As I walk into Shogun the heavy smell of fried rice and soy sauce washes over me while waitresses glide by in swishing kimonos. The smells and sounds bring back a wave of memories. Birthdays, awards, proms – I have celebrated many occasions here with my family and friends over steaming plates of sautéed vegetables and steak and shrimp dinners. Along with the delicious food another constant is Pang – one of Shogun's Teppanyaki chefs who prepares flaming Japanese meals on an iron griddle before amazed patrons. My first boyfriend, childhood friends, an awkward ring-dance date and of course family – he has met them all and seen us grow up behind steam clouds and plates piled-high with zucchini and soy beans.
But at Shogun my memories go beyond food. For as long as I can remember there has been a tall glass
case just beyond the entrance of the restaurant and on the way to the
bathroom that is filled with inexpensive trinkets and shiny earrings
laid on embroidered pouches. As children, my sister Lindsay and I
would excuse ourselves to the bathroom during dinner just to look at
the treasures behind the sliding glass door and talk about which ones
we wished we had. My Dad had no qualms about sending us to the
corner in public for misbehaving and sometimes, after yet another
time-out and sometimes just because, Pang would slip away from our
table after preparing the meal and take a pair of earrings or
chopsticks from the case by the restrooms for Lindsay and me. Gifts or not, time-outs or not, we
always looked forward to eating out at Shogun and seeing Pang.
While waiting for our table to clear
and during our meals we would catch up with Pang. From middle school
to high school and finally college and beyond, Pang followed all of
our studies and paths in life and always had an anecdote to share
with us relating to our lives. For me it became art history when I
majored in it at Mary Washington, along with French. On a college
break a few years back, my family reconvened at Shogun as usual to
catch up and celebrate another semester behind us. After the meal,
Pang asked us to wait and came back a few minutes later with an
extra-large, framed print of Renoir's Dance at the Moulin de la
Galette. There used to be a Big Lots next to Shogun and there is
still a CHKD thrift shop where Pang said he would drop in before work
and scoop up deals like this print. Always a sucker for a deal and
beautiful frames and prints I oohed and aahed over it along with the
rest of the family. And then he gave it to me, just like that.
After being home for the past three
months, we finally made our annual family visit last week for my
Dad's birthday. I cannot remember the last time Lindsay and I looked
into the tall glass case at the end of the hallway and we no longer
get sent to the corner for speaking out of turn. As we put on our coats and
prepared to leave this last time, Pang asked me if I was still
interested in art history since it has been nearly 4 years since I
graduated. 'Of course!' I replied and then he darted to the back of
the restaurant, reappearing a few moments later with two large,
framed prints and an art history textbook. We talked about the
prints and where they came from and then he offered me the book –
some things never change!
Visiting Shogun, like spending quality
time with sweet friends and family as I have done these past three
months, feels like coming home. 'Is it hard to come back?' people
ask me when they learn I live in Bamako, Mali, a city over 4500 miles
away from Virginia Beach as the crow flies. While I know people
struggle and triumph in different ways when they return from
the Peace Corps or come home after a long time away, I am blessed
that I will soon be returning to Mali and so I know what the
(immediate!) future holds. And anyways, with dear friends, good food
and a supportive family around the world, wherever I am – home is
where you are.
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