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Shen Yuan squinted at the neon sign above his head. If he tilted his head just so, he could make out the letter A in sputtering, sparkling red. There were no hours posted on the splintering wooden door, no menu gracing the mildew-spotted brick wall.
"Shang Qinghua, what the fuck is this?"
"What are you talking about?" Shang Qinghua’s voice wavered a bit, like he had been caught stealing sweets and was making a game attempt at an explanation. A lock of caramel-colored hair flopped over his creased forehead. "It's New York's hottest restaurant."
Coming from Shang Qinghua, this meant nothing. According to him, every hole in the wall that barely met safety codes was New York's hottest restaurant. The last time Shen Yuan had gone to a restaurant he had recommended, the food had ravaged his intestines and left his taste buds a shuddering ruin. He felt the zero star review that resulted was deserved, given the shitting and puking he had endured for three days.
"Let's go home," Shen Yuan said. "We have those leftovers from McDonald's."
Shang Qinghua made a noise like a pressure cooker. “Shen Yuan, my stomach can only take so much,” he said. He gnawed at his chapped lower lip. “I need some real food.”
Shen Yuan sighed and curled his palm around the rusting doorknob. It turned all the way with no resistance.
"I told you it would be open," Shang Qinghua said.
Shen Yuan pushed the door open with a creak. Inside, three steel tables rested on zebra-striped tile, each one flanked by stools whose mold-green cushions sported gaping seams. A set of steel cups sat on top of each table, along with a flower-patterned pitcher of water. The walls were hidden by huge gray curtains that reminded Shen Yuan of a hospital room, and the bar in the back was overshadowed by an enormous TV playing a grainy Bollywood dance routine. A man who would not have looked out of place in a weightlifting competition polished glasses behind the bar.
The man looked at Shang Qinghua and raised an eyebrow. Shang Qinghua shivered. A flush dusted the apples of his cheeks.
What the hell is going on ? Shen Yuan thought.
Shang Qinghua scurried to the nearest table. "A-aren't you thirsty?" he asked. He grabbed the pitcher and poured water into a glass. His hands shook, flinging water droplets across the table. "I-I'm parched!"
Shen Yuan sat down. Despite the torn seat cushion, the chair was surprisingly comfortable. "Shang Qinghua," he said, keeping his voice low so the man behind the bar couldn't hear. "Who is that?"
"No one!" Shang Qinghua filled a second glass. He pushed it over to Shen Yuan, who tipped his head back and drained it.
"Ah, excuse me?"
Shen Yuan looked up. The handsomest man he had ever seen in his life loomed over him. He was as broad in the shoulders as the man polishing glasses, but with a smaller waist and longer legs. His bushy dark hair was tied in a ponytail which brushed the small of his back, and his flawless forehead was adorned by a thin line of red powder.
He set a plate of ball-shaped, wafer-thin crackers in the center of the table. Each one had a small hole poked in it, which made it clear that the balls were filled with creamy yogurt. The balls were drizzled with something gooey and reddish-pink.
"What is that?" Shen Yuan asked.
"Your appetizer, sir," the man said. "Dahi puri with raspberry chaat masala. Bon appetit."
The man sank into the deepest bow Shen Yuan had ever seen in his life. His ponytail brushed the floor as he straightened. He seemed to glide back to the kitchens, his movements so graceful they reminded Shen Yuan of ballet dancing.
Shang Qinghua popped one of the balls in his mouth. His eyes widened. He gave Shen Yuan a bewildered thumbs up.
Shen Yuan eyed the balls. In his many years of reviewing restaurants, he had never come across raspberry chaat masala. Chaat, according to his encyclopedic knowledge of cuisine, was supposed to be a savory snack. What was raspberry doing in this dish?
With one eyebrow raised, he plucked one of the balls from the plate and took a careful bite. The light sourness of the yogurt flooded his mouth, offset by the crunch of the ball-shaped cracker. In spite of his misgivings, the raspberry masala paired well with the yogurt. It wasn't as sweet as he had expected, and the raspberry seeds in the masala added a unique texture to the dish.
There was no way he was giving this restaurant anything less than a three star review.
"How did you find out about this place?" he asked Shang Qinghua. Shang Qinghua blinked at him, his mouth stuffed full with the balls. Yogurt dribbled down his mouth, and his cheek was speckled with the raspberry masala.
"Um." Shang Qinghua glanced at the man behind the bar, who had finished polishing glasses and had moved on to wiping the bar counter. "I, uh--word of mouth?" He snuck another glance at the man behind the bar. The man behind the bar looked at him and raised one remarkably manicured eyebrow. Shang Qinghua’s flush became darker, dying his face a cherry red that clashed with his ice-colored jacket.
Shen Yuan was saved from having to comment on this turn of events by the restaurant’s front door opening with a clang. A woman dressed in what could generously be called a bikini sauntered inside. The knives strapped to her hips and thighs glinted as she fell into a stool a few feet from Shen Yuan. The rifle slung over her shoulder made a thunking noise as it hit the floor.
“Mobei-Jun!” The woman plopped one of her legs onto the table. Her high heels clinked against the empty water glasses. “Give me the good stuff. Not that garbage the boss--” She trailed off and stared at Shen Yuan and Shang Qinghua. “Who the fuck are you?”
“Customers,” the man behind the bar said. “Like you, Sha Hualing.”
“Ohhh.” Sha Hualing leaned back in her stool, which made an ominous creaking noise. “Customers. Right. Can I get the rum, then?”
“Absolutely not.” The incredibly handsome waiter burst out of the kitchen, bearing two steaming plates. He set them in front of Shang Qinghua and Shen Yuan, gracing Shen Yuan with a beatific smile before turning around to glare at the woman.
“This is a respectable establishment,” he hissed. Sha Hualing raised a sculpted eyebrow and let her vermillion nails sink into the unraveled seams of her stool’s cushion.
“Sure. Very respectable.” She swung her feet off of the table and leaned forward in her stool. “Can I get some rum, then? Since this is a respectable restaurant. With a respectable bar.”
The waiter strode to the bar, giving Shen Yuan yet another eyeful of that phenomenal ass. He plucked a sheet of laminated paper from behind the bar and slapped it onto Sha Hualing’s table.
“Respectable bars have menus,” he said. “With cocktails. You will order one.”
Sha Hualing made a face. “Boss, have you tried these things?”
“I have sampled them all and enjoyed them,” Luo Binghe said. “As will you.” He turned back to the bartender. “A Sour for her.”
Sha Hualing snarled and threw a knife at Luo Binghe. Luo Binghe ducked. The knife flew through the space where his head had been and lodged itself in the wall.
Luo Binghe gave the knife the most disdainful look Shen Yuan had ever seen, which was impressive since his older brother, a corporate lawyer, had them down to an art form. "That's coming out of your wages," he said.
"Fuck off," Sha Hualing said. She pulled another knife out and started picking her teeth with it. Luo Binghe rolled his eyes and turned towards Shen Yuan and Shang Qinghua's table. His ponytail was still neatly tied, not a strand of bushy hair askew. The plates cradled in his arms were devoid of splatters or spilt food.
He favored Shen Yuan with the kind of smile Shen Yuan thought only existed in romance novels, and set the plates on the table. They contained two steaming omelets folded in half. Luo Binghe set a bowl of yogurt flecked with light green in the middle.
"Your masala omelet frittata," he said. "With avocado raita as accompaniment."
Shen Yuan resisted the urge to squint at the food. He didn't want to criticize dishes served by a man who could clearly murder him in the time it took Shen Yuan to write a blog post, but they seemed blasphemous. Who put salty avocado in raita, a tangy, light yogurt sauce?
The waiter tilted his head, sending a lock of luxurious hair cascading down his shoulder. “Is the food not to your liking?”
“N-n-no!” Shang Qinghua waved his hands in front of the waiter. "It's great! It's wonderful!"
"And you, sir?"
Shen Yuan took a bite of his omelet to avoid speaking. To his surprise, it was buttery and fluffy, stuffed with spiced potatoes and cilantro. He moaned in delight.
Luo Binghe blushed so violently Shen Yuan wondered if medical necessary was necessary. "I-is it good?"
"It's wonderful," Shen Yuan said. He was talking with his mouth full; he didn't care. He shoveled two more forkfuls of the omelet into his mouth. "My compliments to the chef."
Luo Binghe blushed harder, which Shen Yuan had not thought possible.
At the table next to Shen Yuan's, Sha Hualing swirled her drink and took a swig of it. "He's the chef, you moron."
Luo Binghe scowled. He swiveled, grabbed Sha Hualing's bikini strap, and lifted her into the air.
"You will remember your place," he hissed. "You will not disrespect me in front of--"
"I’m not disrespecting you," Sha Hualing said. "I'm just trying to move things along. Can't you tell he likes you back?"
"Oh my god." Shang Qinghua kneaded his forehead with his thumbs. He looked at the bartender. "Can I have a drink?"
"Of course, Qinghua." He turned around and plucked a couple bottles of alcohol off of the shelf. Shang Qinghua hid his face in his hands. The tips of his ears were the color of rose petals.
"This was a mistake," Shang Qinghua muttered. He grabbed the bowl of avocado raita and doused his plate with it.
"Um, excuse me," Shen Yuan said. Luo Binghe's head whipped around to face him. He was still holding Sha Hualing up by her bikini strap.
"Yes?"
"Um. Did you make the food?"
"Yes," Luo Binghe said.
"It's amazing. You're an amazing chef."
Luo Binghe dropped Sha Hualing. He lunged towards Shen Yuan and knelt in front of him, clasping Shen Yuan's hands with his own.
"Thank you," he said. "It means a lot to hear such praise from my favorite critic."
"Oh, I'm just a food blogger," Shen Yuan said. He made no move to pull away from Luo Binghe.
"How can you say that?" Luo Binghe said. “You inspired me to become a chef.”
“This is great,” Sha Hualing said, as she peeled herself off of the floor. “Can you two go talk about this somewhere else? Somewhere private?”
Luo Binghe glared at her. “Do not meddle in my affairs, Sha Hualing.”
“I’m not meddling,” she said. “I just want to see young love blossom.”
“No,” the bartender said. “You want access to the rum.” He set a glass of amber liquid in front of her.
Sha Hualing’s eyes lit up. She grabbed the glass and drained it in one gulp.
“Let me take you to my place,” Luo Binghe said. “I have a much better kitchen there.”
Shen Yuan took his hand and followed him out of the restaurant.