Mr. Chow’s restaurant, despite being an authentic Chinese restaurant, had a decor that left Ryan somewhat disappointed. It lacked any oriental charm, instead featuring a very modern style.
“I wonder if the taste is authentic,” Ryan murmured softly, following Helen to a quiet spot led by a waiter.
The only thing that pleased him was that the waiter was Chinese, probably a college student working part-time.
Looking at the English menu handed to him, Ryan frowned slightly. Some of the names were a bit confusing to him.
“Do you have a Chinese menu?” Ryan gestured with the English menu in his hand and asked in fluent Mandarin, to the waiter’s surprised expression.
Mandarin!
The waiter was obviously stunned. This clearly American-looking guy could speak fluent Mandarin.
“Yes, sir, please wait a moment,” the waiter said, quickly recovering and turning to get a Chinese menu.
Across from him, Helen looked at Ryan in surprise and asked, “You speak Chinese?”
“My mother is half Chinese, so I’ve always been interested in Eastern culture,” Ryan replied truthfully. His mother really did have Chinese heritage.
Helen showed a look of realization. No wonder he chose a Chinese restaurant to celebrate.
Soon, the waiter returned with a Chinese menu.
Taking the menu, Ryan quickly browsed through it and found that most dishes were sweet, likely adapted to local tastes.
“Can you make Sichuan dishes?” he asked.
“Yes, we can,” the waiter replied, glancing at Helen and wondering if this guy was trying to embarrass the pretty lady next to him. Even in China, many people couldn’t handle Sichuan cuisine.
“That’s good,” Ryan said, ignoring the waiter’s look and ordering several dishes in rapid succession.
“Boiled pork slices, Husband and Wife Lung Slices, Mapo tofu, pickled chili chicken feet, shadow beef, spicy crab, and spicy chicken,” he listed off before turning to Helen to check if she could handle spicy food.
“Helen, can you eat spicy food?”
Helen raised an elegant eyebrow at the question. What did he mean by asking if she could eat spicy food?
“I can handle some spice,” she replied calmly.
Satisfied, Ryan nodded and said, “I want the authentic, original flavor, no adaptations. Make it extra spicy, with plenty of chili and red oil, and don’t forget the millet pepper.”
The waiter noted Ryan’s requests with an internal sigh. Extra chili and red oil, and he even knew about millet pepper. This guy wasn’t afraid of burning his mouth, but the poor lady with him was going to suffer.
The dishes arrived quickly, filling the table with a strong, spicy aroma.
“Try it. It’s definitely authentic Chinese food,” Ryan said, serving Helen a plate full of the spiciest dishes.
Helen remained calm and elegantly picked up a bright red piece of boiled pork, chewing it slowly with no change in her expression.
“The taste is okay,” she said, leaving Ryan puzzled. Just okay? Not spicy at all?
He then took a piece of the boiled pork himself. As he chewed, the flavor was indeed good, but suddenly his face turned bright red, like a monkey’s bottom.
“Water, water!” He grabbed a glass of water and drank it down quickly, but the burning sensation remained, making him grimace.
Meanwhile, Helen continued eating calmly, unaffected.
“Is this what you meant by ‘I can handle some spice’?” Ryan asked, glaring at her.
“I forgot to mention, my mother grew up in Mexico, so I was often served Mexican dishes as a child,” Helen said with a rare smile.
Mexican dishes! Ryan laughed bitterly. Was this self-inflicted?
Damn Mexican food.
Luckily, except for the boiled pork, the other dishes were manageable, making it the best meal he had had in a long time.
Just as they were about to leave, a voice called out from the entrance.
“Helen!”
Looking toward the voice, they saw a man and a woman, the latter holding a little girl who looked like a large doll.
“Mr. Swift! When did you arrive in Los Angeles?” Helen asked in surprise, standing up to greet them.
“Just yesterday. Taylor insisted on having Chinese food,” Swift said with a helpless smile, pointing to the little girl in his wife’s arms.
“Hello, Mrs. Swift. Is this little Taylor?” Helen asked, curious.
“Hello, Miss Helen. My dad says you’re very pretty,” the little girl, Taylor, said in a sweet voice, clearly not a stranger to Helen.
“And you’re very pretty too,” Helen replied with a smile, clearly pleased.
“Alright, Taylor, say goodbye to Miss Helen. Didn’t you want to eat Chinese food?” Swift said, glancing awkwardly at his wife.
“Goodbye, Miss Helen,” Taylor waved, bidding farewell.
As the interesting family left, Ryan asked, “Who is Mr. Swift?”
Helen sat back down and said, “Mr. Swift works at Merrill Lynch and is also my mother’s stock manager. However, the Swift family usually lives on an 11-acre farm in Montgomery County, Pennsylvania, and rarely comes to Los Angeles.”
Mr. Swift! Little Taylor! An 11-acre farm in Montgomery County, Pennsylvania! Could that little doll-like girl be the future famous Taylor Swift?
“Can you give me Mr. Swift’s contact information?” Ryan asked, needing a stock manager.
“Sure,” Helen wrote down the contact on a napkin. “Mr. Swift is a very competent stock manager. You can trust his investment advice. It’s a pity his daughter is too young; otherwise, they would have moved to Los Angeles or New York already.”
Ryan was now certain the little girl was indeed the future famous Taylor Swift.
“Compared to Los Angeles or New York, a farm is better for childhood,” Ryan said. “In that sense, the Swifts are great parents.”
Talking about Taylor Swift was like discussing a legend. She was one of the most famous female singers globally in the 20th century and a representative of American country music.
The Swifts were the most important people in her life. In 2001, after watching a video of country singer Faith Hill, Taylor insisted on going to Nashville to pursue her musical dreams. Any other parents might have refused, but Taylor’s mother agreed and quickly convinced her father, Swift, to move the whole family to Nashville, starting Taylor’s legendary journey.
Most parents plan a supposedly successful path for their children, but few could do what the Swifts did. Thus, there was only one Taylor Swift, a young singer who could buy a nearly $2 million apartment at 20.