Click
The kitchen light flickered on as Christina led the way. Arvin's eyes widened. The space was nearly twice the size of his family's kitchen back home.
Stainless steel appliances gleamed under the lights. A large refrigerator hummed in the corner next to what looked like a smaller one. The stovetop where Christina had cooked earlier had six burners instead of the standard two-burner gas stove he was used to.
Christina opened the refrigerator, revealing shelves packed with colorful containers and various ingredients. Fang Chou translated as she gestured inside.
"We've got eggs, veggies, some chicken." She pointed at the items. "Help yourself to whatever you need."
Arvin studied the contents, mentally noting what he could work with. His eyes caught on a package wrapped in white plastic.
(Chinese) "Is that chicken breast?" he asked.
Fang Chou checked the label and nodded. (Chinese) "Yes, boneless chicken breast."
Arvin quickly calculated. A kilogram would be enough protein for a proper meal, especially with rice and vegetables. (Chinese) "May I use some of it?"
When Fang Chou translated, Christina smiled. "Of course! Take whatever you need."
Arvin's fingers drummed against his thigh as he continued his inventory. Carrots, cabbage, onions, garlic, all familiar ingredients he could work with. In the pantry, he found rice, various spices, and cooking oil.
(Chinese) "I think I can make something simple," he said. "A chicken and vegetable stir-fry with rice. Simple but filling."
"That sounds great," Christina replied after Fang Chou translated. She reached for an apron hanging nearby. "Need any help?"
Arvin hesitated, not wanting to refuse her kindness but also knowing his cooking was not something normal people could easily assist with.
(Chinese) "If you don't mind, I usually cook by myself. The way I do it might seem a bit strange to others."
After translation, Christina nodded. "No problem. Let me show you where to find everything."
(Chinese) "Pots and pans are down here." Fang Chou opened a cabinet beneath the counter. "Plates and bowls up there." He pointed to upper cabinets. "And the rice cooker..."
Thunk
Christina set a gleaming rice cooker on the counter. Arvin blinked. It was completely different from the simple one his mother used, covered in buttons with strange symbols.
(Chinese) "Um..." He looked uncertainly at the device. "How do I...?"
Fang Chou chuckled. (Chinese) "Ah, right. This is probably different from what you're used to. Let me show you how it works."
Beep beep
The rice cooker chirped as Fang Chou demonstrated the buttons. (Chinese) "This button for white rice, this one for brown rice, though we hardly ever use that, and this one starts it. You can leave the other buttons alone as they're used for different purposes."
Arvin nodded, memorizing the one that Fang Chou pointed at. (Chinese) "How much rice should I make?"
Christina held up four fingers. "Maybe four cups? That should feed all of us, plus extra for you."
Both Arvin and Fang Chou turned to her in surprise.
She smiled at her husband. "If he needs that much food, better make plenty."
After Fang Chou translated, Arvin bowed gratefully. Four cups was definitely enough for a full meal.
Arvin measured the rice, washed it twice, and filled the cooker with water. He measured the water to the first segment of his finger, exactly as he'd been taught, and started the rice cooker.
While the rice began cooking, Arvin arranged the vegetables in order of cooking time, a habit his mother had drilled into him since childhood.
First, he grabbed the carrots and a small paring knife. His hands moved quickly as he peeled each carrot. The orange peels came off in continuous spirals, falling into a small pile. He did the same with the other vegetables that needed peeling, his fingers working so fast they almost blurred.
Christina watched in amazement. "I've never seen anyone peel vegetables that fast," she whispered to Fang Chou.
Thunk
The cutting board landed on the counter. Christina watched with interest as Arvin tested a knife's balance in his hand before using it. After that he placed the edge above the carrot and then...
Chop chop chop
The blade moved quickly, reducing carrots to exactly the same size. Christina's eyes widened again. She'd never seen such speed, not even from professional chefs on cooking shows.
"Chou," she whispered, tugging at her husband's sleeve, "where'd he learn to chop like that?"
Whoosh chop chop
Before she could finish her thought, Arvin had moved on to the cabbage, his movements flowing. He transformed the vegetables into uniform pieces.
Arvin turned his attention to the chicken, removing it from the packaging.
(This is good quality), he thought, noting the firm texture. (Different from what we use back home, but excellent.)
Slice slice
The knife glided through the chicken breast, creating uniform strips. Christina noticed how he angled the blade to cut against the grain, a technique that would ensure tenderness when cooked.
Sizzle
Oil sizzled in the wok as Arvin tested the heat with a droplet of water. The tiny bead danced across the surface before vanishing with a sharp hiss.
(Perfect temperature), he thought, reaching for the ginger and slicing it thin. The rice cooker hummed in the background, still at least twenty-five minutes from finished.
Crack sizzle
The aroma filled the kitchen as the ginger hit the hot oil. Christina inhaled deeply, recognition lighting her face. "That smell..."
"Reminds you of Mother's cooking?" Fang Chou asked.
She nodded, watching as Arvin's hands moved in a familiar pattern, one she'd seen her mother-in-law perform countless times during those first difficult years in America.
Sizzle hiss
The chicken strips went in next, arranged in a single layer. Arvin let them sear for thirty seconds, developing a golden crust that would lock in the juices.
(Good), he thought, watching the edges turn white. (High heat at first, then reduce to medium. Exactly like what Mother taught me.)
With a flick of his wrist, Arvin tossed the chicken pieces, exposing their uncooked sides to the hot oil.
(Cooking is about timing), his mother's voice echoed in his head. (Too long, the meat becomes tough. Too fast, it's still raw and not safe. You must find the perfect heat balance.)
Clank sizzle
Vegetables poured into the wok in precise order, first the harder ones that needed more cooking time, then the softer ones. Arvin adjusted the heat with one hand while stirring with the wooden spatula.
(The vegetables need to retain their crunch), he thought, stirring quickly. (Carrots should still have bite, cabbage tender but not soggy.)
The wok tilted as he tossed the ingredients, his wrist moving in small, controlled circles. The chicken and vegetables leaped and fell in perfect rhythm, never once spilling over the edge.
Fang Chou leaned forward, fascinated. "That technique... it's exactly like..." He trailed off as recognition hit him. (Like Mother's), he thought, a wave of nostalgia washing over him.
Arvin reached for the soy sauce, measuring by eye with the same confidence his mother had shown. The dark liquid sizzled as it hit the wok, releasing a cloud of fragrant steam that made Christina close her eyes.
(The aroma is incredible), Christina thought, breathing deeply. (Rich but not overwhelming, savory with that hint of sweetness from the vegetables.)
The rice cooker continued its steady work as Arvin gave the vegetables one final toss. He glanced at the timer. Still eight minutes remaining.
(Chinese) "Mr. Fang," he turned to his host, "while we wait for the rice, would it be alright if I made something else? Perhaps some eggs?"
(Chinese) "Of course," Fang Chou nodded after translating for Christina. "What do you need?"
Arvin scanned the counter where he'd done his prep work. The remaining garlic, shallots, and scallions caught his eye. (Chinese) "These will do perfectly. We make eggs differently back home."
Tap tap tap
His knife moved quickly, reducing the garlic and shallots into fine pieces. The scallions followed, cut thin like green threads across the cutting board.
Christina watched, intrigued by this different approach. No milk, no cheese, only aromatics and eggs.
Crack crack
Four eggs broke into the bowl. Arvin whisked them with chopsticks until the mixture developed a light foam.
A different pan heated on the stove as Arvin dropped in the minced aromatics. The kitchen filled with a new fragrance, sharper and more intense than the Western-style breakfast from earlier.
(Chinese) "Back home," Arvin explained while working, "we think eggs should taste like eggs. Spices should bring out the flavor, not mask it."
Fang Chou translated, watching as Arvin poured the beaten eggs into the pan. The mixture spread evenly, the aromatics creating tiny pockets of flavor throughout.
The rice cooker continued its steady work in the background. Still five minutes to go.
Salt sprinkled from Arvin's fingers in a controlled shower from about ten centimeters above the pan. Back home, his mother always said salt should be mixed into food or added from above to spread more evenly.
The edges of the eggs started to crisp, turning golden brown. Arvin tilted the pan, checking the bottom's color.
(Perfect), he thought, reaching for the spatula.
With one smooth motion, he turned the eggs over. The bottom revealed a beautiful golden-brown surface, dotted with the minced aromatics.
Christina leaned closer, fascinated. "That color looks amazing."
(Chinese) "Thank you," Arvin replied, his eyes never leaving the pan. "The secret is heat control. Too hot, the aromatics burn. Too cool, they don't release their flavors properly."
Another thirty seconds and...
Beep beep
The rice cooker announced its completion perfectly timed with Arvin finishing the eggs.
The eggs slipped onto a waiting plate, folded in half. The aroma of garlic, shallots, and scallions filled the kitchen, mixing with the earlier fragrance of the stir-fried vegetables and the fresh scent of cooked rice.
Click
The rice cooker lid opened, releasing a cloud of fragrant steam. Each grain stood distinct yet perfectly tender. Arvin reached for the serving bowls Christina had set out earlier.
(Chinese) "Please, let me serve you both," he offered, scooping rice into a bowl.
"Just a little serving for me," Christina said quickly, making a small gesture with her fingers when Fang Chou translated.
(Chinese) "Me too," Fang Chou added. "We usually eat light in the morning."
Arvin nodded, adjusting his portions. He filled their bowls with small mounds of rice, then added modest helpings of vegetables and a quarter of the egg each. He added the chicken last and poured the sauce on top.
His own portions, however...
The remaining rice went into his bowl, forming a small mountain. The stir-fried vegetables and chicken followed, then the rest of the egg on a separate plate.
Christina's eyes widened slightly at the amount, but her expression held no judgment.
Arvin set their portions before them with a slight bow. (Chinese) "Thank you again for letting me cook. Please, enjoy."
Fang Chou translated, then picked up his chopsticks. "This smells amazing."
Three pairs of chopsticks moved as they began to eat.
Christina's chopsticks hesitated over the egg first. The golden-brown surface, flecked with caramelized aromatics, looked nothing like her usual breakfast dish.
She took a small bite. Her eyes widened.
"Oh wow!" The sound escaped before she could stop it. "Honey, you've got to try this."
(It's like nothing I've tasted before), she thought, savoring the delicate balance of flavors. (The eggs are so light, but somehow rich. And those tiny bits of garlic aren't overwhelming at all. They're like small bursts of flavor that complement the eggs.)
Fang Chou, who was about to try the stir-fry, switched to the egg. His eyebrows rose in surprise.
"This taste..." he said slowly, "it's simple, but somehow..."
"It's amazing," Christina finished for him, already taking another bite. "The garlic isn't too strong, and those shallots... I can barely see them, but the flavor is everywhere."
Fang Chou tried the vegetables next, his mind racing with memories. (Mother would have loved this), he thought, noting how each vegetable retained its distinct texture.
(Chinese) "And these!" he exclaimed after translating his wife's praise. "The timing is perfect. Still crisp but thoroughly cooked."
He moved on to the chicken, and another wave of appreciation washed over him. (So tender), he marveled, the meat melted on his tongue. (If I hadn't watched him cook, I would never believe something this flavorful used only salt and soy sauce.)
Arvin ducked his head at their compliments, too focused on his own meal to respond properly. His chopsticks moved steadily with the practiced efficiency of someone used to eating quickly while food was hot.
Christina paused, watching him eat.
Her hand found Fang Chou's under the table, squeezing gently. He understood the gesture immediately, remembering their conversation from last night.
Fang Chou rubbed her hand with his free one, calming her before letting go and nodding toward her food.
Christina returned to Arvin's dish, savoring each bite. (The way he balances flavors), she thought, (it's like he knows exactly how much of each ingredient to use without measuring.)
After some time, Christina set down her chopsticks, her small portion finished. She watched as Arvin continued eating, his mountain of rice steadily diminishing.
"The way he eats..." she murmured to her husband in a low voice, careful that Arvin wouldn't understand. "It reminds me of back then."
Fang Chou squeezed her hand gently. "I noticed too."
Arvin remained focused on his meal, unaware of their quiet exchange. His chopsticks moved in the same steady rhythm, each bite perfectly sized, nothing dropped or left behind. Even the sauce was gathered with each portion of rice, ensuring not a drop was wasted.
(Chinese) "Would you like some tea?" Fang Chou offered.
Arvin paused, looking up. (Chinese) "Yes, thank you. But..." He gestured at his still-large portion. "Please don't wait for me to finish. I know you both must have things to do."
After translating, Fang Chou shook his head. (Chinese) "Actually, we're free this morning. I called the store earlier, they can handle things until noon. We won't leave until 10:30 at the earliest."
Christina nodded, adding something that made Fang Chou smile.
(Chinese) "My wife says she wants to learn how you made those eggs," he translated. "Would you be willing to teach her?"
Arvin's chopsticks froze mid-motion, his eyes widening slightly. Teaching someone else's cooking technique was a serious matter, especially a family recipe.
(Chinese) "I... I would be honored," he said carefully, "but are you sure? It's a simple dish..."
Christina smiled warmly after Fang Chou translated. "Sometimes the simplest dishes are the best ones. They're what remind us of home."
Her words struck a chord deep within Arvin. Home.
The place that now felt impossibly distant. Yet somehow, in this kitchen with these kind strangers, he'd found a small piece of that familiar comfort.
Arvin set his chopsticks down properly, his substantial meal finally finished. Every grain of rice, every piece of vegetable and chicken had been eaten. The plates, like last night, looked almost clean enough to put away without washing.
(Chinese) "Thank you for the meal," he bowed slightly. "And thank you for letting me cook. It's been..." He paused, searching for words. "It feels a bit like home."
After translation, Christina's eyes softened. She stood up, gathering the dishes, but when Arvin moved to help, she shook her head.
"You did the cooking," she said firmly, Fang Chou translating. "We'll clean up. Besides," her smile turned playful, "you'll need your energy for teaching me that egg recipe later."
As Arvin watched them work together, Christina washing while Fang Chou dried, he felt something he hadn't experienced since arriving in this place. Peace.
The morning sunlight streamed through the kitchen window. For the first time since that turbulent flight, Arvin felt like maybe things would work out. The familiar rhythm of a kitchen after a meal, the satisfied silence that follows good food shared with others, these things transcended language and culture.
He closed his eyes briefly, allowing himself to savor this moment of peace. His mother had often said that food connects people in ways words cannot. Today, Arvin understood that wisdom more deeply than ever before.
When he opened his eyes again, Christina was looking at him with an expression he couldn't quite read, something between curiosity and recognition.
Perhaps, Arvin thought, this place wasn't as foreign as it had first seemed.