Paper lanterns drip crimson tassels one on each side of the restaurant's entrance. A hand drawn specials list is loosely presticked to Doyu's* front window, while an inviting neon-red Open flashes brightly above a small metal gate.
Colourful oriental creations hang from hooks on the plaster ceiling above a scratched but clean floor. The air is wet and wisps of steam seem to twist in time to the soft stereo music.
I sit at a table facing into the restaurant, joining a pair of ornamental geese, a half used bottle of soy sauce and a plastic lantern, its wick floating in a luminous pink solution. My fingers brush across the table’s surface, rough against my hand.
A young waitress approaches. She is wearing a synthetic green top rimmed with crispy gold and a pair of faded Levis jeans; her hair is smoothed off her face into a tight bun. She runs a damp cloth over the fine layer of dust coating my table. The faint smell of cleaning detergent lingers.
An aged Chinese man in a woven sun hat and a colourful Adidas tracksuit sits at the back of the room. He stares thoughtfully through the restaurants rain-dribbled front window, looking out onto to some unknown point beyond the parkade across the road. Crates smack the wet pavement as a truck unloads.
The waitress returns and slides me a menu. Imitation leather, its cover is marked with delicate calligraphy strokes. She then returns to position behind the counter where she is neatly framed by a carved wooden screen separating kitchen from restaurant. Metal scrapes metal as the chef sharpens his knives for the next order.
Two elderly women enter. One leans against a walking stick and is slowly helped into her seat by the other. They join the man in the sun hat at the back table and make light conversation in mandarin staccato. Soon the rain returns, licking mist from off the window's outside surface.
My eyes scan the room. Messages from customers have been crayoned onto the walls: ‘Happy birthday Karryn,’‘A perfect end to a perfect day,’ and others in languages I can’t interpret. Heading for the door a final message whispers to me:
Don’t take life too seriously, just enjoy yourself here.
and I step out into the cold.
*Doyu is a tiny Chinese eatery just off Rondebosch Main Road and although it's been neglectfully squeezed between a hairdresser and a locksmith it has a certain charm that cannot be overlooked. And I'll mention that it's still reminding people to not take life too seriously.
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