I have always wanted to write about the neighborhood of Flushing in Queens, but I have always been reluctant to start. After Natural Selections commissioned me to write something semi-interesting, I decided that now or never is the time to capture this eccentric corner of NYC—Flushing will supply the ‘interesting’ ingredients and my dull pen will ‘stir fry’ them to ‘semi.’

The Boss Lady

I met her during one of my early Flushing expeditions, as her store was only one street away from the last stop of the 7 train in Queens. Large Chinese characters translating into ‘Authentic Northern Dumplings’ were printed in red on the store-front, the brightness of the paint having faded considerably. That, I thought, was a good sign, because a store that has survived for a while in the so-called ‘little Asia’ of Flushing must have something going for it. The menu was printed on the wall and, when I examined it through the glass door, she noticed me and lifted a finger to beckon me in. A $2 bowl of dumplings can hardly be considered a financial risk, so I walked in. As I drew near to the counter where I could see that she and a couple of other ladies were wrapping dumplings, she cast a look of disapproval at me and asked, “Why do you carry such a big backpack?” I did not quite expect her to ask me anything other than what I would like to order. My answer, ‘grocery shopping,’ did not satisfy her and, after ordering me to put down the pack, she asked whether I had any male friends that could help me out. This conversation started to sound familiar because Mom had asked me the same question. I gave her the same reason that I had given Mom: “I am stronger than my male friends.”

When I was thoroughly immersed in the joy of great dumplings where the fragrance of fresh chives, the juice of ground pork, and the chewiness of hand-rolled wrap blended perfectly, she sat down across from me. I inquired, “Are you the Boss Lady?” She nodded, and a look of fatigue crossed her face. Her black hair was tightly braided and clipped at the back. I asked, “Can you give me a business card or a take-out menu?” She frowned, asking, “Why do you need such a thing?” I did not tell her the real (crazy) reason was that I systematically keep records of every restaurant that I have tried in NYC, as if I were keeping a lab notebook. Rather, I answered, “So that I can find your restaurant again.” She shook her head and said, “Don’t be silly—I am sure that you can find it with no problem.” I could not just give up that easily, so I added, “so that my friends can find it.” She inquired, “Are most of them Chinese?” I shook my head. She gave me a dubious look, “Then, why would they come here without you?” I was nailed, but determined to record her restaurant, I pulled out a piece of paper from my purse, and started writing down ‘Authentic Northern Dumplings.’ I asked her, “What is your address?” She started to lose patience, and exclaimed, “Address? I come here to work every day, and I have never gotten lost even though I don’t know the address!” I looked across the glass door, recorded the coordinates of the stores that stood across from the restaurant, and put the paper away.

She inquired what my job was, and I told her that I was a scientist. She looked at me with great envy and told me, “Your job is much better—just sit there and think all day long. My shop opens from 10 to 10, and I work longer hours than that every day. I keep telling my daughter that she must study well in order to lead a better life.” It reminded me of Mom again, except that Mom would dress up her lectures with metaphors and anecdotes.

As good as the dumplings were, I did not go back to her restaurant often because I wanted to explore Flushing more thoroughly. In fact, I would often get her dumplings as compensation after I was disappointed elsewhere. A few months later, I was shocked to discover that her restaurant was closed—a cold metal shield was pulled down and no glass doors were visible. A sense of loss swept over me—I did not realize that I had grown attached to it.

Several months later, I was stunned to find the ‘Authentic Northern Dumplings’ sign high up again, but this time outside of a shopping mall at 41-28 Main Street—the intersection of Main Street and 41st Road a few blocks away from the subway stop. Across the glass doors of the shopping mall, I saw her and her crew working at a corner, their heads bent down and their hands flying about. A stick of dough was snatched into a pile of balls, which were then rolled into oval-shaped wraps. Fillings were dumped onto the wraps and sealed by a single firm press, and the dumplings were arrayed onto a tray. The Boss Lady noticed me and gave me the same glance of disapproval as she called, “Hey, look, the big pack is back!” The entire crew turned their eyes toward me and shook their heads and quickly returned to their work as if in those dumplings alone they could find peace. The Boss Lady said to me, “We have something new; you are the one who always wants to try new stuff, right? We have is a wild vege-table delicacy so cherished by the Chinese that they would freeze and fly it all the way from China to the US: = pork, = Wonton soup, abbreviated as ‘Big Wonton Soup’). Would you like to try?” I decided that, for once I would not let myself be distracted by food, so I spilled out my complaints, “You moved without informing me personally or posting a note outside your old restaurant.” She looked apologetically at me and handed me a sheet of paper saying “We will not move again. But at least, now that we have a menu, you will suffer no more trouble in finding us again.” I looked at the pictures of dumplings and her smiling face on the menu, and could no longer keep a straight face, “All right, Boss Lady, I can’t wait to try your new dish…” When the wonton soup arrived at my table, a strange sensation struck me: this little corner of a shopping mall is not exactly clean, let alone elegant, but how could I feel so at home?