Chinese Point

Chinese Point is tucked away on Piplod 11th B Cross. It’s a bit of a maze back here on the 17th Main, but once you find the 1st Stage, you see our sign. I spend most of my time standing over a hot wok. The sound of the metal spatula hitting the pan is the soundtrack of my life. My apron is never clean for more than ten minutes. We get a lot of delivery orders. The riders are always leaning on their bikes outside, looking at their phones and asking if the food is ready. I try to get the boxes out while they are still steaming. The vegetables come in fresh every morning and I spend an hour just chopping. Cabbage, carrots, and peppers everywhere. My fingers have these little calluses from the knife. The kitchen is small and it gets really hot in the afternoons. I have a small fan, but it mostly just moves the warm air around. We don't have many tables, maybe two or three, so most people take their boxes home. The smell of soy sauce and garlic sticks to my clothes. When I go home, my wife makes me leave my shoes outside. It’s just a regular shop doing regular food for the neighborhood. No big story here. Just a lot of frying and packing things into plastic containers until the lights go out. Sometimes I run out of gas mid-shift.