Liverpool Stories
The stories on this site are not included in my book.
The tales are snapshots of my life in Liverpool, the home of the Beatles, and the echo chamber of the Mersey Sound that in the sixties resonated around the planet like an acoustic Tsunami. The stories cover a period of 50 odd years and so they touch on every aspect of my life from the rites of passage to the passing of youth. I hope you enjoy them.
Sweet and sour
By
John Williams
I have been eating Chinese food for as long as I can remember. My earliest exposure to the delights of oriental cuisine was when I was about eight. My mother had developed a near addiction to Chop Suey rolls, which consisted of various vegetables, mostly bean sprouts, wrapped in a thick batter, Tortilla style, and then deep fried in the same oil that the Chinese chip shop proprietors fried their fish and chips, until they looked like Yule logs.
I daresay that these 'rolls' were about as authentically Chinese as a pan of Shanghai Scouse, but my mother couldn't get enough of them. The simple truth is that she was so keen on the Soy Sauce that was liberally splashed all over the rolls she would cheerfully have consumed deep fried bark as long as there was sauce available.
Years later I happened to chance upon a chip shop, in Chinatown, whose Chop Suey rolls were feather-light tubular shells filled with all manner of meat, fish and vegetables, and were so delicious that the idea of dousing them with Soy Sauce would have represented a gastronomic sacrilege of the highest order.
My first regular contact with Chinese food began when I was working in Solly Abrams' tailors shop in 1960, and, at my mother's insistence, used to indulge in the lunchtime special at a small Chinese restaurant in Commutation Row. For two shillings and nine pence, about 12P at today's prices, one could choose between soup, a Chinese or English main course and a pudding. The soup was usually chicken, and the pudding was invariably ice cream but for the current price of a chocolate biscuit the set menu was a very good deal indeed
I remember one Chinese restaurant above all, and not because of any culinary appeal. It was called Lee's and was almost adjacent to a club known as the Palm Cove in Smithdown Lane. Every Saturday night a whole gang of us used descend on the place like a horde of latter day Mongols. Chief among these was a chap known as Wes, who was regarded by the diminutive proprietor as the reincarnation of Ghengis Khan because of his cavalier attitude to just about everything in the restaurant.
Wes would often take out a biro and re-write menu prices, or write unflattering reviews about the house 'Special'. He was also adept at taking advantage of the fact that the waiters were so overworked that they rarely noticed him slipping out of the door without paying.
Eventually it must have been noticed that although twenty odd meals had been served only nineteen had been paid for, because one night, as I was tucking into my Chicken Fried Rice, I noticed Mr Lee lurking behind the beaded curtain that separated the dining room from the kitchen.
I watched intrigued as his eyes bored into the back of Wes's head, because he was no doubt waiting for the chance to ambush Ghengis Khan should the latter attempt his usual strategic retreat. I was just about to sound a general alarm when Wes suddenly glanced around, rose and made for the door.
Like a Han warrior Mr Lee leapt out from his concealment and tried to waylay his tormentor, who towered head and shoulders above him. Wes, however, casually shrugged the little man aside, opened the door and nonchalantly walked off. Mr Lee was having none of that and ran after him.
Two or three of us jostled to get a better view through the window and we were rewarded for our efforts by the sight of the proprietor, disregarding the handicap of his lack of height, vaulting onto Wes's back and clinging to him like a novice jockey as the Mongol warlord first broke into a canter and then galloped away madly in the direction of Lodge Lane.
That night I saw the rant put into restaurant as Mr Lee returned, staggering, into the restaurant, ruefully rubbing his backside and cursing in Chinese, all the while bearing the anguished look of a man who had fallen at the final hurdle.
The close proximity of Liverpool's Chinatown affords me the pleasure of wandering around the Chinese supermarkets and to peruse the many strange and exotic items on offer. It was while I was wandering around the Chung Wah supermarket recently that I was struck by a sudden thought which might go some way to explaining why some people are lately recommending Manchester's Chinese restaurants above Liverpool's.
It was the abundance of fresh vegetables such as Pak Choi that set me wondering how, in the past, before refrigeration and irradiated food* Liverpool's Chinese restaurateurs had ever managed to serve up a traditional cuisine given the unavailability of fresh and authentic Chinese produce. The short answer is that they didn't. That is why English vegetables like carrots, lettuce, onions and Savoy cabbage had found their way into so many 'Chinese' dishes.
It wasn't until the late seventies that fresh produce was available because by then it was being flown in from Hong Kong, and that is where Manchester scored, because the region's main airport is there. It follows that the Chinese must have found it more economical to open their restaurants near the source of their supplies. The consequence of this is that although Liverpool's Chinatown is the second oldest outside of China, after San Francisco, the smart Chinese money has moved to Manchester, leaving us Scousers with a much diminished heritage.
This could explain why every time I have taken my children to see the Chinese New Year celebrations I have been struck by the fact that there are fewer and fewer of the Chinese community taking part in the ceremonies. Indeed, the majority of those people participating appear to be mostly Europeans who when they are not masquerading as Dragons are performing Kung Fu in nearby martial arts centres.
If my fears are true, and I hope they are misplaced, then the sheer imperatives of a global economy may have eroded our local traditions and a marvellous heritage. That would not only be sad, but it would represent the biggest Chinese takeaway of all.
Two years after this tale was written the English news media reported that Manchester's Chinese community had celebrated New Year with a massive firework's display. By contrast, Liverpool's celebration was generally regarded as something of a damp squib. It appears that the oldest Chinese community in Europe has all but abandoned Liverpool.
* In the furore about GM foodstuffs we have forgotten about irradiated produce.
"Ain't nuthin' like a migraine to make you forget a headache." Balthazzar Pomfret. Author of, 'Scouse and the Provencal experience'