Asian Pearl Chinese Restaurant

10/04/2026

Prom Night at Asian Pearl

When this group arrived, I was surprised by how well they were dressed. Suits, dresses, corsages, roses. They were young and having fun, but what I noticed just as much was how polite they were.

After they sat down, I decided to be Aeko Joan Rivers for a minute. I asked one young lady, “What you wearing?”

“A dress,” she said.

I giggled. “That’s beautiful Armani.”

Then I asked another, “What’s you wearing?”

“Dolce & Gabbana,” she said confidently.

One of her friends said, “From Amazon.”

We all laughed.

They ordered orange chicken, Singapore mei fun, vegetable fried rice, and edamame. There was Dr Pepper, sweet tea, and water around the table. Later, I brought them biscuits with sugar.

“It’s on the house,” I said.

I like serving a table on a night like this. I never had a prom myself. I used to think prom was only an American thing, but now I hear they have prom nights in Indonesia, too.

Kentucky Fried Chicken wasn’t the only thing that made it across the ocean.

09/24/2026

Two Diet Cokes

It was Wednesday around three in the afternoon. I was by myself in the dining room, and my boss was in the kitchen.

A familiar couple came in. I have served their family for about fifteen years. When I first knew them, they didn’t have any grandchildren. Now I think they have three, if I’m not mistaken.

I had not seen them in quite a while, so of course I was happy to see them.

“Have a seat. I’ll bring two Diet Cokes.”

“Aeko, please bring me unsweetened tea. I just got back from chemo.”

I was not prepared to hear that.

“Okay. I’ll bring it right away.”

That was all I said. I didn’t ask anything about the chemo. I brought the tea and took their order.

They wanted egg-drop soup and two egg rolls at the restaurant, and the rest of the food to go. Their son wanted duck, so they ordered quite a lot, including Duck à la Asian Pearl.

Maybe I am biased, but our duck is the best. Also, not many restaurants around here have duck on the menu, so there are fewer people available to argue with me.

After I served their soup, I pulled up a chair.

“Where are you getting treatment?”

She said at The Lake in Baton Rouge. She has to go twice a week.

Before they found the cancer, she thought she only had sinus trouble. Even the doctor did not think it was cancer. This is Louisiana. Sinus trouble is almost part of the weather.

But it never went away. She had a blood test, and it was negative. Finally, they did another test something involving bone marrow, I think, but I don’t remember exactly.

That test found cancer in her bone marrow.

“Is it leukemia?” I asked.

“No.”

She told me the medical name, but I forgot it.

She also told me about the side effects of the medication. Food tastes sweet now. Even an egg roll tastes sweet. Almost everything tastes sweet.

During the last LSU game, her husband made smoked chicken. To her surprise, it tasted normal.

But she could eat only one piece.

If she had not told me she had just come from chemo, I would never have known she had cancer. She looked like the same lady I have known all these years, sweet, warm, and kind and very generous.

She looked a little tired, but it was three o’clock in Louisiana. Everybody looked tired. I probably looked worse.

Before they left, I thanked her for sharing it with me.

“If you don’t mind, may I tell my Facebook friends so we can pray for you? But if you don’t want me to, that’s okay. I will still pray for you.”

“Please,” she said.

She is a believer. She believes in Him, in love, and in prayer.

After that, we talked about her grandchildren. I told them Usher and his mother had recently come in to pick up food, and we talked about how precious he is.

Then I packed the rest of their order, including the duck for their son. Her name is Ms. Tammi Williams.
Please keep her in your prayers.

09/12/2026

Thirty Percent Extra

Friday lunch was busier than usual. Most of my tables were regulars, but one woman came in whose face I did not recognize.

Whenever I don’t recognize someone, I use my weapon question:

“How long have you been in Zachary?”

“I’m not from here,” she said. “I’m from New Roads. I’ll be having lunch by myself.”

“That’s fine. Asian Pearl Wi Fi will accompany you for free. But if you want me to accompany you, it’s thirty percent extra.”

“Wow, you’re expensive.”

“Yes, I am.”

At another table was a couple from Centreville, Mississippi. They are regulars and very good guests.

They are wonderful people, but when it comes to the menu, they are not Dora the Explorer. Same drinks. Same lunch.

What I really admire about them is their love for animals. They have a monkey refuge and use their own income to help save monkeys.

How did I find out they had monkeys?

Long story.

One day, she looked sad. Since I am naturally nosy, I asked, “Are you okay?”

She began telling me her story. I never asked, “Do you have monkeys?” Somehow, the monkeys entered the conversation by themselves.

when she was almost finished with lunch, I brought her a to-go box, as usual.

“You can read my mind,” she said.

Instead of simply accepting the compliment like a normal waiter, I looked at her husband and said:

“You wish you had a husband like me, right? Someone who can read your mind?”

They both laughed.

They already know I am the crazy waiter.

09/10/2026

09/10/2026

Bloopers!

09/09/2026

It Was Time to See Aeko

The restaurant was quiet that September evening when a young couple came in for dinner.

I looked at the woman’s face.

I knew I had seen her before. I couldn’t remember where, but my instinct was confident.

“Hi! Where have you been?”

“We live in St. Francisville now.”

“Wow! I’m so proud of you. The Beverly Hills of Louisiana!”

They laughed.

Then she told me she had not been to Asian Pearl in almost ten years.

“I told my husband it was time to see Aeko.”

As we talked, my brain began connecting one dot to another.

She told me who her mother was. Then I remembered her grandmother, who had passed away about twelve years ago.

Another piece came back to me.

“How is your brother?” I asked. “He has his PhD now, right?”

“Yes,” she said. “He earned his PhD from MIT. He lives in Washington, D.C. now.”

Then it was time to order.

They started with a Pu Pu Platter, steamed dumplings, and egg-drop soup. For dinner, they ordered Happy Family and General Tso’s chicken, with red w**e and a Sapporo.

The Sapporo reminded me of a regular who had returned from Japan.

He said, “Arigato.”

I answered at full speed:

“Toyota-Mitsubishi-Suzuki-Kawasaki-Honda-Toshiba-Sapporo!”

Then I admitted that I didn’t speak Japanese. I was only naming Japanese brands.

They laughed again.

Near the end of dinner, the young woman began to cry.

“I’m so happy to see you,” she said. “This restaurant feels like home.”

Then she apologized.

“I’m sorry. I’m emotional.”

“It’s okay,” I said.

I still had two other tables. At one of them, a customer was waiting for me to run a card.

“Be right back.”

I took the card and walked to the register.

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.