Being a young girl in Manhattan, everything I experienced felt more vivid, my senses
enlightened, and my excitement reached new heights. I stepped into the restaurant and felt the cool breeze for the air conditioning hit my skin. It felt like my stomach had formed a pit from walking around New York all day and not having eaten since morning, but soon felt relieved as the aroma of coconut milk and jasmine rice came towards me. A woman frantically rushed out of the kitchen to the front desk and greeted us with a wide smile on her face, which was attempting to hide a long day’s worth of strenuous work. She asked my parents how many menus we needed in a very thick accent. She then pulled out five, tri folded paper menus and led us to our table. As my mother, grandmother, and father discussed what they were looking to eat, myself and my brother were fixated on the mints and guava flavored candies on the front counter. Once the waitress looked away and indicated the direction to our table, my brother took a large handful of guava candies, handed me a few, and shoved the rest into the front pocket of his jeans. As we were led to our table, my mother pointed out the different array of foreign decorations adorning the ceilings and the walls. The restaurant had a bronze Buddha statue in the back of the restaurant, intricately carved wooden canvases hanging across the restaurant, and flower garlands strung all along the ceiling. The dim lighting of the restaurant made me feel drowsy, and that effect was amplified as we got to our table, which was surrounded by mahogany chairs each with plush, red leather cushions. To prevent myself from falling asleep, I popped a guava candy in my mouth, which gave the growing hunger in my stomach a sense of relief. My parents looked through the different array of Thai dishes, debating which dishes they would and wouldn’t like. As my mind wandered away from my parents’ discussion of the menu, I turned my attention to the bustling energy of the restaurant. Although at the time it was an experience unlike any other, this restaurant felt oddly familiar to me. I could hear my mother tongue of Punjabi being spoken in the far left hand corner of the room. I could hear other, unfamiliar languages being spoken as well, but everyone was brought together by bits and pieces of English, good food, and lots of laughter. The same thing that brought my family together after every disagreement, big or small, without fail was a delicious, warm and comforting meal with one another. The restaurant did not seem very grandiose, but I could tell that there was something special about it, as there wasn’t a vacant table in sight. Our food finally arrived, and despite the array of dishes at our table, I was captivated by the dish that was placed right in front of me, Thai red curry. The aroma of the sweet coconut milk and peppery basil hit my nose, and I knew that my parents’ decisive nature had paid off. I spooned a mound of the fragrant jasmine rice onto my plate, and then reached to ladle the Thai red curry onto my plate. Thinking that I would spill it, my mom stopped me, and poured the curry onto my plate herself. The curry rolled down the mound of rice, leaving chillies, bamboo shoots, basil and chicken adorned atop the mound of rice, as if it was meant to be. I spooned a chunk of the rice that had now absorbed the curry and was taken aback by the flavor. The creaminess of the curry, with just the right balance of sweetness, spiciness, and pepperiness, made me feel as if I was eating liquid gold. Instead of savoring what I considered the best meal I would ever have, I inhaled my serving, and looked up at the dish that was now across the table, hoping that there would be more. Unfortunately, there was nothing left by the time that I was done, as it was such a small dish to split among five people. Although I was left disappointed that there was no more, It was still one of the most memorable meals to this day.
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