On Sunday I packed up my belongings and headed north to meet up with T., C., M. and D. for dim sum at Furama. Oh Furama, my dim sum stomping grounds of old. How often I used to sit at your tables, flagging down waitstaff for more hot pepper or soy sauce (or the occasional bubble tea). We were seated at a relatively large table for five people, complete with lazy susan. All the regulars of the meal were in attendance...though no taro.
So many of the Furama faces remained the same: the dude with some sort of disability (is that passe? am I supposed to say learning difference?) pushing the same cart of sticky rice around, the sullen teenagers closer to graduation wearing team Furama tee-shirts, new babies running around the stage at the front of the large banquet hall space, the same tall skinny guy seating each one of us, the same older gentleman with a scar on his face filling our water and adding up our check. Oh man. There were changes, Furama now has a strange gift shop area in its entrance area and the oft strewn beer bottles and cigarette butts from big parties on Saturday nights seemed to be a thing of the past. I did not expect to be remembered, and I wasn't, though the fact that the ebf and I managed to go so frequently is a feat in and of itself...seeing as how I go to dim sum in Philly once every three months or so. It was a good last meal for Chicago; a fitting last meal. Afterwards D. drove us back to his and M.'s house, taking a circuitous route that took us all through Andersonville's streets...the streets I knew so well, sniff sniff. Enough of this.
So many of the Furama faces remained the same: the dude with some sort of disability (is that passe? am I supposed to say learning difference?) pushing the same cart of sticky rice around, the sullen teenagers closer to graduation wearing team Furama tee-shirts, new babies running around the stage at the front of the large banquet hall space, the same tall skinny guy seating each one of us, the same older gentleman with a scar on his face filling our water and adding up our check. Oh man. There were changes, Furama now has a strange gift shop area in its entrance area and the oft strewn beer bottles and cigarette butts from big parties on Saturday nights seemed to be a thing of the past. I did not expect to be remembered, and I wasn't, though the fact that the ebf and I managed to go so frequently is a feat in and of itself...seeing as how I go to dim sum in Philly once every three months or so. It was a good last meal for Chicago; a fitting last meal. Afterwards D. drove us back to his and M.'s house, taking a circuitous route that took us all through Andersonville's streets...the streets I knew so well, sniff sniff. Enough of this.
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