Asian Pearl Chinese Restaurant

08/21/2026

I have been serving Martel for more than twelve years, which is long enough for several things to happen to me: I wear glasses now. I have gray hair. My back has developed opinions.

Martel, meanwhile, appears to have made a separate arrangement with time.

She is forty-four now, still classic beautiful, still walking into Asian Pearl looking stunning, usually with friends, and always greeting me with the same hug and smile.

And I already know what is coming.

Shrimp toast for the appetizer.
Honey walnut shrimp.
Mai Tai.

Twelve years and this woman has barely given the menu a chance to surprise her.

I respect that.

There is something comforting about knowing what you love and not needing the world to keep inventing something new for you.

Maybe that is part of what I like about Martel. She is steady.

I serve people in a restaurant, she serves people at a much more tender part of life. Our uniforms are different, our tables are different, but we both know something about caring for people when they are hungry, tired, lonely, impatient or occasionally all four before noon.

This week, for no grand reason, I wanted roses in Asian Pearl.

So I bought roses.

That was it.

Then Martel walked in without a reservation to celebrate her forty-fourth birthday.

Of course she didn’t make a reservation.

After twelve years, Asian Pearl is practically her second kitchen. At this point, I’m surprised she hasn’t asked where we keep the spare key.

There she was with her friends, the roses nearby, her familiar dinner coming, another birthday added to all the ordinary days I have been lucky enough to see.

I don’t remember every conversation we’ve had in twelve years. I don’t remember every dinner or every laugh.

But I remember the feeling.

Martel walks through the door, gives me that hug and smile, and somehow I feel special.

Perhaps that’s what loyalty becomes after enough years. Not something dramatic. Just the comfort of seeing someone again and being genuinely glad they’re here.

Forty-four looks beautiful on you, Martel.

Keep the hug.
Keep the smile.
Keep caring for people.

And please, someday, just to frighten me

order something different.

07/27/2026

Good evening, everybody! Welcome back to Asian Pearl.

Some of you I recognize from our previous Mah Jong nights. Some of you are new. If you’re new, don’t worry, this is my third time hosting, which means I know almost nothing.

but now I say it with tremendous confidence.

For three events, I kept hearing the word Charleston.

And I thought, why are these people eating Chinese food and talking about South Carolina?

Nobody explained anything.

I just kept bringing water.

Now I know. The Charleston is when you take three tiles you don’t want and give them to somebody else.

Regifting.

Christmas comes once a year. Mah Jong people do it before the game even starts.

Then the vocabulary.

Bams. Craks. Dots.

Ladies, if I heard those three words from any other table at Asian Pearl.

I’m checking the security cameras.

Then somebody says:

I need a Soap!

The waiter in me thinks:

Bathroom or kitchen?

No.

It’s a dragon.

Naturally.

At this point, I stopped asking questions.

Then somebody told me:

“Her hand is dead.”

I said, “Oh my God, is she okay?”

Nobody moved.

They just kept playing.

Very tough crowd.

And then there’s the Wall.

You build it out of tiles, spend the whole game tearing it apart, and when it’s finally gone, everybody’s happy.

Apparently, this is the only construction business in America where that counts as a successful project.

And my favorite discovery, there’s an official card telling you which hands you can make.

And they change it every year.

Genius.

Just when your husband finally understands what you’ve been doing.

NEW CARD.

“Sorry, honey. Regulations changed.”

So, to our returning players

Welcome home.

To our beginners, I’ve learned enough to keep you safe.

If somebody asks for a Bam, don’t panic.

If somebody needs Soap, don’t send them to the restroom.

If somebody has a dead hand, don’t call 911.

And if somebody starts talking about Charleston

do not book a flight to South Carolina.

And if at any point tonight you get completely confused, just look at me.

I’ve hosted this three times

and I’m still not entirely sure what’s happening.

Welcome to Asian Pearl, everybody.

Now go build your walls and destroy your friendships.

07/25/2026

Register here please!

Back by popular demand! Mahj 101 at NIGHT along with Open Play

Join us at Asian Pearl for either a beginner lesson or open play.
8 seats available for Mahj 101
32 seats available for Open Play

Monday, July 27th
6-9pm

The fabulous Aeko will make it a night to remember, I promise! Please come early to eat and then Mahj away!

Register here: linktr.ee/magnoliamahj or find the link in my bio!

07/25/2026

Four Items

After Planet Fitness, I rushed to Aldi to grab a few things: bananas, mangoes, corn, and cherries.

That was it. Four items.

I walked to the checkout line and saw a familiar face. It was Ms. Tina, one of my customers from Asian Pearl.

She turned around and smiled.

“Hi, Aeko. Go ahead,” she said. “I have more items than you do.”

I looked at my small handful of groceries and laughed. She was right.

“You are very sweet,” I told her.

Then I stepped forward with my bananas, mangoes, corn, and cherries.

07/21/2026

07/18/2026

Why I Came Home Early

Today, one of my customers asked why I came back earlier than expected.

I smiled and simply said,

“Life happened.”

I didn’t tell the whole story.

Not because I was ashamed.

But because some lessons need time before they’re ready to be shared.

This is one of those lessons.

I Couldn’t Sleep

Last week, I woke up at 4:30 in the morning.

Not because of jet lag.

Because my mind wouldn’t stop asking me one question.

“How could I be so careless?”

Yesterday, I had arrived back in Louisiana.

After a long Greyhound trip, I reached Baton Rouge around 3:00 a.m.

Even at that hour, Stacy and Thai were there waiting to take me home.

I was grateful.

I was exhausted.

But I couldn’t sleep.

My mind kept returning to one painful memory.

During my trip, I lost a large amount of cash.

Money I had worked long hours to earn.

When I realized it was gone, I didn’t blame anyone else.

I blamed myself.

I replayed every airport.

Every bag.

Every decision.

Over and over.

“If only”

“If only”

“If only”

Then something unexpected happened.

Instead of thinking about the money

I started thinking about people.

For nearly twenty years working at Asian Pearl, I’ve had the privilege of listening to many people’s stories.

One family lost their home in a fire.

Another rebuilt after Hurricane Katrina, only to lose everything again in another flood.

I’ve listened to people who buried the person they loved most.

I always listened.

I always cared.

But this experience helped me understand something I had never fully understood before.

No!

Losing money is not the same as losing a home.

It is not the same as losing someone you love.

Those losses are far greater.

I’m talking about something different.

I’m talking about what happens inside us after we lose something important.

I realized the first thing I lost wasn’t the money.

The first thing I lost was my confidence.

The money disappeared in a moment.

My confidence disappeared one thought at a time.

I called myself careless.

I called myself stupid.

I spoke to myself in a way I would never speak to another person.

Then I remembered something.

Just before I left America, people surrounded me with kindness.

One customer offered to drive me to the airport.

A priest quietly handed me some money and said,

“Take your mother to a nice dinner.”

A widow insisted I accept a few dollars, even though I believed she needed them more than I did.

And when I returned home at 3. Am night, Stacy and Thai were there waiting for me.

Looking back, I realized something.

My trip wasn’t defined only by what I lost.

It was also defined by the kindness people showed me along the way.

Before I finish, I want to be very clear.

This post is not asking for donations.

It is not asking for financial help.

And it is not asking anyone to feel sorry for me.

I’m okay.

I’ve accepted what happened.

Life goes on.

I’m sharing this because maybe someone reading this is blaming themselves today.

Maybe you made a mistake.

Maybe you lost something important.

Maybe you’ve replayed the same moment a hundred times, wishing you could change it.

If that’s you

Please remember something I almost forgot.

One mistake is not your identity.

One painful day is not your whole story.

The money I lost can be earned again.

The lesson I learned may stay with me for the rest of my life.

Today, when my customer asked why I came home early

I simply smiled and said,

“Life happened.”

Now you know what I meant.

Take care of yourself.

And when you make a mistake

Try speaking to yourself with the same kindness you would offer someone you love.

Because sometimes the hardest person to forgive

is ourselves.

07/04/2026

Happy Fourth of July!

For more than 20 years, many people know me as the guy who says,

“Welcome!”
“Enjoy your meal!”
“See you next time!”

I thought I was only serving food.

I was wrong.

Two days before my trip home to Indonesia, I was talking with another table about my travel plans. I said after my shift I would take a Greyhound from Baton Rouge to New Orleans and spend the night at the airport before my early morning flight.

From another table, Ms. Kelly overheard the conversation.

As soon as I finished, she and Jason walked over and said,

“Aeko… don’t take the Greyhound. We’ll drive you to the airport.”

I didn’t know what to say.

If I had asked for help, I’m sure someone would have helped me.

But that’s not me.

So when kindness came looking for me before I even asked… my eyes filled with tears.

I invited them to dinner at Asian Pearl before we left.

Then I excused myself.

Not to Planet Fitness to build big muscles. 😂

Just to take a shower after a 10-hour shift and put on clean clothes for my long journey home.

When I came back,

They had already paid the bill.

I guess I lost that argument.

On the drive to New Orleans, we talked about life, family, faith, and our different cultures.

By the time we reached the airport, they didn’t feel like customers anymore.

They felt like friends.

Maybe even family.

Over the past few days, many people in Zachary have celebrated this trip with me.

One customer asked, “How can I help you?”

I said, “I’m okay.”

Then I smiled and said, “Well… maybe reading glasses.”

Believe it or not, some people still can’t easily afford reading glasses.

A wonderful Catholic priest put money in my hand and said,

“Take your mother to a nice dinner.”

A sweet widow quietly insisted that I accept a few one-dollar and five-dollar bills.

I told her,

“No… you may need this more than I do.”

She smiled and said,

“Take it.”

So I did.

Not because of the money.

Because of the love.

Many of you have asked about my father.

Many of you know this is my first time visiting his grave since he passed away.

Many of you know I haven’t hugged my mother in five years.

Your prayers, encouragement, hugs, and kindness mean more than you know.

This Fourth of July, I realized something.

Freedom is not only celebrated with fireworks.

Sometimes freedom looks like people choosing kindness.

Sometimes patriotism looks like neighbors taking care of one another.

Sometimes the greatest gift you can give is simply saying,

“Don’t worry… we’ll take you.”

Thank you, Zachary.

You welcomed an immigrant many years ago.

Somewhere along the way…

You became my second family.

From my heart…

Happy Fourth of July.

And if you happen to see someone carrying a heavy burden

Maybe don’t wait for them to ask.

Just walk over and say,

“Don’t take the Greyhound… let me take you.”

06/21/2026

Father’s Day

For more than 20 years, I have served food at Asian Pearl.

Thousands of meals.

Thousands of families.

I have watched little children become adults.

I have watched first dates become marriages.

I have watched grandparents become memories.

Every day, people think I am serving food.

But the longer I live, the more I realize:

The most valuable thing on the table was never the food.

It was the people sitting around it.

Today is Father’s Day.

And it makes me think about my father.

We were not very close.

He was a man of few words.

Strict.

Rigid.

Not the kind of father who talked about feelings.

But I never doubted his love.

When I was young, I thought love was something you say.

Now I think love is something you do.

My father loved through sacrifice.

He loved through responsibility.

He loved through showing up every day.

He taught me resilience.

He taught me never give up.

He taught me how to stay strong without being loud.

COVID took him before I could say goodbye properly.

For years, I carried that sadness.

On July 5, after all these years, I will finally visit his resting place.

I will stand there as a son.

Not with money.

Not with success.

Not with excuses.

Only with gratitude.

And two simple words.

Thank you.

Sorry.

Working at Asian Pearl taught me something my father was trying to teach me all along.

One day the meal ends.

One day the table becomes empty.

One day the people we love become memories.

So while they are still here, sit with them.

Talk with them.

Laugh with them.

Take the picture.

Make the memory.

Because one day, those ordinary moments become priceless.

Happy Father’s Day, Dad.

I miss you.

And some of the best parts of me are still pieces of you.

05/10/2026

Mother’s Day always hits different.

Some people post flowers.
Some people post old photos.
Some people stay quiet because the pain is still too heavy.

Some mothers are still here.
Some are gone.
Some relationships healed.
Some never did.

But today…
millions of people around the world suddenly become children again.

A grown man in his 50s hears his mother’s voice in his head and starts crying quietly in the kitchen.

A woman laughs remembering how her mom used to scream about leftovers in the refrigerator.

Someone sends money home and pretends it’s “just a little gift,” even though it’s really a thank you for twenty years of sacrifice.

Someone visits a cemetery carrying flowers and conversations that arrived too late.

That’s the strange thing about mothers.

When we were young, we thought they were controlling.
Later we realized:
they were just tired, scared, and trying to keep the roof from collapsing while pretending everything was okay.

A lot of us only understand our mothers after life punches us in the face a few times.

After paying bills.
After heartbreak.
After loneliness.
After becoming responsible for another human being.

Then suddenly…
their old warnings sound less annoying and more like love wearing work clothes.

And maybe that’s why Mother’s Day feels so emotional.

Because deep down, most people are not celebrating perfection.

They are celebrating survival.
Sacrifice.
Warm food.
Late-night prayers.
Silent worries.
And a kind of love that kept showing up even when nobody clapped for it.

So today…
some people will laugh.
Some people will cry.
Some will do both within five minutes.

That’s okay.

That’s probably what being human looks like.