It’s late at night, but the air is foggy with spicy clouds of hot chili peppers and roasted, pungent garlic. A man sits down at the dinner table and scans the array of vibrant, steaming dishes. As soon as his wife joins him, he lifts his chopsticks with thick, roughened fingers. He plucks out an ample bite of rice and digs in, scraping his spoon against the soup bowl while his neck bobs to keep up with his quickening pace. Beads of sweat collect on his brows and the faint wrinkles trailing his forehead deepen as he tries to avoid getting burnt by the scalding soup, blowing impatiently. Next to him, his wife takes tiny, delicate puffs of the mound of rice and pops them into her mouth. Her eyes crinkle when she tries a dish she’s pleased with and she flutters her eyes while humming her satisfaction; meanwhile her nimble fingers are busy piling heaps of food on her husband’s plates.
The rhythmical clattering of their chopsticks and moments of idle chatter pepper the meal. The man chomps loudly, grunting here and there while the woman nibbles at her food, one eye always trained on the bowls. Chin lifted, she makes mental notes, notes about adjusting seasoning and measurements, as she samples each dish and nods to herself. Still pawing his way through the dinner, the man’s stooped shoulders lean back and relax once he feels satisfied, but his hands and mouth keep moving until the food is gone and the dishes are clean. The woman smiles warmly, pushing whatever’s left toward him. Tipping bowls back against his lips, the man doesn't waste a single grain of rice or a single drop of soup, and the metallic, silver clangs are muffled as they both set down their chopsticks and grin, looking at the empty, shining bowls in front of them.