Jeffrey S.
Yelp
The clouds swirled overheard, gray and dark. They weren't the kind that make you reach for an umbrella; most folks assume those are the most threatening. No, these clouds were even more menacing. They were low, silent, and crept over the city the night before -- a stark contrast to the deep blue forever skies from the day before.
Down at the pier, I settled into my hotel. The carelessness of the day before, with all of its meandering on footpaths and picnic-for-one attitude now being pushed out of the picture by an afternoon of work. "Hmph," I thought, as I coaxed my suitcase onto the stand by the television, "I only have a few more hours until I meet with the boss."
I can hardly complain. Flying to Vancouver to help out with a party is sort of the jackpot of work trips. I'd had the entire the day before to myself, weaving all over the footpaths, sidewalks, and hiking trails while I stopped every so often to snap a photo, eat a chocolate, or just take in the view. But that afternoon, with only a few hours left before the work portion began, I knew I needed to make the time count.
Pizza? Nah. Sushi? Promising, but we were going to go later that night. Hold on a minute... Malaysian food? Laksa? And it's less than a mile away? Like a sliver of sunlight through the thick, heavy skies, I fixed on Tamarind Hill as my lunch destination. "It's perfect," I thought to myself, "I'll get some soup, and be ready to work!"
I exited the hotel and headed up the hill. Making your way up Lonsdale is no small feat. It's steep and unrelenting. "Soup. Soup. Soup." I was undeterred, and after passing through Victoria Park I arrived at the upper area of Lonsdale, found Tamarind Hill, and went inside.
I was a few minutes ahead of the lunch crowd, so I was seated immediately. In front of me, and older gentleman slurped hot red broth from a soup spoon, loading it with noodles and other brightly colored morsels from time to time, using his chopsticks with calculated precision. "This man has souped before," I postulated, and I watched his surgical precision for tips about how to eat Malaysian laksa. We don't exactly have a lot of it where I'm from, and I appreciated his expert (if unknowing) demonstration.
Soon enough my seafood laksa arrived. It was enormous, the bowl large enough to wear as a hat, bursting over with vibrant red liquid, and bits of mussels, cuttlefish, scallop, shrimp, shredded chicken, boiled egg, tofu puff, and shrimp cake. I leaned in, loaded up the chopsticks with the soup as a safety net, and took my first bite.
Now, my feet are firmly planted in the scientific world. I'm not a natural at it, but I understand the basics of how this world works. So you have to understand that while I'm not sure, scientifically speaking, that the actual clouds above me broke to let in a bright beam of light; I am certain that it did happen on some level of human existence. The spicy flavors filled my heart and warmed my belly. This was the lunch I was in North Vancouver to try, on this day, under that sky.
The whole menu is tempting. I made the right decision with assam seafood laksa, but I could go back every day and try something new. As the lunch crowd filed in during my quasi-meteorological experience, I saw new dishes exit the kitchen and my curiosity had me peering over at each new order. "What's that?" I asked the table next to me. "Char kuey teow," they responded. I nodded as if I understood; but then again, noodles are the universal language.
With rosy cheeks, I donned my fleece jacket and again headed out the door. This time, I headed downhill and the journey was a little lighter, a little brighter, and I smiled about the coming days while laksa sloshed around in my stomach, reminding me in each step of the happy little lunch I'd just eaten.