the fish handlers--there must be ten men behind the counters and fish tanks which teem with circling or writhing fish, rocking water out onto the floor (promptly mopped up by another crew of cleaners): tilapia, catfish, lobster. These men are working very hard. They look a little grouchy. These men are decked out in heavy waterproof aprons and gloves, patiently hacking up fish for the people lined up, or milling around watching the fish and perpetually pointing into the counters or tanks hoping to spot or pick out a good fish deal. The insides of the counters are lovely for the chaos-to-order ratios and arrangements: straight rows inside the counters of fish or fish parts, discreet displays of orangish salmon, graying grouper, all manner and size of shrimp. There is a barrel full of lounging clams situated between the main counter and an overflowing rack full of disordered seasonings: oyster sauce, orange fish dish, No MSG!, I busy myself reading them while Fei goes on with her fishing, as it were.

We sort through these clams with a scoop--clams are a particular favorite of mine. They stop the lounge act and, well, clam up. Another barrel holds oysters, their barnacly warped shells. But the fish handler who had caught Fei's eye is going through a set of swinging doors, looking purposeful. I feel like something magical is about to happen. Fei is smiling and explaining to me that this fish handler knows she likes to take the tilapia they have just removed from the tank. These fish are removed and discarded because they have begun to act sluggish and so appear ready to quit life. Fei says "But they are still really good, you see." The man comes back out and drops two almost fat fish onto the floor tiles. They sort of flap a little, staring straight up like fish eyes will do since they can't rotate or do anything else more interesting than to stare straight out (here, up). Fei is pleased. She nods at the man, who almost smiles, just barely, sort of pleased with himself for doing a good job. But me? --I still have no idea what is going on here: we could be negotiating over the removal of W from office, or deciding who gets to clean up the bloody red tile floors after all the day's fish have been sold, swept up, or cleaned and put away, for all I know: since I am easily distracted here into watching all the activity.

I am gently tugged back to our fish present with her one-of-a-kind, wide-Fei-grin: a very disarming yet knowing or authoritative grin that overturns a lot of stereotypes, I think. For, Fei is a very tiny female--delicate looking, though very sharp in many ways, when necessary. She says, "This fish handler, he knows me, or knows that I am looking for a certain kind of good fish out of these rejects. I always buy these failing fish because they still have enough life in them to taste good but only cost 1.19 per pound. Those other ones in the tank are twice as much." She's grinning that full grin of hers that says everything is perfect, at least for the moment. So that was it, I finally figure out: she was bargaining to get the best fish for least amount of money. (Yes: Fish + Market, I remind myself) The fish are handed across the counter. Fei has a paper bag (she prefers the paper bag) for them and taking the bag from the man, she's engrossed in telling me a story: "when my sister and I were in college in BeiJing, we also took care of all the housework so our mother didn't have to do anything. She took care of everything for us at home for all those years. This is how we do to show her we care." What a great idea, I think, and then I just say it: "I don't think it happens the same way here, very often, Fei, but it would be nice if it did--I mean the appreciation enacted by the practice of caring and doing."

By then we are in the soap aisle: jasmine--the aisle is entirely out of another body space--and Lux. We spend a moment pondering why Lux is no longer a popular soap here in the US--Fei says that it's a most prefered soap in Asia. I'm amazed. I recall Lux as a mediocre though not particularly unpleasant product. I explain how much more I like the Bee and Flower soaps: sandalwood, jasmine, gensing. These seem exotic to me. We have a little giggle over our flip-flopped exoticisms. I like those soaps so much better than Lux, although I note that these Lux soaps do smell good, much better than I remember them. Fei picks out two differing kinds of Lux scent. We move along also looking at red Thai candles ("Those are used for weddings and anniversaries, Chris, red is very important"), and of the numerous red with gold lettering, stacked plaques, which are meant to bring good luck in business, Fei says, "People always buy these to hang on the walls of their stores." I fight off an urge to buy one for the wall over my writing area. "We all need all the good luck we can get," I say. Fei says "Yes!" and we both laugh.

We had started our trip by the fruit: cherries, apricots, cantaloupes, and lycees, which looked vaguely familiar to me but I had not bought them raw before. It looked like the store had gotten a truckload: this was a huge bin/display stacked to overflow with lycees. I said, "Well, what tells you if you've picked out a good one--I mean how do we go about this?" Fei picked one up and started to peel the red leathery outter shell off of it. I didn't know what to expect: then, there it was, the edible part. And before I could remark, Fei popped it tight into her mouth! I looked around wondering if anyone saw that, and what would happen if they did. Just a typical American paranoid response: well-socialized/trained-by-i-market-institutional-disciplines, I guess. I mean what would a grocery/produce detective do to us for this offense? Fei says, "Well, we have to taste them. This is the only way to tell if they are any good." So, yeah, I got over my moment there, and tried one too. We didn't overdo anything. Just one each. They were juicy, sticky, very sweet. But not like sugar. So much better than the canned version. We each filled a bag and were happy with our selections.