Cơm Gà

I cooked dinner, as I said I would a few entries ago (except I cooked Friday, not Wednesday). Chicken and chicken rice; it was pretty good, and the best part was no one got salmonella.

Back at home, my mom cooked chicken, congee, and chicken rice every two weeks, and I thought it was one of her best dishes. Well, the chicken and congee were okay, nothing super special, but it was the chicken rice that was really fucking amazing. She prepped the rice by cooking it a little in some vegetable oil and garlic, and then she’d pour it into the rice cooker and, instead of using water, she’d add the broth that came from the pot that the chicken was boiling in. Simple, but delicious. I’d eat several bowls of chicken rice for dinner and then eat it with eggs the next day for breakfast, and I’d gulp it down so quickly that I’d start choking.

For the longest time, I had been craving my mom’s chicken rice. I called her for the recipe the first week of school, partially because I wanted the recipe, but also because I hoped that showing interesting in cooking it would make her happy (in preparation for the request that I had next on my agenda: Asking for $300 for books). And it did.

She emailed me the recipe, and I was on the verge of cooking it, but then, auditions came. Common Ground, CADC, and then MCIA. During those four weeks of intense dancing, my mom would call me and always ask, “Did you make cơm gà yet?” I’d tell her no and that I had been busy, and she’d always sound disappointed. Especially by the third week, my mom no longer really believed the “I’ve been busy” excuse and probably thought I was never going to make it. By the fourth week of auditions, she stopped asking. Really though, I was pretty damn busy.

Cooking again was one of the main things I was looking forward to after all auditions. Friday night around 9, I dragged Sang over to help. I had hoped that I’d finish cooking by 10:30, but I soon discovered that the chicken, which I left to defrost in the fridge over night, was still frozen solid. The microwave defroster took forty minutes. And even after that, the chicken was still pretty frozen on the inside (unless the chicken’s pancreas and other internal organs were supposed to be rock hard).

Handling the chicken itself with my bare hands was an odd new experience. Never had I ever dug my fingers inside a chicken through its ass (first time my finger’s been any kind of ass, actually). I got a kick out of defrosting its insides by filling it up with hot water, clamping its ass shut, and shaking it violently. Pressing my ear up against the chicken, I could hear the water swishing around inside, and its legs just kinda dangled in the air. Sang didn’t approve of my cooking methods and wanted to eat Cheerios for dinner instead.

Once the chicken was clean, I dropped it in a pot of boiling water and let it stew with some onions and ginger for another hour.

At several points through the night, I had visits from random dancers, one after another. First from Daniel, Shane, and Erica Lee, and then Alfonso and Kevin, and then Sam Shih.

Eventually, it was just Sang, Sam, and me. After the chicken finished boiling, they helped me prep and cook the rice since I had never made rice before in my entire 19 years of being Vietnamese. Around 12:30, two hours after my goal time, we finished.

We spent about twenty minutes eating, and then packed up everything to head to a parking garage where everyone else was dancing. Alfonso’s face lit up when he saw what I brought along. He, Kevin, and I (again) sat down on the floor to eat, and periodically we’d get up to freestyle a bit. While eating, Kevin informed me that I had been admitted into YPC (Young Papa’s Crew).

YPC was this unofficial crew that a small group of three or four friends started last year and eventually pulled Kevin, Alfonso, and all the aforementioned dancers (except for Sang) in. When it was just starting up, I remember Edge, one of the founders, going around asking people at BBA (Bboy club) to join. He approached one of my friends that I was talking to and asked him but didn’t ask me. I was just a little sad because my friend and I sucked on the same level, but, at that point, I didn’t really know Edge yet.

At the beginning of this school year, I found myself hanging out with Kevin and Alfonso plus a lot of other YPC people, and they’d always mention YPC things. But I knew it was probably taboo to bluntly ask, “Can I join?” So I waited. Patiently.

Last week, while Alfonso was drunk (and high?) Friday night at a Halloween party with several other YPC members, he nominated me for membership. And everyone approved.

I was happy to finally be in. As I sat there inhaling my rice, I danced a little bit in my head and swayed with the music. I smiled as I ate. When I was done eating, I sat back and watched everyone dance. Shane walked over and sat down next to me.

“I hear Alfonso is going to audition next week,” she began. “Are you?”

The word spread quickly. “Yeah, I am,” I answered. Of course I was. How could I let an opportunity pass? “It shouldn’t be too bad.”

“What if you get in?”

“Dancing isn’t something I’m going to stress about anymore,” I declared. “Whatever happens is supposed to happen.” That was a phrase that Alfonso liked to use a lot, especially during the wait for the CADC roster. It was like a way of saying I don’t give a fuck (but really, I do).

Shane left to go chat with Daniel. I knew I’d be getting back up in a bit too to dance, so, carefully scooping up those last four or five grains of rice in my bowl, the ones that made up such an insignificant amount that I wouldn’t have to chew, I savored the last few minutes of my break.