#11 Gold

I’ve forgotten what we were celebrating. Or perhaps it wasn’t a celebration at all. We went to Don Don Donki on Nathan Road on a Saturday afternoon to buy a cut of wagyu beef. Premium, melt-in-your-mouth meaty deliciousness. Something worth celebrating with.

Tsim Sha Tsui is crowded on weekends, even when the city is in lockdown, safe from the hoards of mainland tourists with wheeled suitcases running over your toes. Even among the seas of people, grocery shopping at the Japanese chain was a special occasion for me. It was a luxury in comparison to my usual ventures of buying all my vegetables at the wet market stalls, manned by half-naked men in plastic aprons dotted with cherries, and a little old lady who likes to stuff my bag with muddy stalks of spring onions.

But as I walked past the vegetable corner of the shop, my hand automatically reached out towards the bags of warm golden Yukon potatoes. Each one is perfectly round, with no hints of the mole-like bruises you get in your everyday ones. Instead, they were lightly freckled, like toasted crumbs against the buttery soft skin. I’m very glad that I had not been the one to pay.

Later when we returned to his apartment, I made him sit down on the couch to pick something for us to watch on Netflix later, while I teetered around in his kitchenette, washing the golden spuds under lukewarm water, and sprinkled salt and pepper on the meat. But as always he showed up behind me soon enough, asking if he could help with anything, though I tell him repeatedly that I didn’t need any.

In the end, he would always be on peeling duty, removing the skins slowly and meticulously with a plastic peeler. And then on mashing duty when the potatoes are done boiling, while I add in the butter and milk, and start frying up the meat. Sometimes we’d be quiet, listening to a Tony Cantwell podcast. And sometimes, we’d get distracted and forget about making food altogether.

But I’ll always love being in that tiny kitchenette with him.

*****
David said my stories are too sad (which aren’t) and challenged me to write a happy one.